Little Fella

David Broome

Description

Cast your mind back to the mid-1990s. The Premiership was shiny and new, England weren't terrible at football, and exciting foreign players like Gianfranco Zola, Eric Cantona and Georgi Kinkladze were lighting up our game. In an industrial town in the north-east of England, a little Brazilian magic was the catalyst to thrust a previously provincial, middle-of-the-road club into the full glare of the global footballing spotlight. The Little Fella: How Middlesbrough Fell in Love with Juninho is the story of Juninho Paulista and his three-act association with Middlesbrough, culminating in the League Cup win of 2004, which today still remains Boro's only major trophy. It examines the World Cup winner's part in a rollercoaster 1996/97 season, which saw Boro lose two cup finals and end up being relegated; to the redemptive, triumphant 2003/04 season. With contributions from some of Boro's other star names of a golden period, such as Fabrizio Ravanelli, Emerson, Gaizka Mendieta and Gareth Southgate, The Little Fella attempts to translate into words the magic football fans witnessed on the pitch during those heady days.

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 05 avril 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785319174
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2021
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
David Broome, 2021
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A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 9781785317675
eBook ISBN 9781785319174
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Contents
Acknowledgements
The Red Army
Act I: 1995-1996
1. Welcome to Teesside (International Airport)
2. Wow, how good is he?
3. The million-pound man
4. Transcendental
5. The Pied Piper of S o Paulo
Act II: 1996-1997
6. Penna Bianca
7. An amazing day
8. Slump
9. The Boys from Brazil
10. Trois points (-)
11. Party games and a meeting of minds
12. Uncle Festa and the big Aussie
13 Living his best life
13a A handy guide
14. Spoiler alert
15. Same city, different day
16. Clatter the little sod
17. Dancing pixies
18. Throw it all away
19. One hour as a tiger
20. 43 seconds
21. Au revoir
Act III: 1999-2000
22. Mo Mowlam, no problems
23. The pain in Spain
24. H milton rap
25. Industrial language
26. Ups and downs
27. Comings and goings
Act IV
28. A brave new world
29. Knee bother
30. Happy again
Act V: 2003-2004
31. Continental triers
32. Proving his worth
33. Martin Keown s arse
34. An offal they couldn t refuse
35. The World (Cup) is not enough
36. Choccy-Woccy-Hoo-Hars all around
Epilogue: Tears of joy
Encore: Audience participation
In numbers: Juninho s time at Middlesbrough
Bibliography
Photos
Dedication
To Jo, for your unwavering support.
Acknowledgements
FIRSTLY, THANKS to the former players who kindly contributed to this book: Robbie Mustoe, Craig Hignett, Jan ge Fj rtoft, Andy Campbell, Neil Cox and Phil Stamp. Also to Harry Pearson, Tom Sanderson and Simon Clifford for taking the time to share your insight. And a big thank you to Robert Nichols, editor of the fine Boro fanzine Fly Me To The Moon , whose help has been invaluable. And to all the Boro fans who lent their memories of the Little Fella to this book.
Keep me flying.
Prologue
The Red Army
EXTERIOR. DAY. Our story opens, not in sunny S o Paulo, birthplace of our hero, nor on Teesside, where his club exploits took place, nor in Yokohama, the arena of his greatest triumph.
Instead, our stratospheric camera hangs in the late winter air above Westgate Street, Cardiff. As it zooms down through the clouds, heavy with pre-precipitary rain, we hear the roar from the Millennium Stadium below before we see the home of English football (2001-2007).
Some 72,634 fans are squeezed into - or, more accurately, comfortably seated in - its 121m surroundings. Around 30,000 blanched in the white of Bolton Wanderers, another 30,000 drenched in the blood-red of Middlesbrough; all told, 60,000 northern souls (plus 12,634 mild-mannered corporate invitees, quaffing pheasant juice and looking on with amused bemusement - or bemused amusement - at what they had assumed was to be a rugger match).
It is 2004, a leap year. More than that, it is 29 February, a leap day. This is only relevant because it allows me to make this - let s not call it a joke yet, that might prove premature and inaccurate - observation.
But one of these clubs is about to take a huge leap from perennial afterthought in English football s top two divisions to the best club in the land. If you mark such a distinction by the champions of the League Cup, which many don t.
To this point, Bolton have arguably the longer roll of honour, and although it is unlikely that anyone in South Wales that day remembered their roaring 1920s (when they romped to three FA Cup wins in six years), some may have seen Nat Lofthouse 1 fire them to victory over noisy neighbours Manchester United some 46 years before.
That may sound on paper like a greater achievement, but remember that was a United just three months into mourning the Munich air disaster, and Bolton s second goal would not have counted today, given that Mr Lofthouse bundled goalkeeper Harry Gregg over the line. Indeed, it was this incident that led to keepers being bestowed with the extra protection they now enjoy.
