The world seemed an even bigger place in 1978. The World Cup party that had once rolled down Linthorpe Road in Middlesbrough in 1966 was in full swing in Buenos Aires. I watched the television, awe inspired, as a schoolboy. What a place to watch your football. We knew little of the politics of military junta at the time. Frankly if we had, I doubt we would have cared one iota. I was watching the sky filled with the trademark paper falling down from the stands and a brand of football that we didnt encounter on the playing fields at home. In amongst the festival of football, a young urchin was juggling footballs for the TV crews. The next superstar? We didnt know. Diego Armando Maradona. It turns out we would hear a lot more about him over the years. In the World Cup crowds, the usual scouts were poised with their cheque books to throw European riches at the talented. It was the days before such talent was whisked away at the age of 15 to join some academy programmes in Barcelona or Milan. Sheffield United and their visionary manager, Harry Haslam, had his eyes on Ossie Ardiles and Ricky
Villa. As we know, they were whisked away by Tottenham to grace the Capital and storm Top of the Pops with Chas & Dave. Harry turned his attention to young Diego, but rumour has it the Sheffield United chairman thought £400,000 was touch excessive for any 18 year old. Mistake! Big mistake!
The above of course is totally irrelevant to current travels. We are just ending another national lockdown and TFB has decreed a new tier system to advise us against venturing out of our local areas. In a cunning blow to all football fans, he has also prevented all non league clubs having any form of crowd whilst they hold high risk Tier 3 status. A lot of folk are therefore stuck with limited travel options and no football to watch locally. I therefore turn my thoughts to yesteryear in a sort of tribute to the recent news of the passing of Maradona.
I had a longer connection with Argentina, than a television screen and a World Cup in 1978. I just didnt know it at the time. In some ways, I didnt choose Argentina. Argentina chose me. My grandfather was in the Merchant Navy. The boring
9 to didnt feature in his existence. He was off all over the globe. The 1920s and 1930s were just a constant circumnavigation. New York on the Titanic sister ship was a forray into the glamorous world of the passenger liners. The Far East too. The majority were however on the bread and butter existence of the tramp steamer. The ports of Buenos Aires and Rosario were a much favoured haunt. He and his brothers sometimes sailed together. Of course, it was no holiday - more a question of economic necessity. The amount of time he spent out there, he would have been better off with a season ticket at Rosario Central than at the more local Turnbull Ground. My mum always said I was a throwback to another generation.... that my wanderlust was prompted by a latent desire with the family tradition. OK she maybe had a point, but I was always going to use an airliner and not a tramp steamer. Which leads me on to we rolled up in Buenos Aires in November 1995. This was football I had to see in the flesh.
how did you go about finding foreign football fixtures. A letter to such as a Belgian club was always answered in some detail with all necessary amendments for television noted. KAA Gent deserve a special mention in this regard. Europe was one thing, but what of South America? We in the UK had grown up with a notion of conflict with Argentina. First, there was Mr Rattin and the 1966 World Cup. Sir Alf Ramsey was less in his description in subsequent interviews. There was then the dispute over the Falklands, which escalated into full scale war. Had time healed the divisions? Would the Argentine football up with any fixture information? It turned out they would. A fax response was acquired. I sat and worked out my fixture options. We were on our way.
