It’s a funny thing you know, but I have something in common with Geoffrey Boycott. We both fell in love at a very early age and have remained faithful ever since. Unlike Boyks though, I didn’t fall in love with myself. No, my first true love was Wolverhampton Wanderers and I love the old girl more with every passing year. (I realise now that, what I thought was love for Susan Legg, when I was seven years old, was just pure unadulterated lust!)
Something that made my feelings even stronger was the fact that my club was always so tantalisingly far away. Any visit would always involve a three hundred mile round trip. That was my dad’s fault, as he moved from his home town of Wolverhampton to Southampton a few years before I was born. What he did do, though, was pass on his love for the club to his youngest son (but not to my three older brothers, by the way, who never showed any interest) and although there hasn’t been much success enjoyed over the years, I wouldn’t swop my old girl for any of these young floosies around today. No, you can keep your Chelseas and your Man Citys with more money than sense and your Man Uniteds with endless success. Real love is for better, for worse. You don’t really know love until you’ve shared failure and disappointment – and we’ve certainly shared a bit of that over the years.
Let’s face it, I didn’t choose a great time to start following the Wolves back in 1961. I had just missed the glory, glory years of the fifties and I was not to know, then, that the future was to hold so many disappointments.
My first exciting memory of Wolves, though, was reading on the notice board at junior school that our next match was away to Wolverhampton! I couldn’t sleep for a week. Imagine my disappointment then, when the school bus stopped a few miles down the road at some village called Woolhampton (stupid name). Reading was never my strong point.
I was football mad and I was Wolves mad, but the only chance I could get to see them was on the odd family visits, which were few and far between particularly as we didn’t have a car then. It meant that when I did go it was awesome. I remember walking in the first time and staring up in wonderment at the massive human mountain behind the goal to the right. I loved the curved roof of the stand opposite with the clock. I thought it was wonderful and, I realise now, that was the day I fell in love. I don’t remember much about the game, except wonderful Waggy Wagstaffe tormenting them down the left wing and, I think, Terry Wharton on the right, thundering shots in on goal. I was in love and I had my first Wolves heroes.
My faithfulness was tested on a couple of occasions and, I’m ashamed to say, I had a couple of flings with local hussies. When I was without transport as a kid, I used to catch the football bus to watch my nearest team, Reading. Then, when I moved to Bournemouth, I watched them under Harry Redknapp, when they knocked Man U out of the cup and got promoted to what is now the championship, for their first and only time.
At the time, Wolves were plummeting under the Bhatti boys and finally the day came when they played Bournemouth in the old 3rd division. Who would I support? They were both my teams. I wanted them both to win. That was until I neared the ground and heard the deafening chants of the Wolves fans and those two wonderful words‘ The Wolves!’, ‘The Wolves!’ Despite the state of the club and the team at the time, the away supporters took over large sections of the ground with banners demanding ‘Bhattis out!’ My chest filled with pride and, much to the disgust of my mates, I went next to the away support and cheered them to the final whistle. Well, of course I had to, didn’t I, they were my first true love. That was the first time I realised how much emotion was invested in this football team, from a place where I had never lived. There was no logic to it. Logically, I should have supported my local team, who were going places and I could watch every week. But, you see, I just liked them, I didn’t love them.
I’m not ashamed to admit that, occasionally, Wolves can make me cry – and it’s not when they lose and I’m sad. It’s when they make me proud. I remember when Football Focus did a piece on the opening of the new Molineux. The Terminator was playing and the camera closed in on a girl as she chanted ‘The Wolves!’ My wife walked in as tears rolled down my cheeks and, when she asked why I was crying, I had to admit I didn’t really know.
I guess that’s just love for you. There’s no rhyme nor reason really. Although this love affair’s had its bad times, it’s also left some wonderful memories. Of my absolute favourite players: John Richards, Frank Munro, Mike Bailey, Kenny Hibbitt and, of course, Bully. Of being there when we got to the UEFA cup final and the two league cup wins and, of course, our steady revival under the present regime. In fact I’d say my old girl’s looking a lot better than she has for a long time. I reckon I got a goodun there don’t you.
When did you fall in love?
I couldn’t tell you the exact first game, but I know it was around 1988 when I was 7. My mum married a Wolves fan, and although my Dad is a Villa fan, he made the terrible mistake of never taking me to a game. My step-dad was a season ticket holder, he used to take me to sit in the John Ireland stand and I loved every second of it. I know I saw Portsmouth play once, as after seeing their badge I remember asking whether they were a Muslim team (pretty astute question for a 7 year old I reckon) and I definitely remember the game against Sheffield Utd where we drew and both went up, although the only reason I remember the game is Utd’s fine stripes looked pink, and I shouted something about beating thus bunch of ‘pink fluffy clouds’, again much to the amusement of my Step Dad.
