Two Of Our Own

February 6, 2023February 6, 2023Leave a comment

Greavsie

Another football related post. Yesterday, in our 1-0 defeat of reigning champions Manchester City, Harry Kane (above, right) scored the winning goal, which turned out to be his 200th goal in the Premier League, becoming only the third player in the Premier League to reach that milestone. More importantly, it was his 267th goal for Tottenham Hotspur, thereby becoming our highest ever goalscorer. The record he broke was that held by the great Jimmy Greaves, whose tally of 266 was, I always thought, impenetrable. Greavsie, above left, passed away last year and that’s when I made this little image of him. I also made one of Ian St. John, who also died, and was his long-term TV partner. As a kid in the 80s, the Greavsie of the telly and the Greavsie of the Spurs record books were two different people, I just would not believe they were the same guy. We loved Greavsie, he was this jolly bloke who made football on TV fun. Saint and Greavsie, the show the pair of them did, was genuinely hilarious, and Jimmy Greaves was this bubbly balding bloke with mischievous eyes and a bushy moustache, a cheeky chirpy Cockney chappie, cheerful and cheesy, while amiable Scot Ian St. John was his perfect foil, I wouldn’t say the Wise to Jimmy’s Morecambe, but Saint was very funny in his own right and they were a great double-act when talking footy, and Saint genuinely seemed to love Greavsie. We all did. (I loved Saint as well, and knew he was a Liverpool legend). When I would be shown pictures of this great star of Tottenham’s history – which in those days was less than twenty years before – I couldn’t believe it. this guy with short dark hair, thin serious face, no jolly ‘tache, and every time he got the ball he would race past people like they were not worthy of his time, before slotting the ball deftly into the goal, over and over again, for both Spurs and England (as well as Chelsea and AC Milan, from whom we bought him in 1961). It was injury that kept him from playing a role in the 66 World Cup Final, losing his place to a guy called Hurst who ended up doing quite well himself. After his time at Spurs ended he played for various clubs, and the drinking happened, and eventually he became the Greavsie I knew. He was a club legend though, one of the all-time greats, and even though he’s now only fifth on the all-time England charts, his goals per game ratio is one of the best, scoring 44 in 57 (current all-time best Wayne Rooney for example got 53 in 120, and long-term holder Bobby Charlton had 49 in 106; Greavsie was legendary). For Tottenham, that tally of 266 in 379 games seemed like something nobody would ever reach again. For one thing, even our legendary strikers tend not to stay for that long, or maybe wane a little. Clive Allen was the big striker when I was ten, eleven years old, scoring 49 in that one season, but even he didn’t keep that up and we ended up selling him to Bordeaux of all places (and bringing in Gary Lineker! Who scored a bunch before going to live in Japan). Great strikers like Keane and Defoe were never reaching Greavsie’s level, and when someone looked really good, a bigger team that was winning trophies would lure them away, your Berbatovs and your Bales. And then along came Harry Kane. Born in Walthamstow into a Spurs-loving family, he was actually on Arsenal’s books as a boy, but ended up coming through Tottenham’s youth teams before turning pro. He struggled at first to make that first team, spending time out on loan, and then being part of our Europa League campaigns, but not getting much of a shot in the Premier League. Until he did, and then he started scoring loads. He was branded a one-season wonder. He kept on scoring. He wasn’t a particularly fashionable name, but he kept on scoring. That Spurs team of around 2016, 2017, they were so bloody good, and he just kept on scoring. There was talk of other big clubs wanting him, but Spurs were not letting go. “He’s one of our own!” was the chant we would sing, being the local lad made good. He kept banging them in for England, but people were still all, “yeah but lots of them are penalties, they are against weak teams, blah blah”. He changed his game, dropped deeper, starting getting almost as many assists as goals, something ignored by people I would speak to who would always be “he just wants the goals for himself”. His price tag was so high that if anyone wanted him, they would probably need to build as a second new stadium to pay for it. He nearly did get to leave, when Man City wanted to snatch him away, but in the end he stayed, and set his sights on that Greavsie record, and maybe finally getting us a trophy. Well, we have no trophy, but Kane has finally reached the magic Greaves line, and whatever happens now, he’s a club legend for all time. Alan Shearer is perhaps Newcastle’s greatest ever name, with zero silverware to show for it (he did win the league with Blackburn, but kids would believe that now about as much as kids in the 80s would believe that Jimmy Greaves off the TV was some sort of amazing goal machine). Maybe now Kane has done this, if we don’t get a trophy this year, and after his world Cup disappointments with England, maybe Kane will be given his leave to go and pick up a free medal at Bayern or PSG or dare I say it Man United, but it wouldn’t mean as much. Or maybe he will stay, and see us to the promised land? As Greavsie would say, football is a funny old game. Either way, Harry Kane, we salute you, the all-new Greatest Of All Time*. You deserve it.

