Pride in the name of our club

I'm currently sat on a coach. Somewhere in Hertfordshire. It's just coming up to 7:30 and the sun is going down out of the window to my left. The radio is playing some tinny, unrecognisable pop track. My mate Steve is jolting himself awake from his slumbers every so often. Thankfully before his head lands on my right shoulder.

I am slightly hoarse and when I do speak, the odd word comes out with a slight squeak. I have a glow on my cheeks from a few beers in the sun, but more importantly pride in my team. Pride that no bitter and twisted Wednesdayite is going to downgrade or diminish. 

I believed that United would turn up today, when so often they have gone missing at Wembley. I believed that they would play with unity, pride and no shortage of passion. For forty five minutes they more than surpassed that.

They outfought and outplayed a lifeless Hull side and scored their first goals in three visits to new Wembley. 

As Jose Baxter opened the scoring within the first twenty minutes I was in shock. I celebrated like I've never celebrated before but felt kind of shell shocked. When Stefan Scougall added the second, straight after Hull had equalised, I hugged my mates and felt tears welling up.

I thought of my Nan, who passed away last August. I wished she had seen this. United outplaying a Premier League team, two divisions above us. They are performing at Wembley Nan. I pictured her sat in an armchair, holding her scarf, kicking every ball.

I thought of my Dad, back home listening to the radio. This, one Wembley trip too many to contemplate. I wished that he was stood next to me. 

I knew it could all change. It did. But for forty five minutes I felt on top of the world. At half time I saw and hugged a Blade I know from twitter. We stood in queues, wide eyed in wonder. We deserved this. We had lost concentration once and been punished, but that aside we had performed way above any expectations. 

We will tire, got to keep it solid for ten or fifteen minutes, we said. We have a chance then. 

In the end, neither happened. Facing an onslaught after positive half time changes by Steve Bruce we found ourselves 4-2 down and seemingly down and out. Then in the final 90 seconds of normal time we scored. We had a chance and nothing to lose.

Throwing caution to the wind in injury time time, Harry Maguire burst forward. His shot was blocked and Hull broke scoring a fifth goal. 

As one, the 32,000 Blades fans started applauding and cheering their team, with the Hull fans in raptures at the opposite end having sealed victory. It's something I've never seen or experienced before. Pride in the team. Pride in the club. Acknowledgment that we had lost, but by heck we had given it a go. And Hull knew it.

Ultimately the result is tinged with disappointment. When you lead 2-1 and eventually lose there is bound to be that emotion. But the fans lifted their arms, stuck out their chests and applauded the crestfallen players in red and white shirts.

Much has changed at Sheffield United in the last 7 months, most - if not all - of it for the better. We are a couple of players, a striker in particular, away from a successful side. The cup run, allied with the upturn in league form, makes the retention and recruitment of players an easier task.

Off the pitch the club is operating more efficiently and creatively, with communication much improved and a genuine unification of fans, players, staff and board members.

People left Wembley tonight in a positive mood. A seemingly hard concept for some fans of other clubs to consider. We had conceded five they said, what is there to be happy about? How little they know.

As the sun disappears beyond the horizon and the day is ending, it is clear that United are moving in a positive direction. And today is only the beginning.  

Good old Wembley-by-the-Sea

"You got to the seaside for a day out, you go to Wembley to win." 

Nigel Clough's words in a recent interview and well shared amongst Blades fans in recent weeks.

If Nigel has that embedded in the players’ minds and they continue to play to their system and dictated by their roles then we certainly have a chance. But it's rare the bookies lose money and 4-1 in a two horse race reflects the reality of the challenge facing United. So forgive me if I focus on backing the team and enjoying the day. I will be honest with you; a goal would be good, never mind a win. 

For me, any fan can't be blamed for treating the trip to Wembley as a day out. We are the self-preservation society. Looking for a protective shield from yet more hurt on the big day. This cup run has fused club and fan-base together in a way not seen for several years, but the scars still exist and they are still tender to the touch.

In my near 40 years we have had two visits to the old Wembley, two visits to new Wembley, two visits to Old Trafford and one to Cardiff. The net result was one goal scored, four play-off final defeats and three FA Cup semi-final defeats.

For the Play Off final, where more often than not we were the favourites, the team we saw all season, the team we saw in the play-off semi finals just didn't turn up on the big day.

The Cup semi-finals have been much tighter affairs, separated by the odd goal, but the heartbreak of losing to the other lot in 1993, the sight of Shearer peeling away, fist held high above his head, in celebration back in 1998 and Graham Poll's absent minded on pitch shambling alongside Seaman's wonder save in 2003 still rankle, still hurt.

Over the last few weeks Nigel Clough has reinstated belief in players who wandered the pitch vacantly and without purpose in the Autumn. He has instilled pride in the fans, their undimmed passion allied with a belief that things can and will get better. For a change, I don't fear us not turning up. I don't fear us freezing and not competing. I don't think Clough will let it happen.

