Banksy

by Gordon Banks

  ‘Defrosting my tea, old boy,’ replied John Cobbold.

  When Ipswich clinched the championship, Peter Wilson of the Daily Mirror interviewed the Ipswich chairman.

  ‘Champions! I suppose for the Ipswich board this has been a season of wine, women and song,’ Wilson suggested.

  ‘I can’t remember us doing much singing,’ replied Cobbold.

  Immediately following Ipswich’s 2–0 victory over us at Filbert Street in March, the Leicester chairman Walter Needham extended the club’s hospitality to John Cobbold and his co-directors.

  ‘Would you care to join me in the boardroom for a quiet drink?’ asked Needham.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cobbold, ‘and six very loud ones!’

  The Cobbolds’ ebullient nature, sense of humour and penchant for a drink and a good time were in sharp contrast to Alf Ramsey, who was, ostensibly, a quiet, sober and serious individual. Yet they got on famously. When Alf left the club to become manager of England in 1963, Ipswich as a team went into sharp decline, but the hospitality of the Ipswich board never faltered. To this day Ipswich Town enjoy a reputation for being a very friendly, family club whose board has continued to make considered rather than impulsive decisions – something exemplified in the fact that the club have only had ten managers since they gained entry to the Football League in 1938.

  The next year, 1963, was a remarkable one, both personally and historically. This was the year of the Beatles and the Cuban missile crisis, Concorde and the death of JFK, Dr Beeching and Lady Chatterley, the Profumo affair and the Great Train Robbery, Charles de Gaulle’s ‘Non’ and Dr No. (Who could forget the sight of Ursula Andress rising glistening from the sea in that first Bond film?) Before the year was over I was to be in the running for the league and cup double, make my full debut for England in the most important game in our international calendar; and follow that up by facing the best international side in the world.

  The summer of 1962 had been a frustrating one for me. When my name was listed in the England–Portugal match programme as being one of only two goalkeepers in Walter Winterbottom’s squad for the World Cup in Chile, I had high hopes of making the final squad. But it wasn’t to be. Though both World Cup goalkeepers were from Sheffield, I wasn’t one of them. Wednesday’s Ron Springett and Alan Hodgkinson of United were Walter’s choices for the World Cup, while I was put on stand-by. I dutifully kept myself fit, spending countless hours on my own lapping the Filbert Street pitch.

  At Leicester Charles Maley retired as secretary and was replaced by Eddie Plumley. While Maley, a highly efficient administrator and stickler for detail, lacked personal warmth, Eddie exuded warmth and friendliness, and his modernizing approach, not least in his handling of the press, was a revelation. His appointment in 1962 was indicative of football’s increasing willingness to adapt and take on new ideas as evidenced in a blueprint issued by the Football League Management Committee that summer. That the document was titled ‘The Football Revolution’ shows the League’s seriousness of intent. It contained a number of proposals for the reorganization of football in England:

  • The football season to be extended by three weeks into May. The new football season to begin in mid-August with Saturday and mid-week League Cup matches. The Football League programme to commence at the end of the first week of September.

  • International matches to be played on fixed dates, with all home nations to play on the same day to minimize disruption to League clubs.

  • The Football League to be extended to 100 clubs – divided into three divisions of 20, with a Fourth Division split into Northern and Southern sections each of 20. In the latter, clubs to have the option of being fully professional or part-time.

  • Promotion and relegation to be four-up, four-down in every division.

  • First round of the FA Cup to take place on 1 December, not early November; third round on 26 January with the final on the last Saturday in May.

  • Once the season has commenced, no club to arrange a friendly match until after the third round of the FA Cup.

  • The League Cup to be divided into regional zones which would play on a league basis at the start of every season, the winners then going on to a straight knock-out competition with a single final staged in mid-December taking place at a neutral venue. All League clubs to enter.