We moved away from the midlands to Gloucester, where I was surrounded by Arsenal, Liverpool and Man U fans. Being Wolves was very important to me, and I would wear my golden colours at any opportunity. I think in some ways living away from Wolverhampton makes you a stronger fan, having to defend your team against supposedly bigger ones with noone to back you up.
It is imperative that when my partner and I start producing kids we live near enough that I can take them to Molineux. I really couldn’t handle a glory hunter for a child and would be utterly heartbroken.
That certainly is an astute question for a seven year old Sleachy.
I also agree about future kids. My philosophy will always be: Wolves or nothing.
Yeah you’re right Sleachy, Man U fans and the like are two a penny. Supporting Wolves means it’s from the heart.
I was 6 years old when my dad took me to my first game. He was a Wolves fan from his teens and used to tell me all of his stories and experiences along with the history behind the club, which i did not understand at the time. But i remember getting in the car with 6 of my dads m8s and the exitment was unbelievable! I couldnt wait to get to the game and as my dad and his m8s like a cheeky pint be4 the game (dont we all) we got there around two hours early. But it was in the bars where i started to fall in love as the atmosphere was something i will allways remember, the buzz around the place was amazing. We lost the game 4-0 but i diddnt care i am now 18 and have had a season ticket from when i was 10. i littereally work all week for the football at the weekend. I will always be in old gold and would do anything for my club through thick and thin.
“i littereally work all week for the football at the weekend.”
I think that’s a great line Tom and is a sentiment shared pretty much by every working class bloke who pays the over-inflated prices to get into Molineux on a matchday.
Losing 4-0 in your first game is certainly a baptism of fire. I must have been at that game. Would be interested to look back and find out who that was against.
4-0? You were lucky Tom. One of my first games i went to see us away at Southampton. We were 4th in the table and lost 9-3! I jest not. It just made me care more somehow and,of course, i’ve hated Southampton ever since.
An excellent, excellent article, Martin, even brought tears to my eyes.
My first memory is of standing behind the goal in the South Bank, eyes at pitch level coz I was on a wooden crate, standing on the gravel in the trench that went around the ground, watching Peter Braodbent score.
I haven’t a clue when that was, sometime in the fifties, my “uncle” from up the street took me. I remember the shock of how green the pitch seemed.
The first game I can recall properly is losing 0 – 3 to Liverpool reserves, 6 days before they won the cup in 1963.
After that, the game that we old farts all have imbedded in our brains is Doog’s home debut hat trick against Hull, which was on ITV the next day. In those days very few games were televised, so it was a big deal for a second division match to be shown.
The rest of course is history.
The last match I attended was also very emotional, a little 1 – 0 win against QPR to send us up.
Difficult to get over there every week, little thing called finance, but like you say, Martin, sometimes better to be a far off fan, makes you feel more loyal in a way.
Big plus living in Texas is there are no shit fans that I’ve come across.
FOWB
“Uncle”? Is that in Uncle Arthur on Dads Army?? Stupid boy – not least for stealing my line about Martins article bringing tears to my eyes.
Anyway, FOHC – shouldnt you be on a cruise?? “Lack of finance” my arse!!!!
Glad you enjoyed it Clive. When you’re very young you notice things like the colour of the grass don’t you. You’re so impressionable then it’s all so exciting and i think why we get hooked line and sinker. They don’t let the kids in cheap for nothing.(If that makes sense)
Lovely to see you’re just a big softie too deep down. Sure that wasn’t Uncle Ernie though? You know ‘ fiddle about, fiddle about’!!
When my dad and step mum got married in 1980, I stayed with his best man and family in Bridgnorth for 2 weeks while they were on honeymoon. My first game was Norwich and we won 2-1, I was hooked. We then moved to Haydock and I’ll always remember the stick I got for being a Wolves fan on the Cubs day trip to anfield. The best moment for me tho was walking onto the pitch as mascot at the age of 13 against Blackpool (my grandad’s team) on a bitterly cold bonfire night, in the old third division going down. Danny Cranie scored while I was getting changed the bugger.
Great post Martin. Its nice to have another ‘old git’ on here.
And, for those who deprecate the current Uefa Cup, its worth remembering that only ONE club qualified for the European Cup then. 2nd, third or fourth got you into the Uefa Cup not onto a gravy train of greed.
One of the greatest nights ever was when we stuffed the mighty Juventus. I’ll never forget that Sugget (ex WBA, heavy drinker and smoker) goal.
The smog of twenty thousand fags hazy in the lights, a half an acre black and white check flag seven veiling the South Bank and the noise. God, what noise!
And, you know what, I reckon Mick Macarthy is the best manager we’ve had since Bill McGarry last gave us a team to be so proud of.
1972.