We are only the ninth third division side to reach the cup semi finals in 94 years. In the six rounds to date we have beaten five teams who sat above us in the league, four from divisions above. This has been a journey of giant killing from round three onwards. 

It has been a catalyst for the club and fan-base. Alongside boardroom change and managerial change the on-pitch overhaul has built momentum through the cup run. The club has re-discovered its identity and it is one that the fans can associate with. For many, the greatest times watching United come from cup matches at Bramall Lane.  

We can dare to dream, we can enjoy the day, the camaraderie, a shared experience with 33,000 like minded men, women and children and we sing and shout until we are hoarse. 

We don't turn our backs if things don't go to plan. We don't berate players for mistakes or look for scapegoats. It isn't a day for that. It is a day to be thankful that we have our club back. We have a team with the right attitude and aptitude. We have an honest and astute management team and a board that matches the ambition of the fans.


We have respect for Hull. They are a Premier League team and should remain so next season. They are up there with good reason and although the absence of Jelavic and Long is welcomed, that should not detract from the quality elsewhere. We are not the favourites, there is no expectation that has hung over us like a dark, sapping cloud before.

No one could have predicted this in September. Nobody would have predicted this on the first weekend of January as the team travelled to Villa Park. Be thankful, enjoy it and urge the team on. They aren't going for the day out. They have a job to do. To win.

Whatever happens on Sunday we should walk back to our planes, trains and automobiles with pride. We feel like a club United at last. And as we have been frequently reminded this season, it is the cup and in the Cup you just never know. 

Football & The Working Man - An Increasingly Twisted Love

This is something I wrote last Friday (February 14th), but lost (and since recovered) due to technical issues. It is about the most manipulative, tortuous and frustrating love you can have. It was probably more relevant as a Valentine's lament to the game we love, but a few days doesn't change anything.

 

Given weekend events at Bramall Lane it may seem a little incongruous, but this is more about lamenting the modern game in general and not my club on it's own.

 

 

 

It is a relationship that is a long term commitment.

At times you can argue it is a one way relationship. You put so much in to get so little back.

You do not have a monogamous partner. Yet you look at no other.

Despite this one-eyed devotion, your share of its time rises and falls over time.

 

Some say love is a gift, bestowed freely, willingly and without expectation. But this is different; there is always an expectation, and if not expectation there is hope. Hope that grinds you down over time, it might diminish, but always lingers.

 

The moments, when they come are, magical, full of ecstacy and emotion, but they are all too rare. 

You invest time, energy and money, yet it increasingly exploits you. The meals become more expensive, the clothes they insist you buy, to demonstrate your love, increase in cost.

They say you should show your love in new and inventive ways, buying bricks in walls, onesies, assorted over-priced tat. But it brings little reward and leaves you spent out.

You recognise all of its faults - that you blithely accept - but rarely the virtues. But those virtues become harder and harder to see as time moves on.

The number of little things that niggle increase year on year.

It invites you into its arms, yet leaves you unable to see it's wares.

It can ignore what you want and like; changing the way they look, wearing red when you hate it, changing their given name to something they think will further their future development.

It can leave you stranded in another city, with no means of transport home, just because the TV companies asked for an appearance.

It can move away to another town or city without a thought as to how you will cope or keep the relationship alive.

The lure of money and power is often too much and you just cannot compete.

There are times you sense it wouldn’t miss you if you wasn't there, such is the myriad of others courting attention, offering riches that you just cannot match.

Over time you realise that it is something that actually bears little resemblance to what you first started a relationship with in the first place. 

Your devotional manner masks the bloated garish mess it has become.

It's ego has got bigger, interest in it has widened.

 

You share it with others who increasingly argue that they love it more, that they are more special, that they deserve more attention, that they deserve to be treated better.

It is a relationship played out in front of a feverish media, all looking to exploit any minor connection to make up a story, to try and break the relationship or any party involved. Your resolve remains strong.

It is a relationship played out against a backdrop of social media bullying, banter from people you have never met and never will do and a large yellow rolling banner telling you the latest exclusive news about your love.

The physical and emotional blows increase in severity. One kick in the balls follows another. But still you are there, unable to walk away.

It tells you that you are great, that you are important and valued, yet finds increasingly expensive ways to test you.

Drink makes it easier. It makes the day pass quicker, makes the state of play look better. But that isn't the answer.

And still you suffer painful pangs for the things you held dear - most now obliterated, never to return.

That which first attracted you in the first place.

Now just distant memories or at best fleeting moments.

My Favourite Blade (Number 1) - Keith Edwards

In the first of a new close season series, a number of Unitedites share their memories of their favourite Blade. The player that filled up their senses at Bramall Lane and beyond.

To kick things off I am remembering my childhood hero, the goal-king Keith Edwards. This article first appeared in an edited form in the Blades matchday programme.

