IT’S 1966 and half a dozen youngsters in the Racecommon Road area are aching for the World Cup football tournament to begin. We’ve just finished a kick-around on the Shaw Lane Sports Field when ‘Rooker’ Rookledge makes a novel suggestion.
“Ey up, Ronnie. Have you ever considered creating a football team? You know, like a school soccer team but nothing to do with school?”
“Will I be in it?” asks young Mark Ashworth.
“Yeah, yeah, Mark.” Then turning to Rooker I say: “Who would we play and what about all the other things, like kit and football pitch and goalposts and all that paraphernalia?”
Julie Smithson and Margaret Wrend are eavesdropping and Julie suddenly shouts: “Don McKinley and Rob McCormick have created a team called Kingstone Celtic. Don’s uncle is the Celtic manager, Jack Stain.”
“Don’t you mean, Jock Stein?” says Rooker, laughing.
“If Jock Stein’s his uncle, my dad’s Jimmy Greaves.”
“No” says Margaret. “It’s true – cross my heart and hope to die. Don’s mam is Jock Whatshisname’s sister.”
Rooker doesn’t believe her, so we all march up to Don McKinley’s house next to Kingstone Social Club and knock at the side door.
Mr McKinley appears with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and after he’s explained – in the broadest Scottish accent – that Don is playing football with his mates, Julie says: “Mr McKinley, these boys want to know if you’re really related to the Celtic manager.”
Mr McKinley chuckles. “Och aye, Jock Stein is Mrs McKinley’s brother.”
“Wow!” says Rob, his eyes widening.
“Didn’t we had a fiver on it, Rooker?” I say, smirking.
We all go over to the broken fence at the perimeter of the Broadway field to spy on the Kingstone Celtic players as they practice penalties and their choreographed celebrations.
In their brand new green and white hooped shirts, white shorts and hooped socks, they look breathtakingly magnificent and I’m overwhelmed with jealousy.
“What do you think to their kit, Ronnie Steele?” asks Rooker.
“Erm... okay, I suppose – if you’re into sickly green and white.”
As Don McKinley smacks the ball into the goal (just posts and crossbar – no net) he does his own David Colemanesque commentary.
“Young McKinley, the wizard of Kingstone, the star of Scottish football, fires his penalty into the roof of the net and 100,000 Celtic fans go wild.”
Don swings his right arm up and over like a bicycle wheel going backwards and stops with his clenched fist in front of his face, whilst his mates chant: “Celtic! Celtic! Celtic!”
Cool!
We slither away undetected and head for the spare ground for an Havelockers’ gang meeting. Rooker urges us to adopt the England strip because ‘everyone owns a white t-shirt and white socks. Besides, you can always pick up black shorts at a jumble sale’.
“What about Julie and Margaret?” asks Mark Ashworth.
“It’s alright,” says Margaret. “We don’t even like football but if you assume the name ‘Racecommon Road Rangers’, Julie and I will make badges on my sewing machine for seven players.”
“Seven players?” queries Mark.
“Yeah,” interrupts Julie. “We haven’t got enough material for 11 badges and besides, Kingstone Celtic have only got a team of seven.”
“A seven-a-side league for under 12s for the whole of Barnsley,” I say, dead excited. Wow! We could even invite teams from other towns and cities.
Just imagine: Barnsley Under 12s versus Spurs Under 12s on Shaw Lane.
We’re all thrilled at the prospect but as we leave, Rooker asks: “You know that football sticker of Antonio Rattin you need to complete your Argentina World Cup set? I got it from Bishop’s shop earlier today and... if you promise to appoint me captain of Racecommon Road Rangers... you can have it.”
“Ey up, Rooker. You can’t do that, mate. That’s bribery! It’s against the law!”
“Okay. Fair enough,” he says, walking away.
“Hang on a minute. Don’t walk away...
“I need time to think. The captaincy in exchange for a football sticker? Erm... okay then, Skipper Rookledge, it’s a deal,” and I snatch the coveted sticker from his grasp.
“Well that took a lot of thinking about,” exclaims Rooker, raising both eyebrows.
It’s nearly the end of May and we give ourselves a fortnight to commandeer a seven-a-side pitch with goals, proper nets and line markings, a regular match-referee, and seven other teams to play against.
NEXT WEEK: Find out about the first ever Barnsley Festival of Football, for under 12s, and who emerge as winners.