I m just saying, beating Middlesbrough would have been the real pinnacle of the Trotters history.
And what of those boys in red (with a white cummerbund)? Well, their trophy cabinet was fair bursting, with their 55 North Riding Senior Cup triumphs, which trounces Scarborough s pathetic 19 titles; their 1980 Kirin Cup title (a crown last awarded to Bosnia-Herzegovina); and inaugural Anglo-Scottish Cup champions (most recently won by Chesterfield).
So, yeah, we had game.
But taking the common parlance, victory here would bring our first major trophy, if you must discount all those previous precious baubles.
You have the year and date, what of the time? Well, as our camera (whose zoom facilities really must be praised) enters the stadium, we see the match clock reads 93:39. We are three minutes and 39 seconds into the four that were recently electronically displayed by the fourth official.
We pan past that timestamp to focus on a pair of black boots. Nice. Traditional. Tracking up, we see two stockinged (and rather stocky) legs, bedecked in red with the letters MFC stamped at the ankle. After a teasing glimpse of bare leg, the figure 10 appears as we drift across our hero s shorts and focus on his solitary ball.
Well, that was an unfortunate place to end a paragraph. I was, of course, referring to the match ball that he has just guided to his feet from his chest. Rewind a few seconds and you will see Ivan Campo s long throw nutted away by future England manager Gareth Southgate. And now our hero is off, taking the ball in his stride just outside his own penalty area and striding forward, flicking the ball over Jay-Jay Okocha with the outside of his boot and brushing off JJO s attempt at GBH, to leave just Bruno N Gotty and Jussi J skel inen between him and glory.
And if this were a real film, rather than the fevered memories of your author, this would be the point at which the screen would freeze, and we might hear a record scratch followed by a soft, Brazilian voice narrating, Yep, that s me. You re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.
But, probably only if that had been the defining moment of a match delicately poised at 1-1 heading into injury time, with our hero about to score the winning goal. What actually happened, which - as this isn t a film - I can tell you, rather than making you sit through 90 minutes of back story, is that N Gotty got a foot in and the attack petered out. Also, Boro were already winning 2-1.
It would have made a great d nouement though.
Instead we have to wait another full seven seconds for Mike Riley to toot his whistle for the final time.
And just like that, it s over.
I see Steve Gibson smile.
The North Stand explodes, Franck Queudrue collapses to the turf, and in the middle of the pitch, a 5ft 6in Brazilian claps his hands enthusiastically, a huge smile beaming across his lovely little face.
Four years previously he was champion of Brazil. Two years after that, he was champion of the world. And now, he is champion of the Boro.
Juninho. Osvaldo Giroldo J nior to those who like to state Brazilian players full names. Juninho Paulista to those who need to differentiate between him and his compatriot Juninho Pernambucano. And to a small, indomitable town in the north-east of England, The Little Fella.
Act I: 1995-1996
He got the whole of football talking about Middlesbrough.
Bryan Robson, Middlesbrough manager, 1994-2001
Chapter One
Welcome to Teesside (International Airport)
THERE MAY have been no record scratch to delineate the prologue from this opening chapter, but we will still hit the rewind button, from February 2004 to October 1995.
A lot happened in those intervening nine years, a period that ranks if not top, then pretty bloody close, of any in Middlesbrough s history. We reached four cup finals, qualified for Europe for the first time, won our first proper piece of silverware, signed some of the best players in the world, and got relegated with them.
One of those players is about to descend the aeroplane stairs (I just Googled that, sure they must have a better name, but no, aeroplane stairs it is).
As Juninho is greeted by thousands of fans at Teesside Airport, and later at the BT Cellnet Riverside Stadium, he looks overawed, wearing a suit slightly too large for his petite frame. He s like a work experience kid on his first day of placement - if that placement had hired a samba band to welcome him and thousands of employees were holding pictures of his face and asking for his autograph.
He looks a little scared, and Juninho says he was always much braver on the pitch than off it. Towards the start of the 1996/97 season, which - spoiler alert - would not end well for Boro, the Teessiders faced the Tynesiders in the first meeting between the two in seven years. Juninho, who was (and if you learn nothing else from this book, learn this) quite short, squared up to Newcastle s 8ft 3in (approximate) Belgian centre-half Philippe Albert.
I was tough on the pitch because they couldn t beat me up in front of the referee, Juninho told FourFo