Unlucky&;#063;

Aah, the start of my teen years. This brought new friends, strange
stirrings and a certain sophistication. We no longer played tennis in
the street, we actually used a proper tennis court in the local park.
It had a net and everything! The trouble was that the intense
excitement and passion of a close fought, superbly skilled game that
would have graced Centre Court at Wimbledon, lost its intensity when
you only had one tennis ball to play with. Keith's younger brother was
ball boy but he soon lost interest. I have to admit that it must have
been hard covering the net, both ends and over the fence. Still we did
promise him a game of his own as reward.
The football pitch also moved to the park. We even had our own changing
room. Actually, it was just a small shelter with a bench inside but we
looked upon it as the hub of our great campaign for cup glory. We even
played a few away teams. They didn't like our pitch and I can't say I
blame them. There was not one single flat part on it! In fact, it was
situated on the most atrocious slope in the park. We were sensible
enough to play sideways but it was so annoying when the ball ran down
the slope and actually out of the park. If you were on ball duty, you
could end up having to cross a main road, and a railway track before
collecting a ball that would often have bouncing bomb qualities.
Sometimes, we were lucky enough to have some of the younger members of
our great club on ball patrol. Their solemn duty was to parade along
the path, at the bottom of the pitch, and stretch every sinew and
muscle to make sure that the game was not interrupted. If they didn't
stop the ball, they couldn't join in the kick about later. I think we
developed one leg shorter than the other. This helped us to run fairly
balanced across the field of dreams.
I'm embarrassed to say that I brought shame and dishonour to our team
when I sat on our bench and experienced my first cigarette. Hey, I was
a teen! It was time to try all the forbidden aspects of the adult
world. I think if anyone had witnessed this scene, they would have seen
three tough, streetwise individuals who were turning greener with each
hesitant puff of this grubby weed. But we were men and we had to do
what men have to do! We played a game after and I was sick in the
goalmouth.
My old friend, Ernie Vaughan, inadvertently got me into trouble when he
happened to come to the park one day. He shared a cigarette with me and
we talked about past glories. He met my aunty on his way home and,
stuck for something to say, announced that he had seen me smoking in
the park. Well done, mate! Great topic of conversation!
I'm not sure whether my mother was madder about me smoking or the fact
that I had pinched a packet of her cigarettes. Needless to say, her
cigarettes became closely guarded items and a spy ring of relatives was
set up to keep an eye on this perpetrator of evil deeds. The walloping
helped to concentrate my mind on other things as well!
Keith and I decided that we would have to rely on our own resources if
we wanted to remain the 'big boys' of the street. This meant that we
had to become financially independent if we wanted to experience
undiscovered pleasures. We managed fairly well. On the corner of
Keith's street was a bookmakers and we would often peek in the door at
this world of smoke-filled, high-stakes activity. Keith often got the
nod, listening to his father at home and we would share the cost of our
high risk gamble. We would put sixpence each on a certainty at 10-1.
Some kind punter would lay the bet for us, if we talked nicely and
politely to them as they were entering the shop. Then, with ears rammed
to the window of the shop, we would follow the adventures of our nag as
it ran. The jockey had no idea but our pleasures for the next week
depended on his skill in bringing home this magnificent creature. They
must have often wondered what all the yelling and screaming were
outside the shop when our own Black Beauty would win us seven shillings
and three pence.
It was this new-found sophistication which also started the often
strange and mysterious activity of talking to girls - and not always
about football either! One young lady, in particular, took my fancy.
The fact that she was good at football may have had some bearing on my
attraction but I'm not sure. She was Italian, so she was bound to be
good at football. She was also filled with romantic, Italian passion.
We spent many blissful nights, sitting in our dressing room, watching
the stars twinkling in approval as the moon rose over the Transporter
Bridge. We shared our first kisses in this magical setting. Actually,
it was only one because we had to run as we saw her father coming in to
the park to look for us. We escaped because we knew Belle Vue Park a
lot better than he did.
I enjoyed my time in that park