(*though I still love Ossie Ardiles best)

Spurs v Frankfurt 1982

February 2, 2023February 2, 2023Leave a comment

Fast-forward to Fall, here’s something fun. This season (2022-23) Tottenham Hotspur are playing in the Champions League. You wouldn’t know it the way we have been playing, but it’s true. For those unfamiliar, I’m a massive Spurs fan, ever since I was a little kid obsessed with Ossie Ardiles and Glenn Hoddle. It came from my big brother, who used to go to every game in the early 1980s, and still has his collection of programmes, especially the 1980-81 and 1981-82 ones all bound in the official binder, every single game. We were great back then. I didn’t start going until 1983 I think it was (might have been ’85; it was a game against Everton and we lost 2-1, I think it was the 83/84 season because I have a memory of Marc Falco scoring while my brother was in the toilet, but it might have been the 84/85 season, and Graham Roberts scored in that one) (the internet’s great isn’t it, you can look up any old football score, but you can’t tell if you were there, and I don’t have the programme any more). By the way, Americans would say ‘program’ instead of ‘programme’ – “there’s no ‘me’ in ‘program’!” – but to us quaint British folk from Jollie Olde EngerLandde we still use the traditional ‘programme’, same as we use ‘colour’, doughnut’ and ‘aluminium’. We just like extra letters, while in America they are removed to make more room for advertising space. Anyway, I used to have all the programmes for games I went to in my old bedroom at home, and then I remember that a bunch of them got wet because (it was assumed) the cat did a wee on them. I think the radiator leaked on them. Whatever the culprit was, some of my own programmes got a bit damaged. That said I still have a bunch of them in the loft of my mum’s house, and they are mixed in with a bunch that were given to me by my brother-in-law at the time, also a Spurs fanatic who went to a lot of games. Last summer when I was back in London I went into the loft to find these old programmes and bring them back to the US with me, including a copy of the 1981 FA Cup Final, which I treasured when I was a kid. This is another one he left me, when Spurs played Eintracht Frankfurt in the 1981-82 European Cup-Winner’s Cup. That competition doesn’t exist any more, but it was always my favourite one of the three, which in those days were the European Cup – now the Champions League – which only the league champions could play in, your Liverpools, Aston Villas, Nottingham Forests; the Cup-Winners Cups, for the winners of a country’s main domestic cup, so in England the FA Cup winners would play in it, your Tottenhams, Arsenals, Man Uniteds – Spurs won in 1981 so we were in it for the 81-82 season, eventually going out to Barcelona in the semi-final; and the UEFA Cup – previously the Fair’s Cup, now called the Europa League – which was for those teams who came second, third and fourth in the league, your Ipswiches, Watfords, Evertons. I remember the French magazine France Football would always just call them ‘C1’, ‘C2’ and ‘C3’ respectively, indicating the order of their importance. When the Cup-Winner’s Cup was finally given the boot at the end of the 1990s, it became one of those things we old people who go on about the 80s and 90s love to reminisce about. For Spurs it had historical importance – we were the first English club to win a European trophy, that being the 1963 European Cup-Winners Cup, beating Atletico Madrid 5-1 (get in there Greavsie!). We would wear all-white in our early European adventures, so that the kit would appear glow under the floodlights, these mostly being evening games – the ‘Glory Glory Nights’, as they became known. It’s still our tradition to wear all-white in Europe as a home kit, instead of the usual navy shorts. Nowadays if I tell people about Spurs winning the 1963 Cup-Winners Cup, I may as well be saying we won the Anglo-Italian Cup or the Makita Tournament or the Wembley Arena Indoor 5-a-side or something. Hey, I still count Le Tournoi as an England trophy.

