Whenever anyone claims traditions are not being respected and that this is yet another thing to moan about in ‘Broken Britain’, it always sets my teeth on edge; ‘traditions’ are often just a synonym for outdated practices that are now largely frowned upon.
Like the idiocy of pretending that killing foxes for fun while dressed up like an upper-class ringmaster is an essential part of rural life. Or the Men of Ness’s hunt for young gannets on the Guga Hunt of Sula Sgeir off the Isle Of Lewis is because Tesco doesn’t do home deliveries. Or that great rural Northumberland tradition of impregnating your sister to keep the family bloodline undiluted.
But one tradition that became established in the Victorian era was Boxing Day football. Rather than being one of those old traditions that is just dressing cruelty up as culturally important, Boxing Day football had a practical as well as cultural significance.
The atmosphere of a family Xmas inevitably becomes strained after being shut in together in the house for days pretending large unpleasant underwear is just what you wanted and breathing all that mutual sprout wind. Football offered a release from all that.
But not this year for the top flight, with only Manchester United v Newcastle at 8pm (good luck getting there, Magpies fans without cars) offering relief from granny’s flatulence. There are some EFL and National League games so not all hope is lost, though there’s no football in Scotland.
I daresay the FA will say something about ‘protecting players’ fitness’, though they don’t seem to be bothered about that at any other point in the year, as they milk them for ever more money playing pointless football that nobody cares about.
The thing about traditions, even those heinous, cruel ones, is that people shape their lives around them, look forward to them and enjoy mutual participation in them. They bring people together. So to just dump Boxing Day football, citing the expansion of European competition for the gap in the schedule, is just tin-eared about the cultural import of the game.
The last time Boxing Day was a Friday, in 2014, there was a full top-flight programme; this year there will be the lowest ever number of fixtures in the top flight and Football League on Boxing Day.
Clubs used to play each other in back-to-back games on 25th and 26th, which sounds like a great idea to me. Results were often high scores. 66 goals were scored in 1963.
Back in 1914, Sheffield Wednesday beat Tottenham 3-2 on Christmas Day; the very next day, they travelled to London and lost 6-1. Who wouldn’t want that? In 1888, Everton even played three matches in two days. They played two separate games on Christmas Day (one in the morning, one in the afternoon) and then another on Boxing Day. They won all three. David Moyes was their young manager.
It might seem strange today, but for nearly 70 years, Christmas Day was one of the biggest days in the football calendar. It was a rare public holiday for the working class, and since there was no TV to watch, the match was the primary source of entertainment. Now, playing on the 25th would be seen as a human rights crime. The last ever English league match on Christmas Day was Blackpool vs. Blackburn Rovers. Blackpool won 4-2 in front of 20,851 fans in 1965. Scotland’s last was in 1976 and was Clydebank 2-2 St Mirren (managed by Alex Ferguson)
In 1983, Brentford tried to bring back the tradition by scheduling a match against Wimbledon for 11:00am on Christmas Day. The club rather incredibly said it was to give husbands something to do while their wives cooked the dinner! The plan was scrapped after massive protests and the game was moved to Christmas Eve.
Personally, I was out of love with the season by the age of 15 and liked nothing more than going to the Boro to relieve the tension and it was there where I witnessed a friend receive ‘intimate’ attention from his girlfriend at the back of the Holgate End as a Christmas present. His greatest wish was to combine carnal pleasures with watching Middlesbrough, which is admittedly not traditionally an aphrodisiac.
So it was that in 1978 during a match v Bolton at Ayresome Park. Frank Worthington gave them the lead and Billy Ashcroft equalised. Shortly after, this rather petite girl disappeared under my mate’s large, floor-length army great coat, so couldn’t be seen administering oral stimulation as we cheered her on. Such a thing was very Boxing Day and very 1970s for that matter.
All gone now though, as the ghouls replace our pleasure with their greed. We don’t matter though, do we? Not anymore. Only our money does.
If you do it, have a happy one, if you don’t, just keep your head down until it’s over. Know that you are not alone.