I didn’t see my childhood hero play live that often, yet he was the player I always aspired, unsuccessfully, to be.  He wasn’t the most talented footballer, he wasn’t the hardest worker, and you could even argue he wasn’t a team player.  He could spend a large proportion of the match not touching the ball. Yet, for many Sheffield United supporters, he was the talisman behind the resurrection of the Blades in the early 80’s, winning both the Fourth Division Championship in 1982 and promotion from the 3^rd Division in 1984.

He played with a level of confidence that was bordering on arrogance and his forceful opinions and personality are probably contributory factors as to why he never played at the highest level, why a striker with such a prolific scoring record wasn’t always selected and why his career at each club he played for often came to an abrupt end.  It is also why he now divides opinion as a pundit on Radio Sheffield today.   

He first played for United from 1975, joining as a 17 year old, before leaving for Hull in late 1978.  I was too young to remember him then.  He returned during the early stages of the 1981-82 season. United had suffered the ignominy of relegation to the Fourth Division at the end of the previous season.  A last minute penalty miss at home to Walsall in the final league game had condemned United to the lowest level of professional football for the first time in their history. My Grandad, who took me to that fateful Walsall game passed away shortly after and, with my dad working Saturdays, I had no-one to take me to matches unless they were midweek ones.

The season started well for United and Keith rejoined from promotion rivals Hull early in the season, for what proved to be a bargain £100,000. He straight away benefited from a great supply line; Bob Hatton, a much travelled striker was reaching the end of his career, yet provided a perfect foil and link player for Edwards.  Colin Morris joined the Blades in February 1982 and was a fantastic right winger who seemed to have a telepathic relationship with Edwards on the pitch.

Keith wasn't a tall man, but he was quick and agile. The ability to turn his man and get a shot away was probably his greatest asset.  He contributed little to team play, by his own admittance, but he had the knack of always finding himself in the right place at the right time. He was a predator and played in a way that's a bit like every schoolboy does; obsessed with shooting and scoring.  That is why his play struck a chord I think.

He would always look to break the offside trap, although that would also lead to frustration as he would be caught offside plenty of times during a game. When he did time his run to perfection he would find himself at his strongest position, running at goal with just the keeper to beat. When he made it that far without a linesman’s flag being raised, you could almost guarantee a goal.
As a 7 year old reading Shoot every week, Keith Edwards was the visible face of my team, topping the goal-scoring tables in the results section and winning the Adidas Golden Boot in both promotion seasons.  The excitement of seeing him play was huge as a young fan.  The fact that the matches I saw were mostly at night, under lights, just added to the buzz and sense of occasion.  I remember a game against Wigan, a top of the table clash. Midweek, Division Four, yet over 20,000 there witnessing what was looking like a 0-0 draw, until the final seconds when he was in the right place at the right time.  Not a spectacular goal, just a simple tap-in, but such an important one. 

Attending end of season Open Days was a chance to fill your autograph book with unintelligible signatures, to have photos stood on the hallowed turf, in the changing rooms and with the players. There was only one player that I wanted a picture with.  Several pictures.  He must have been a patient man.

Within five years of returning to United Keith was gone, again. Ian Porterfield had been sacked as manager and in a clash between new disciplinarian manager (Billy McEwan) and outspoken star striker, there was only one winner.  Keith moved on to Yorkshire rivals Leeds, the only way it could have been worse would have been if he had joined Wednesday. For the next few years, until the resurgence under Dave Bassett, there were no real heroes, nothing to lift supporters who were watching a mediocre team under-achieve. 

His goalscoring record at Leeds though was poor and, after a spell at Aberdeen, he returned to Hull where he found his goal scoring mojo again.  Short spells with Stockport, Huddersfield and Plymouth  followed.  His final career stats show a league return of 256 goals in 553 appearances, a record most strikers would be proud of.  His two spells at Bramall Lane garnered 143 goals in 261 games; an average of a goal every 1.8 games.  Not many strikers achieve that sort of record in the Football League these days.

As you get older the clamour to be the striker, the goal scoring hero, fades as your own hopes of ever being a decent footballer also dissipate.  In later years the players I have admired most are defenders, more closely aligned with the position I settled into playing, to no great standard!  However, whenever the opportunity arises, be it a book launch at Bramall Lane or a Sportsman’s Dinner, I always take the opportunity to shake his hand and say thanks for what he did for the Blades and for a young boy’s interest in football. 

I am 37 now and the fact that I still do it seems quite sad, but then I see other, slightly older fans doing the same with Tony Currie. I see how happy my dad (then aged 69) was to meet some of his heroes like Alan Hodgkinson, Mick Jones and the players he remembers from his youth, like Colin Collindridge and Fred Furniss. That is when I think - why shouldn't we do it?

Football has changed massively in the lastdecade.  Players are much more detached from everyday life in terms of lifestyle and earnings and the separation from the fans is much wider. These past generations of players generally have very few of those trappings, given the relative success they once had. Recognition is important.  Besides, we would all like to be remembered - wouldn't we?

And that is why I have started this series, which allows fellow Blades to remember their favourite players and if you want to share your memories of each featured player, why not add them in the Comments section below.