I thought I’d draw this though in honour of Spurs playing Eintracht Frankfurt once again (twice actually, two legs), this time in the Champions League, or ‘C1’ as France Football calls it. I believe they still call the Europa League ‘C3’; there is no ‘C2’. I wonder if the new Conference League, in which Spurs played last season in the inaugural competition, is called ‘C4’? I know you don’t really care. So I found this old programme, which I think was one of the earliest exposures I had to German football, indeed the German language, as we used to always have a section in the language of our guests, welcoming them to White Hart Lane (in this case, Wilkommen to Weiss Harz Strasse) (actually I think it would be “Weißer Hirsch” but as with all translation it’s much funnier when it’s wrong). I used to look at all the players they had, not really knowing who any of them were, although one of their subs in the programme was a young Joachim Löw, future excellently-dressed World Cup-winning boss of Germany. They also had a player I remember called Bum Kun Cha, who was the most famous South Korean player I knew until my favourite guy Sonny years later, and I remember seeing him again in the Mexico 86 sticker album (and yes, child me giggled that he had the word ‘Bum’ in his name, which middle-aged me would of course not do). Frankfurt’s assistant manager was called ‘Dieter Stinka’ though, which middle-aged me still finds very funny. Their coach was Lothar Buchmann, which makes me think of the library cop from Seinfeld, Bookman – “well I gotta flash for ya, joy-boy!” – and he looks a bit like your secondary school’s deputy headmaster in 1985. Their main player was Bruno Pezzey, who I don’t know much about but German friends I know who were watching football at the time are very familiar with him. I looked him up, Bruno Pezzey, it turns out he was Austrian, and born in the very small town of Lauterach, in Vorarlberg. Lauterach is where I spent two weeks in 1991 on a school exchange trip to Austria, staying with a family there, riding a bike around in the rain, hanging out with students from the Lauterach high school, doing a work experience in a small advertising agency up a mountain next to the nearby town of Dornbirn. Pezzey tragically died in 1994 aged only 39, and his youth club FC Lauterach have a sports center named in his honour. The things you learn. The other people on the cover are our great boss, General Burkinshaw, under whom we signed Argentinian World-Cup winners Ossie Ardiles and Ricky Villa, and won three trophies (the FA Cup in 1981 and 1982, the the UEFA Cup in 1984). These days of course we don’t need to win ‘trophies’, just being good sometimes is a trophy in itself, just participating in the Champions League occasionally is definitely something we hang in our trophy cabinet, or the half-and-half scarves with teams like Monaco and Dortmund at least. The other guy is our long-time captain and club legend, Steve Perryman. When I think of the phrase Club Captain, I think of Steve Perryman. A tough little fellow, I never actually met him, but I did get a nod from him as he walked past me when he was player-manager of Brentford back in the like 1989 or something. Maybe he was nodding at someone else. On that same day I did get to actually meet Geoffrey from Rainbow though, which was a massive deal, and he drew a little picture of Zippy for me. Not a very good picture of Zippy admittedly, but I don’t think Geoffrey did the artwork in Rainbow, that was probably done by Bungle or someone. I do have Perryman’s autograph though – on my 40th birthday, as a special present my older brother got me an official programme from the game Spurs played on the day I was born, a home game vs West Ham, and had it signed by Steve Perryman himself. I have it framed on my wall, and Steve wishes me a Happy Birthday “Pete”, with my name in inverted commas like it’s some kind of nickname or alias. Still, it’s something I treasure.

Incidentally, Tottenham won this game 2-0. We also won the game in 2022, 3-2.

When the Spurs go Marching Home

March 8, 2019March 10, 20192 Comments

And here it is, the brand new Tottenham Hotspur Stadium! The new home of my beloved team. I have wanted to come and sketch the construction for ages, but never made it here until a couple of weeks ago – fortunately, construction has taken many months longer than the original optimistic plan, so I was able to get one sort-of in-progress sketch. The stadium is huge. It’s so different walking out onto Tottenham High Road and seeing it loom out, much larger than the old White Hart Lane ground. I wandered about taking photos, before settling on a spot to sketch on Park Lane by Northumberland Avenue. Lots of workmen in their hi-viz jackets, cranes still putting the panels onto the side. And then it was time to go into the new Spurs Shop, much vaster than the old one, and they’re even better at getting me to spend my money. One of the many things I did buy was the new book, The Spurs Shirt, an amazing (and very heavy) book covering the history of the Tottenham shirt. Very much up my Lane. When I was finally done, my backpack much heavier than before, I went off to my friend’s place in south Tottenham, for a fun night out in Stoke Newington.