26th February 1972, to be more precise.
I was six. My dad was a lifelong fan and went to a handful of home games every season (only lack of money at that time prevented him going to more). For some reason, at that age, my dad decided it was “time” to induct me, and took me to the home game against Ipswich. Hibbit scored the opener and immediately became my idol. It ended 2-1 to Wolves.
My second game was the last match of that season against then-mighty Leeds. Same result (massive!) but I scarcely remember a thing. Molineux was packed out (c.60,000). My dad put my tiny frame on his shoulders for a while, but the sheer numbers of fans pushing and shoving in all the excitement made it too dodgy. Still, one thing I can remember leaving the ground with a beaming smile even though I’d seen only about 20 minutes of football!
My first game was Wolves 7 Cardiff in 1967 I believe… and if that couldn’t get me hooked, then nothing would.Same year we were promted to the old 1st Division as runners up to Coventry. The first game of teh following season, we played Manure at home, and Paddy Buckley scored after about 30 sec…. the game ended up 3-3… I remember it most for the incident were George Best stamped on Bobby Thompsons face. Loved the Euro ties and the Anglo Italian boxing matches..lol
Match I remember most was when we stopped Leeds from doing the double in 71/72
Kowloon… I was there too !! I would have been 14… Frank Munro and Dougan scored for us…Bremner scored for them. I think it wa sthis game where Done Revie allegedly tried to bribe our playes… I’ll stand corrected on this if wrong
I am sure that game must live on in the minds of many, Dazza. Illustrious opponents were put to the sword in a real cauldron-like atmosphere. Can’t say that I saw too much of the action, however. On reflection, being just a wee 6-year-old dot in such a packed stadium was probably a bit too daunting, but I’m still glad to be able to say that I went. Don’t remember the bribe allegations though, I must admit.
Postscript: I emailed my dad (now 71) to say that I’d kind of name-checked him in the comments to this blog. He’s just got up, the old (but wise) codger, read my posting, and replied me that he could swear that the first game he took me to (vs. Ipswich) finished 2-2. In disbelief I checked, but he’s right. Blinking heck – so which one of us is senile! For years I’ve thought we won that game. Seems my memories are obviously very rose-tinted!
Scooped….wasn’t it Danny Hegan??
Yes Dazza it was. Well it was late last night and you know what I meant, an ex WBA, alcoholic chain smoker but what a bloody goal!
My first game was in 88 against Reading at home. My dad had only agreed to take me to the game if i agreed to being a Wolves fan! It ended up 2-2, and i still remember walking in the turnstiles of the south bank, down past the toilets and through the tunnel onto the terraces. That sight will live with me until my dying day. I think thats when I knew i’d fallen in love and nothing would break it.
And even though it was only the third division, I honestly thought that it would always be like that! Rarely losing, having players who you looked upto because they seemed human- unlike nowadays when they are untouchable.
Hathwolf: That was my first game too!!! And I’ve got some great news for a Monday morning mate…We won 2-1! Phil Chard and Robbie Dennison (header). It’s on the Mark Kendall ‘View from the Back’ VHS that me and Dad have too. What a quality production that was!
Brilliant blog BTW Martin.
It was this game that I fell in love. I have cried three times when watching the Wolves. Once when we lost to Oldham away 4-1 in 89. We were 1 up through Thommo and I literally couldn’t get it into my little head that we would lose after the year I’d had in division three (with Hathwolf and a few thousand others!)
Then when McInlay decked David Kelly in ‘that’ play off game I shed a tear.
Then again in the choke season when we drew away at Sheff Wed. I actually cried for Dad that day. He looked a bit down!
On a complete tangent, I got the mother and father of all b****ings for crying when Jimmy White lost his 6th world snooker final against that pizza faced b**&ard Steven Hendry.
Dad ordered me to stop crying over a loser, to man up and realise its just a game of snooker. 15 years later and Dad confessed that he only said that to give him the resolve to stop himself from completely breaking down in tears himself! Oh Jimmy.
Crying over snooker?
The only time your Dad cried over snooker was when I came to Cleobury Mortimer and thrashed him, time and time again!!!
And I bet the blue paper is still on the toilet!!!
I cried at Wembley in March of 1974.
Big upset when we beat mighty Man City 2 – 1.
In those days they put out an LP of the game commentary, and City were such odds on favorites to win that the cover of the LP was light blue!!
Ha.
Kenny Hibbett and John Richards put paid to that, but one outstanding memory was of Denis Law, a god for Utd and then City at that time, wearing a Wolves shirt after the game, having graciously congratulated us, and The Doog in particular, for wtnning.
A real class act, that guy, and what a brilliant player.
Ben, do some work.
FOWB
Clive, have you still got the jester outfit? I reckon I could get into that. Might wear it when we get to the final of the Carling Cup!