  The clubs, however, gave the blueprint a lukewarm reception. Meeting after meeting took place between Football League officials and club chairmen, working committees were set up. That the enthusiasm of the Football League, and in particular that of their secretary Alan Hardaker, for change was not shared by club chairmen was no surprise to many players. The weeks of debate turned into months and eventually, the League’s brave new blueprint for football was shelved – though, in time, one or two of the proposals did come into being.

  In 1967 the League Cup final reverted to a single tie and was staged at Wembley, while international matches did eventually take place on fixed dates with the home countries all participating. (It was clearly to the advantage of clubs not to lose their best players for key league games.) The Football League still has ninety-two clubs, with only the top flight being reduced to the prescribed twenty (to facilitate the increasing involvement in European competition). The fear of change was symptomatic of an unwillingness of club chairmen to relax their control over the game. Only much later, with the saturation coverage of football by television, did the fabric of the league programme change. Even then the catalyst to that ‘revolution’ was money alone, not a genuine desire to make football more appealing to spectators and players, or to retain its advantage over alternative forms of entertainment.

  Matt Gillies yet again proved himself to be a wily operator in the transfer market. He brought in Mike Stringfellow, a lithe but speedy winger from Mansfield Town, and a mercurial midfield player, Davie Gibson, who joined us from Hibernian, both for modest fees. And so began a new season with little to suggest it would be very different from the last, still less that we would end it as contenders for the league and cup double.

  Every club and every player has a ‘bogey team’. There’s no logic to it – often they can’t remember how or when the superstition began. Mine was Fulham, particularly at Craven Cottage – I never played well there. True to form, I had a nightmare of a game at Fulham on the opening day of the season, not helped by the fact that I broke my nose when diving at the feet of the Fulham winger, Graham Leggat. As I was first to a through ball I expected him to pull out of his challenge. He didn’t, and as if to rub salt in my wound, he went on to score both Fulham goals in our 2–1 defeat.

  Unlike the previous season, however, we quickly put that opening-day setback behind us. We showed great resolve when we drew 3–3 with much fancied Sheffield Wednesday, then defeated Nottingham Forest 2–1. Mike Stringfellow was proving himself to be a fine player with keen predatory skills. Just seven days after sharing six goals with Wednesday we went up to Hillsborough and won 3–0, Mike taking his goal tally to six in four games.

  It was an encouraging start to the new campaign, and our form was to get even better. We lost only one of our next nine games, Leicester’s best start to a First Division season since 1925–26. Things were looking up.

  Leicester’s chief scout, Bert Johnson, having completed his FA coaching course at Lilleshall, was appointed first-team coach. Bert’s input had an immediate effect. As a team we became better organized and the individual talents of the players were at last moulded into a cohesive pattern of play. Jimmy Walsh and Davie Gibson were encouraged to track their opposite numbers back to our penalty area to provide extra cover when the opposition were on the attack. The midfield rotated to greater effect, so that more protection was available should our attack break down. Previously it was carte blanche who did this, even as to whether it was done at all. Bert Johnson ensured we had a set pattern of rotation, so that individuals knew who was to move across and supply cover in accordance with which player had pushed on. For example, Graham Cross for
Frank McLintock and vice versa, Mike Stringfellow for Davie Gibson and so on.

  European lesson number one was implemented, and instead of taking the game to opponents as had always been our policy, we became more patient in our build-up. Confident of our defensive qualities, we were content to soak up pressure and, once possession was regained, use the speed of Mike Stringfellow and Howard Riley to launch a swift counterattack before the opposition had time to fall back and reorganize in defence.

