The history of football is replete with tales of brothers who played the game. Stories of their similarities, differences and achievements vary, but none perhaps come near to the story of Archie and John Goodall. “Who?” I hear you say. You may well ask. Their names are hardly known now – perhaps outside of Preston and Derby – but the exploits and successes of the Goodall boys, around the turn of the nineteenth century, surely far exceed anything managed by football-playing siblings ever since. Born a year apart, in 1863 and 1864 respectively, they set a number of firsts-ever achievements and records, many of which stand to this day.
The Goodall’s father was a Scottish soldier, a corporal in the Royal Scottish Fusiliers, serving in the British Army. As such, although the family home was in Scotland, military assignments took Goodall Snr, and his family, on many journeys. All of which explains why John was born in London, and Archie in Belfast. This quirk of their father’s profession would also mean them playing for different countries – neither of which was Scotland. So, what was so special about John and Archie Goodall? Continue reading →
According to the Lonely Planet website, Istanbul is the place is “where continents collide.” Given that the Bosporus that divides the city forms the border between the continents of Europe and Asia, some may see the description as somewhat less than illuminating. Delve a little deeper into the intricacies of this polyglot city though, and particularly its football culture as will be seen later, and there’s more than a hint to suggest that the key word in the quote may well be “collide” rather than “continents.” Istanbul is a city of contrasts, some that combine in glorious splendour and others that compete with the reckless abandon of a passion unabated.
Founded some 3,000 years ago the colony of Byzantium grew to become the eastern capital of the Roman empire, named as Constantinople, for the emperor who took it as his own. Later it was conquered by the Ottomans who cemented its prominence as the heart of their own empire. The land on which the city stands has been fought over for many centuries, and in so many ways, that remains the case today. Continue reading →
I’d be eleven at time, although only just and, as was our wont, every other Saturday, I was at Fellows Park with my dad, watching Walsall play. It was 11th November 1967, and the Saddlers were entertaining a Bury side that had been relegated from Division Two the previous season and on their way to rebound straight back at the first time of asking.
As a callow youth at the time, I knew little of the players from Gigg Lane, but my Dad did, well, one of them in particular, anyway. He was a short, stocky midfielder, who Dad said had been a really good player a few years previously. I didn’t take much notice at the time, as the name meant little to me. As the game went on though, it quickly became clear that the player Dad had pointed out was very much running the game. Well, perhaps running is the wrong word, as he often broke into a trot, but rarely a run, with legs that had seen many a battering over the years. He held the game in the palm of his hand though. Continue reading →