The only times I cried were when you knocked on the door!
It would appear that my mother’s morals are being questioned here, with reference to my “uncle”.
I’ll have you know all 436 of my favorite uncles will testify that my mum was a “good” girl!!
I often wondered why I don’t look like the rest of my family.
Anyway, I digress.
Of course, all self respecting Wolves fans of the seventies were at the famous “we stopped Leeds doing the double/bribery” game.
The rumour going round was that Bernie Shaw was bribed to give away a penalty and he did in fact handle the ball in the box, right in front of the North Bank, and only 2 people did’nt see him, the ref and the linesman.
The Mol was heaving with Wolves fans, Leeds fans still drunk fom winning the Cup 2 days previously and Derby fans who needed us to win so they would be Champions.
Meanwhile Cloughie was on holiday in Europe somewhere!!!
Who was at the Mol that last night of the season when we had to beat Liverpool to stay up, providing Birmingham lost, while Liverpool needed to win to be champions?
I remember goofing off work early, going past the Mol around 3 in the afternoon, and seeing a heaving mass of red waiting, non too patiently, to get in.
I got to the ground after me tea, around 6 and we actually took down one of the big green doors at the side of the North Bank to get in.
The place was heaving with scousers, even some up the floodlight pylons and on the roof of the Waterloo Road stand.
Kindon put us ahead after about 20 minutes, and we were dreaming the impossible dream, but they scored at least 2, maybe 3 I don’t remember, and of course Birmingham drew, so we were doomed.
Still a wonderful atmosphere, even if we did lose.
With regard to Scooped’s memory of the big black and white Juventus flag in the South Bank.
It is interesting to note that we must have converted a few Italian fans to Wolves fans that evening, coz the very same flag showed up in the South Bank 3 days later at our next home match. Some cynics might accuse Wolves fans of nicking the flag from the eyeties, but surely not??!!
Let’s face it, with their war record, it would not have been much of a fight!!
FOWB
Clive… at half time in the Liverpool game, we were still up, we were winning and Blues were losing…away at Sheff Utd ??…if I remember right, Toshack scored twice in 3 minutes at the South Bank end, and that was that. The programme from that night is one of the most collectable ever printed, done in an old Victorian type set,,, “the great final showdown” or something like that. I couldn’t get in that night, it was chaos
2006, right after the world cup.
Ok so maybe you think I’m just a cliché’. Just another American who only now became aware of English football. Just another poser rooting for an English team because it’s the “it” thing to do over here.
I hope you can look past that because the truth is I have fallen in love with Wolves, though I’ve not seen a match in person, though I’ve not been a fan since birth, though I’ve never even been to England! How can this even be? Can’t it though? Can’t I too know love like you do and be as emotionally vested? Can’t I feel the pain of loss and the hope for the future?
Once I found my love for the game I had to choose a team to follow. I knew I couldn’t live with myself being the epitome of the American fan, choose one of the top 4 and act like you’ve always been a die-hard. I knew too many I’ve-always-loved-Man U- since-the-day-I-was-born fans to ever go that route. And now all of those same in crowds are suddenly Fulham or Everton “supporters” (oh don’t you know we have to start talking like the English too if they’ll ever respect us for loving their teams) which is only slightly less irritating. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boy Rooney and will always root for him to be spectacular except against the Wolves.
Which brings me too…why Wolves? I admit I was without any knowledge of the club history or city or the people and I choose Wolves simply by the superior team name and badge. Sad I know, but hey, I had to pick a team by some criteria and without any knowledge or ties to anything that seemed the best way. Plenty of time later to learn who I just arranged my marriage with. For this truly was an arranged marriage for better or worse, the important part was to have a gal and stay to her. It didn’t even matter Wolves were not even in top flight, though I knew that meant I’d be tempted by the other more beautiful and alluring ones lurking around just begging me to give them a night or even a week… as long as they were playing well. (I was tempted my darling, but I never strayed). And now? Well I never fell in love really but rather it grew slowly with every game and with the more I learned about the history and tactics and importance of the game. And eventually love did come, like a man who realizes his arranged wife is his soul mate too! I’m fully in it now, I’m a wolves fan for life and will train my offspring right from the beginning.
It may not be the story you hoped for, I may not be your typical fan, oh sorry, “supporter”, but I know this game, I respect this game and the traditions and history and tactics that make it beautiful, and I’m ecstatic that the wife I choose for my arranged marriage to English football ended up being the one I was supposed to be with all along. I just hope Ol’ Gold accepts me with open arms when I finally make my trip to Mecca, Molineux, for my first live Wolves match. I can’t wait!
Nick, I’m in Houston, so if you want any info on The Wolves, e mail Thomas for my e mail address, and perhaps we can get together sometime.
FOWB