  We spent a lot of time with Bert at the training ground working on dead-ball situations, both in defence and attack. Bert introduced a variety of cunning corner kicks and I remember one in particular that proved highly successful. When we were awarded a corner on our right, Howard Riley would take it. As Howard prepared to take the kick, Ian King, Colin Appleton and Jimmy Walsh would gather together on the far side of the penalty box just inside the angle of the area, as if waiting for Howard to deliver. Ken Keyworth, however, would take a position just outside the area, in line with the goalpost nearest to Howard. As Howard stepped back as if about to take the corner, Ken would run to the near post screaming for the ball to be played to him – only Howard would hesitate in taking the corner. Having seemingly made a fruitless run to the near post, Ken would then pretend to berate Howard for not playing the ball in early and trot back out of the penalty area. As Howard once again prepared to take the corner, Ian King, Colin Appleton and Jimmy Walsh would signal that Howard should play the ball to one of them. The opposition, alerted to this, would often forget Ken Keyworth, who having left the penalty area, would then jog to a point just outside the left-hand side of the area, almost parallel to Ian, Colin and Jimmy. Just as Howard was on the point of striking the ball, Ian and Colin would run to the near post and Jimmy to a point just beyond the penalty spot. Howard Riley would then drive the corner kick to the far post into the space Ian, Colin and Jimmy had created, where Ken Keyworth would come charging in to fire a header at goal.

  This ploy worked a number of times for us. Ken’s late run into space often meant he was unmarked when he connected with the ball. If Ken didn’t score and his effort on goal was blocked, there were Jimmy, Colin and Ian to pick up on the rebound. We scored a number of goals from this set piece, though of course, it didn’t take long before opposing teams got wise to it. But I cite this as an example of Bert Johnson’s input into our play as evidence that, though football was still dominated by individualists, team tactics were assuming greater importance.

  ‘Tactical awareness’ was the new big thing on training pitches up and down the country, as coaches thought up ways to counteract the latest game plan. Nowhere was this more the case than at West Ham United. When the Hammers’ manager, Ron Greenwood, switched an unpromising wing half, Geoff Hurst, into the attack he also introduced a tactical innovation. Rather than Geoff Hurst taking up an orthodox position at the far post for a cross from the wing, Geoff would play deep, then time his run so that he stayed onside and continue past the advancing defenders to meet the cross which was played into the space between the opposition’s goalkeeper and the defence. It worked a treat for West Ham. This produced goals not only for West Ham, but also for England when Geoff and clubmates Bobby Moore and Martin Peters played together in Alf Ramsey’s team. Geoff’s goal for England in the 1966 World Cup quarter-final against Argentina, and his first in the final against West Germany, were pure Ron Greenwood.

  Of course, once the First Division’s bright young coaches put their minds to it, they got wise to what West Ham were doing and tried to counteract the danger of Hurst by assigning a player to track him into the box. Geoff, however, was formidable in the air and timed his run so well that the long ball from the flanks was never easy to defend. Especially for goalkeepers who didn’t want to come out and be beaten to the ball and leave Hurst with an open goal at which to aim. Leicester tried to stifle this West Ham tactic by closing down quickly on the wide player whose job it was to make the cross. Not only him, but also any West Ham midfielder who was attempting to pass to their wide man, which in 1962–63 was usually Peter Brabrook on the right and Tony Scott on the left.

  The evolution of coaching skills was becoming more rapid. Tactics bred tactics as the former students of the FA’s coaching school at Lilleshall such as Bert Johnson, Ron Greenwood, Bob Paisley, Tommy Docherty, Dave Sexton, Phil Woosnam and Jimmy Adamson pitted their wits against one another. No sooner had one tactic been seen to work, than another evolved to counteract it. Then another would emerge to overcome the counteracting tactic. The origins of organized football date back to the Victorians, but the origins of the game we know today can be traced back to the work of those Lilleshall graduates of the early sixties.

  The first of the winter snows came to the north of England in late November. It was cold in the midlands but we didn’t experience snow until December when most of the country rejoiced in a white Christmas. Joy soon turned to frustration as the snow piled up and temperatures plummeted to wreak havoc across the nation. On Boxing Day we enjoyed a 5–1 victory over Leyton Orient in the swirling snow at Filbert Street. That win moved us up to third position in Division One, the title well within our sights.