After Tottenham’s historic home White Hart Lane was knocked down, the massive new modern stadium (with a retractable pitch, so that some NFL games can be held there) was built with an expected opening date of the start of the 2018-19 season. Maybe a few games in. Alright it’ll be September. Ok maybe not September, maybe a bit later. January? Hmm not January, let’s just say “coming soon”. In the meantime we have been playing at Wembley, waiting to move into the new home, couch-surfing in north-west London. Today, Spurs finally announced two test events, ahead of expected Premier League games at the new ground, with the expectation that our Champions League quarter-final will be, finally back home in Tottenham. Come on you Spurs!

white hart lane

June 18, 2012June 18, 20121 Comment

White Hart Lane Stadium, on Tottenham High Road, home of the mighty Spurs. Well, we could be a bit mightier, but still we’re pretty mighty. We ‘might’ have come third, etc, we ‘might’ have gotten into the Champions League, Harry ‘might’ have committed to staying about four months ago rather than let uncertainty about England affect our previously epic season, etc. It’s all water under the Stamford Bridge now (by the way we did finish above Chelsea, though of course Arsenal pipped us in the end). Ah well! New season, new manager, new kit, new dawn at White Hart Lane. New stadium too, in a few years time, or so the plan goes. I hadn’t been up there in a good while, to the Lane, so on tis one day when a day trip to Brighton was aborted due to very bad traffic, my friend drove me over to Tottenham to look around the Spurs shop (I picked up a nice retro 1981 Cup Final top), and gave me a bit of time to sketch the stadium. There’s no truly great angle to draw it from the outside, so I chose a spot which I think sums up this block. Many of the older buildings which were there the last time I visited have been knocked down, in preparation for the possible new ground, to be built directly north of the current ground which Spurs have occupied since 1899. My older brother, an ever-present at the Lane for several years as a boy himself, took me to games when I was a kid, back in the days of Hoddle, Ossie, Falco, Clemence, the Allens. Whatever happens with this club, I will always have that. The thrill of approaching the stadium after a long walk up the High Road from Seven Sisters, and entering the ground which was smaller then but seemed massive with the packed terraced crowds, reading the matchday programme while bigger men around me sang, swore, shouted and clapped, as real-life football sticker heroes ran around the perfect turf; now that was football.

I didn’t have a great deal of time to sketch, so I drew the stadium and the outline work of the rest, and finished off the detailing and colour later on. I had to make sure there was a lamp-post – legend has it that the grammar school boys who founded the club as Hotspur FC in 1882 would meet beneath a lamp-post (and shortly after that they sacked their first manager, changed the lightbulb and ushered in a new dawn, the first of many).

‘cos we only know that there’s gonna be a show

September 4, 2010Leave a comment

I forgot to post this when I drew it. Back in July, I went to see MLS outfit San Jose Earthquakes play my team from London, Tottenham Hotspur. It was fun, though a long way. Anyway, I got a phonecall from San Jose Earthquakes this week, which was a surprise. They were just following up on my recent visit to Buck Shaw stadium and wanted to see how my experience could have been improved. Welcome to America folks, seriously, can you imagine English clubs calling up everyone who went to their matches – including away fans – and asking about customer service? (Maybe they do these days?) Incredible, I was really impressed. I had actually enjoyed the day immensely and told the guy so (even mentioned that I cycled which helped me beat the post-game traffic). As for suggestions, I told him to ban Arsenal shirts (that got a laugh). I was going to say they should have gotten rid of their cheerleaders and had Ossie Ardiles sing a few half-time numbers (Ossie had been meeting fans in San Francisco the night before – how I wish I’d been there! As you know he was my childhood hero). Football football football.

i want to be in that number

July 19, 2010July 19, 2010Leave a comment

The World Cup is over, and it’s a long wait until the Premier League season begins. But that doesn’t mean no footy! And who should come to California for a friendly but my own beloved Tottenham Hotspur FC. They kicked off their US tour with a match against their club partners in the MLS, San Jose Earthquakes, who happen to be my ‘local’ big team. When I say ‘local’ it’s all relative of course – San Jose is almost three hours away by train, and I’d never been before Saturday. When I say ‘big’, it’s all relative… their ground, Buck Shaw Stadium, is located on the Santa Clara University campus, and the Earthquakes recorded their largest attendance there with a whopping 10,712. I was in that number.

