Arthur Scrimshaw
New member
It's been a long time since I last posted on here, but the fingers are no longer as dexterous as they once were and matron now has to help me undo my fly buttons and point percy at the porcelain. To think that 30 years ago I used to have to pay for this kind of service (2 and 6 down Steine Lane with Fag Ash Lil I recall - but that is another story).
Anyway it is time for a sherry and a little story. All this management malarky reminds of certain events just after the Boer War, Albion were a young and thrusting new club attracting the best players and management of the day. Our manager, Herbert Witherington, had returned from South Africa with new fangled continental ideas. Training no longer consisted of 40 woodbines and a few stretches followed by mass coughing. Players were now expected to run around the track and do 10 press ups. Naturally many fell by the wayside but this built up a team spirit. Tactics also improved, the old kick the ball and 11 players run up the field after it had failed dismally when the opponents kicked it back down our end and chased after it. It was here that the 40 woodbines a day habit kicked in. Our team could be found flat out on the floor wretching uncontrollably.
Witherington changed this by introducing the revolutionary new tactic of preventing the goalkeeper and two centre halves from dashing up the pitch after the ball. He also hid the players matches. In no time at all the Albion had stolen a march on its less industrious opponents and were soon topping the Southern League table until the day we played Reading.
I remember that day well. Myself, Lad of Pale Ale, Jolly Decent Mr Napoleon III and th Stanster had savoured the delights of Prattley's Milk Stout at the Coal Scuttle Inn on the way to Hove. The Stanster was in a high state of erotic tension having visited Madame Fifis knocking shop for sophisticated gentlemen the previous nice. All he would say was that one of the young ladies had accidentally sat and squashed his aubergine. His voice had also lowered by an octave or three. We feared something was going to happen, Reading had just been taken over by the ultra rich Horse and Carriage trading magnate with a very unBritish name.
At the match our tactics totally bamboozled the Reading defence caught charging up field time and again by our tactic of leaving the goalkeeper and two centre halves in defence. Needless to say when they booted the ball back down the Reading end, we scored with wild abandon. Nobby Thrubshaw hit a hatrick and the Albion were victorious 9-3. We could see the Reading chairmen seeth with anger and pulling his curled down moustache with ever more vigour and guessed he was dreaming up some dastardly plot. It was true, two days later, Witherington was offered the Reading post his salary would be three shillings a week plus unlimited use of a new fangled invention that travelled at a death defying 6 miles an hour called a motor horse carriage. Our chairmen could only offer his nubile daughter phased in over three years. The motor carriage won and Witherington's Reading soon became Southern League champions. The Albion would have to look elsewhere. But that is another story.
Anyway it is time for a sherry and a little story. All this management malarky reminds of certain events just after the Boer War, Albion were a young and thrusting new club attracting the best players and management of the day. Our manager, Herbert Witherington, had returned from South Africa with new fangled continental ideas. Training no longer consisted of 40 woodbines and a few stretches followed by mass coughing. Players were now expected to run around the track and do 10 press ups. Naturally many fell by the wayside but this built up a team spirit. Tactics also improved, the old kick the ball and 11 players run up the field after it had failed dismally when the opponents kicked it back down our end and chased after it. It was here that the 40 woodbines a day habit kicked in. Our team could be found flat out on the floor wretching uncontrollably.
Witherington changed this by introducing the revolutionary new tactic of preventing the goalkeeper and two centre halves from dashing up the pitch after the ball. He also hid the players matches. In no time at all the Albion had stolen a march on its less industrious opponents and were soon topping the Southern League table until the day we played Reading.
I remember that day well. Myself, Lad of Pale Ale, Jolly Decent Mr Napoleon III and th Stanster had savoured the delights of Prattley's Milk Stout at the Coal Scuttle Inn on the way to Hove. The Stanster was in a high state of erotic tension having visited Madame Fifis knocking shop for sophisticated gentlemen the previous nice. All he would say was that one of the young ladies had accidentally sat and squashed his aubergine. His voice had also lowered by an octave or three. We feared something was going to happen, Reading had just been taken over by the ultra rich Horse and Carriage trading magnate with a very unBritish name.
At the match our tactics totally bamboozled the Reading defence caught charging up field time and again by our tactic of leaving the goalkeeper and two centre halves in defence. Needless to say when they booted the ball back down the Reading end, we scored with wild abandon. Nobby Thrubshaw hit a hatrick and the Albion were victorious 9-3. We could see the Reading chairmen seeth with anger and pulling his curled down moustache with ever more vigour and guessed he was dreaming up some dastardly plot. It was true, two days later, Witherington was offered the Reading post his salary would be three shillings a week plus unlimited use of a new fangled invention that travelled at a death defying 6 miles an hour called a motor horse carriage. Our chairmen could only offer his nubile daughter phased in over three years. The motor carriage won and Witherington's Reading soon became Southern League champions. The Albion would have to look elsewhere. But that is another story.