  The snow that had fallen previously was nothing compared to what followed. Blizzard begat blizzard. Snow fell on snow. One morning just after New Year I opened my front door to be confronted with snow that was almost waist high. No one could remember anything like it. Nor was there to be any respite from what the newspapers dubbed the ‘Big Freeze’ until April. Of course, the football fixture list was decimated, no complete programme of football being possible between 8 December and 16 March. Only three of the thirty-two third-round FA Cup ties were played on the day they were scheduled. Fourteen ties were postponed ten times or more, the match between Lincoln City and Coventry City being postponed a record fifteen times while the tie between Middlesbrough and Blackburn Rovers, originally scheduled for early January, wasn’t played until mid-March. Only four Football League games took place on 5 January and five on 2 February. On 9 February six games took place in England but the entire Scottish League programme was postponed. Bolton Wanderers went the longest period without a match in the history of a football season. Following their 1–0 win over Spurs on 8 December, the Bolton players were not in action again until 16 February. Over 400 matches fell victim to the weather. The final league games of the season were not completed until June.

  With this period of enforced inactivity in the winter of 1962–63, some clubs went for weeks without a match and consequently were deprived of their main source of income from home (and a proportion of away) gate receipts. There were increasingly desperate attempts to beat the weather. Queens Park Rangers left their home ground at Loftus Road to play for a time at the aptly named White City in the hope the pitch there would prove more playable. Halifax Town, with their pitch at The Shay covered in a three-inch layer of ice, at one point opened it as a skating rink! Blackpool used army flame-throwers on the pitch at Bloomfield Road while Chelsea employed a highways tar burner. Birmingham City rented a snow-shifting tractor from Denmark and Wrexham covered their pitch at the Racecourse Ground with 80 tons of sand. They were fighting a losing battle.

  At Leicester we managed to avoid too much disruption owing to a combination of good luck and sheer determination. The previous summer the Filbert Street pitch had been relaid with top soil treated with a combined chemical fertilizer and weed-killer. This generated a little heat that helped keep the frost at bay. The Leicester groundsman augmented this effect by placing oil drums filled with burning coke at various points around the pitch, which raised the air temperature enough to ward off the severest frost. A nightwatchman sat up throughout the Friday night to ensure all was safe. These braziers remained on the pitch until around eleven on a Saturday morning when the groundsman, his assistant and an army of junior players would then remove them. An hour later when the match referee arrived to inspect the pitch it was playable, and the game was given the go-ahead.

  In al
l honesty many of these games should never have been played because, without the braziers, the pitch had partly frozen over again come three o’clock, especially the end that lay in the shadow of the club’s towering double-decker stand. Aware that one half of the pitch was just playable, and the other half frozen, I used to run out for games wearing odd boots. On my right foot I would have my normal boot with hammer-in leather studs, while on my left I’d wear a boot with moulded rubber studs that offered better footing on hard surfaces. Under my arm I would carry the other two odd boots. Once I knew which end we were to defend in the first half I would change one boot to make a pair. As the sun began to set the entire pitch would freeze over once again.

  Another trick I employed was to file down my leather studs, exposing the nails that attached the studs to the sole of my boots. The exposed nail-heads gripped the freezing ground better. I have to emphasize I was always careful not to expose them in such a way that they would cause injury. Unlike now, match officials never checked the condition of a player’s studs before a game, let alone at half time. We would never get away with this dubious ploy today.

  Our house in Kirkland Road was typical in that it was uninsulated, had no central heating and coal fires downstairs only. The bedrooms and bathroom would have been ideal refrigerators! To offset the cold, Ursula made more hot dinners than normal and of ever increasing size. That winter I put away countless stews and dumplings, roasts and hotpots. As photographs of the time show, I piled on my own form of insulation.

  Though we didn’t play a match from Boxing Day to 9 February when the brazier idea was implemented, we then began an unbroken run of matches when other clubs were still struggling to beat the elements. The fact that we were playing regularly when other teams were not must have given us an edge as far as match fitness was concerned. Whatever, we embarked upon an unbeaten run of sixteen league and cup games of which fourteen were won. On 8 April a 1–1 draw at Blackpool saw Leicester City at the top of Division One for the first time since 1927 and with an FA Cup semi-final to come, we had high hopes of achieving the double.