Legendary Huddersfield journalist and author DENIS KILCOMMONS is a natural storyteller who brings everyday subjects to life in his own inimitable style. Denis wrote a hugely popular column in the Huddersfield Examiner for 34 years until his retirement in 2023. Now he writes for Huddersfield Hub.
I have worn a splint on my left leg for several years.
Now I’ve ordered one from Amazon for my right leg as well, which is a bit of a sod. It means I’ll have to decline the offer to join Manchester United, the team I’ve supported since before Munich.
A stumble across the living room carpet made me realise what I’d only suspected. My right foot was dragging of its own accord, without reference to me or the particular brain cell organising motion triangulation, as I headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea.
Whoops! Almost a goner.
I no longer drink alcohol, so that theory can be discarded. It was a right foot drag as I negotiated the Tibetan coffee table (no rubbish in my house) and a saving hand against the CD collection. Thank you David Bowie and Let’s Dance.
Dancing, of course, is in the past as well as football, when my silky skills were at their peak and amazed opponents – and sometimes my fellow teammates – who often said in jest that my left foot was only for standing on.
To be fair, I did favour my right in dribbling, crossing, 30 yard scintillating passes and rocket shots. Not everyone, of course, remembers those moments.
I once said to Mel Booth, former Examiner sports editor and no mean performer at both football and cricket: “You know, Mel, I really miss playing football.’’
To which he replied: “When did you ever play football, Den?’’
With both feet encased in splints I will now have to turn down the offer to become consultant at Old Trafford.
Ten different managers have walked the Field of Dreams since Fergie retired 13 years ago. As a last act of desperation, I was invited along to try out the seat once occupied by Sir Alex, which I found surprisingly comfortable. My role was to invoke a grassroots spirit to the club’s millionaire players.
This has been the worst start to a season in 40 years. Who better, they said, than a chap who once captained Lincoln Lads (an Altrincham youth side) against a Manchester United under 18 team in a local cup competition on Broadheath Rec in 1957 and lost only 1-0.
My credentials also include working alongside former Blackpool and England captain Jimmy Armfield, although I didn’t mention this was when Jimmy finished playing and had started his journalistic career in the sports department of the Blackpool Evening Gazette where I then worked.
On occasions, when sport was short staffed, I helped them out because of my silky skills and knowledge of the beautiful game. But mainly because courts had finished early and I was available in the afternoon.
What experience I could bring to this new role with United. Sadly, all my plans are now in tatters.
But what spirit the Examiner Sunday League team had in those heady days long gone. Oh how we laughed after being thrashed 7-1 in a pre-season game at Ossett Town. And I recall my excitement on Leeds Road playing fields urging for greater effort to maintain our one goal lead when Neil Atkinson reminded me their goalkeeper, resplendent in a three-piece suit, had come along as a spectator and been persuaded to play by the opposition because they were short.
“And with him they’ve still only got 10 men,’’ Neil said.
Ah, those were the days to rival Ole Gunnar Solskjær winning the European Cup for United in 1999 with an injury time winning goal.
But now I am crocked in both legs – I put it down to too much whizzing down the wing – and have to decline United’s offer. Shame, because I had stipulated that both Mel and Neil join me to bring out the best in the current batch of players.
Denis in his local football playing days
Looking back, I’ve played on icy pitches fit only for Torvill & Dean and muddy pitches so clinging it was like a match between two teams of the walking dead. Tough games in which only southern softies would contemplate going down clutching their leg with fake injuries.
Our goalkeeper on the Evening Gazette team in Blackpool was Mike from Gloucestershire. One match he took a knock in the first 10 minutes, remained between the sticks and was taken to hospital on the final whistle with a broken leg.
During my playing days for the Examiner our motoring correspondent Roger Stansfield arrived for a game at Birdsedge so hung over he had to be helped onto the field and was put on the right wing out of the way.
As we lined up for the kick-off he vomited into the undergrowth. It was no great surprise that the opposition full back gave him a wide berth for the rest of the game. An unmarked Roger did quite well.
I retired from playing when I was 50 and recall bumping into a group of pals as I was buying my Sunday papers at the newsagent shop in Honley. They were on the way to a match on Honley Rec and none of them looked well. Billy the Fish was fortifying himself with a Mars bar and a bottle of Lucozade.
I was so amused by their condition I went to the Rec to watch them play. Before kick-off, centre forward Jamie Hinchliffe gave a team talk that included the immortal line: “And whatever you do, no high crosses into their box until the second half. My head won’t stand it.’’
Which, of course, meant his team mates were banging in high crosses at every opportunity. I do believe he actually scored with a header.
As an end thought, Sunday League players of the past seemed to look upon the combination of a Mars bar and a bottle of Lucozade as a game-changer.
I wonder if Manchester United have tried it? They quite often play on a Sunday and have begun to look like a Sunday league team. They could do with something to give them a pre-match boost.
Read more from Denis Kilcommons HERE.
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