Sure, the match ended 0-0, but it was a fun occasion. We had our big names there, those who didn’t go to the World Cup – Bale, Modric, Huddlestone, and the returning Robbie Keane (who missed some sitters). I coudn’t believe how many Tottenham fans there were! A good deal of whom were American, but many were British (with their American kids tagging along; that’ll be me in a few years). And it was like a walking gallery of Spurs football shirt history! I’ve never seen so many different era Spurs shirts, not even at the Lane. All the classics were there, with the exception of the 1986 hummel one, I never saw that. My one wouldn’t fit me now, I was only ten back then. I wore the all-white Kappa shirt. On the field, the players were wearing the new Tottenham shirt for the first time, and it’s a beauty, I’ll be getting that. Surprisingly, here and there were dotted people in bright and obvious red Arsenal shirts; unsurprisingly, each of them were roundly booed as they passed (and some looked genuinely surprised at that fact too). There were lots of other shirts on show from all sorts of clubs and countries, something you also wouldn’t normally see at the Lane. A guy sat near me had the old Wales away shirt from the early 90s, the white Umbro one with little green and red arrows and lines on it. Haven’t seen that in years. Even the Earthquakes fans were well decked out, and I saw kits going from the current black Adidas tops to the old Nike blue ones with white arms.

yeah, that was offside

But enough football-kit geekery. You know I can’t help myself. I enjoyed watching the Earthquakes; it’s America, for sure, and there are cheerleaders and sunburn, but it felt a lot like how football used to be, or still is for small clubs, intimate, friendly, informal. I really enjoyed that. I would go again. I also liked that I cycled to the stadium from San Jose train station. Good job I knew the way.

Oh yes, and some urban sketching. Before the match I drew the Mission Santa Clara de Asis, on the SCU campus right by Buck Shaw.

Come on you Spuuuuuurs!!!!!!! Tottenham play New York Red Bulls on Thursday; I think I’ll watch that one on telly.

he’s had a dream for a year or two

August 19, 2009August 20, 20091 Comment

#20 in a series of 30. The cobalt copic fineliner pens are still holding out!

So this one is very appropriate, because right now Spurs are sitting at the top of the English Premier League, albeit after only two games. This new season has been very unusual – so far we have had no draws at all, and all of the London teams have been winning. But Spurs are top, and I’ll enjoy it while it lasts (that’ll be Saturday, then). It’s a nice change after last year, when we had to wait nine matches for our first win – and had to sack the manager to get it. Interestingly enough, the last time we won our first two matches was in 1994, when of all people Ossie Ardiles was manager! And he was sacked by November. Well, that’s Tottenham Hotspur for you.

Or “Tottingham” as Ossie used to call it. I was dumbstruck when I met him, outside the old Spurs training ground in Mill Hill, shortly before those two victories in ’94. I had met Klinsmann too of course, who had just arrived at the club, plus Sheringham, Anderton, Barmby, Mabbutt, all of those guys. After getting their autographs on a Spurs shirt (which I still have) and a few polaroids, I sat on the hood of a car to pack up my bag. And then Osvaldo CésarArdiles comes up and opens the car door! He was really nice, posed for a photo, said hello to my little sister, shook my shaking hand, and we left. He drove past as we walked down Bunn’s Lane, and actually waved. I know, it is incredible that a World-Cup winning footballer can actually say a few civil words and wave from a moving vehicle, but when you were the kid who wanted to actually be Ossie Ardiles, that is in fact a big deal. My knees were even trembly.

juande, but not today

October 9, 20082 Comments

deadline day

September 2, 20082 Comments

Cor, that was exciting, wasn’t it! I don’t mean Obama’s big speech, or the rain on his parade caused by McCain’s choice of Veep (oh yeah, I hate that word, don’t I) in Sarah “who the..?” Palin, or the rain on the republicans parade caused by hurricane gustav, or the rain on that parade caused by the whole bristol palin non-story. A few days ago I’d have thought bristol palin was an office supply company or something, and as for trig palin, well there’s a name for your “babies, guns’n’jesus” candidate’s son/grandson. Now there seem to be a lot of people in the news dedicating airtime to discussing how they shouldn’t be discussing that story, and before you know it oops, we can’t talk about candidate’s policies, we’re out of time, back later for an interview with the baby’s father…

No, my American friends, my excitement was caused by something which you have undoubtedly no interest in whatsoever: transfer deadline day for the English Premier League. You do things different here, with your drafts and your salary caps, but yesterday in England it was Crazy Season. The deadline to make transfers was midnight September 1st, so clubs and agents were frantically trying to broker deals and outdo each other before midnight, when their expensive striker might juts turn into an expensive pumpkin. I was glued to my computer (midnight there being a comfy four pm here), following the updates on two sites, and was astonished at the mischief suddenly-rolling-in-it Manchester City were causing. I have no doubt that their hilarious bid for Berbatov, gladly accepted by Spurs who were keen to see the Bulgarian fulfill his dream of a move to somewhere in Manchester, helped us get the 30 million we were asking, which United begrudgingly coughed up. Now sulky Berbs has his dream move, and will be with a team that will win things for him, as opposed to one where he actually had to work for his wage packet (oh, except if he was sulking). By the way, sir Alex, four years seems to mean two years these days, so watch out for Real Madrid’s inevitable courting come 2010, and Dimitar’s sudden lifelong dream to play at the Berbateu – I mean, Bernabeu.

There were nails bitten aplenty – would anyone sign Michael Owen? Would Arsenal sign anyone? People texting in claiming to have seen [insert any footballer here] getting out of a taxi outside [insert any football club here]. City were my heroes of the day though, landing the Brazilian Robinho, beating money-bags Chelsea to his signature; he too had talked endlessly about his dream move, but in actually turning the money-grabber’s dream-team down for even more lovely wonga he truly embodies the modern shamelessly greedy money-grabbing bastard footballer of today. Hooray!

I love staying up all night for general elections, watching as each constituency announces their result, watching as the Monster Raving Loony Party honk away at the back; I was reminded of the look on Michael Portillo’s face when he lost Southgate when I though of Chelsea, shortly before midnight, only this time the Monster Raving Loonies actually won the seat, and will apparently soon be trying to win the biggest seat of all, with a flipping hysterical and audacious bid for Cristiano Ronaldo. Oh, please please do it! Just for a laugh. I wish Spurs could get bought by some super-rich Arabs (pretty unlikely though, given Tottenham’s Jewish tradition, Yid Army and all, but you never know – it could be the first step to world peace?).

Bristol who?

two from the top and four small ones please

July 29, 20081 Comment

You might think the title should be “little green bag”, but since the bag is blue in real life, I’ve gone for a vorderman reference.

This is my my trusty blue shoulder bag, in which i carry my sketchbook and pencil case, along with something else to write in or perhaps read, everywhere i go. It’s from eddie bauer and has a million pockets; it’s the perfect size. I keep my little waterbottle in one of the side pockets, several other useful items like clips and tissue and business cards and bus schedules to sacramento litter the other pockets. I’ve had such bags before (all bought from one store in Aix-en-Provence), all sketchbook sized and convenient, but never with this many pockets. Drawn in olive green copic 0.1.

And Americans may not know what I’m talking about in this one, so let me explain. Robbie Keane, my favourite footballer (that’s soccerer to you), has left my club Spurs and joined Liverpool, who he supported as a boy. I am gutted, gutted, but I don’t blame Keane, I’m pleased for him; if I played for Liverpool and Spurs came in for me, I’d go yesterday. It’s just, we Spurs fans, all we really wanted was a team of Robbie Keanes. We sold Defoe, the ‘too many strikers’ excuse. Berbatov will go anyway. We’re left with Darren Bent.

And Vorderman leaving Countdown!!! (I wonder how many google searches of ‘vorderman’ and ‘countdown’ will end up here now? I had bloody ‘ars*nal sketchbook’ direct here last week, i’m not happy about that) It’s a world gone mental. I don’t know how to correctly write those last few beats of the countdown music, but imagine them in your head now for vorderman:

dun-uh, dun-uh, dun-uh-nuh-nuh.