The Barcelona Shirt

The Barcelona Shirt

1974. How was a pubescent boy from the north of England going to discover romance in life?

Answer: Miss McDermott.

Miss McDermott was one of the 3 most beautiful women on the planet in 1974. All my mates had a crush. Pondy wanted her. Shorey wanted her. Vaughny wanted her. But they were all too thick and too proletarian. Miss McDermott was mine.

She taught Art and had a yellow Triumph Stag. She had long dark hair and a sultry pout. She was my heart's desire. When I think of her I think of the woman in The Lamb's Navy Rum ad, above.

Or the models on the cover of Country Life, below:

I loved Art. Mr Mellard, the Head of Art, had studied under Frank Auerbach at The Slade (no mean feat for a guy from Rotherham. By the way - Luddites - look up Frankie-boy and learn.)

But he wasn't Miss McD. Obviously.

My other main squeeze was Miss Hunt: blonde bob, and resplendent in a chain of figure hugging woolens. She had the best tits ever known to human science. I literally could not concentrate in History lessons, and put my failure to pass O Level History entirely down to drooling over her. Me and Pondy were obsessed by her.

The third most beautiful woman in the world was my Spanish teacher, Miss Henderson. In our first lesson she gave me a Spanish name, which she always called me: Pablo. All the class had names, but mine seemed somehow more authentic. I began to love Spanish life and culture, as we learned about (what was then) life under General Franco. And of course I fancied the arse off her.

I think a study should be done into the educational attainment of 14-16 year old boys. It would clearly reveal that exam success rates show a direct relationship to how much they fancy their teacher; and failure rate would likewise depend on how much they were trying to wank off in class because they also fancied their teacher.

I suppose Miss Henderson must have had a love of Catalunya, because I don't recall ever being told anything good about the Franquistas. Barcelona, was, however, the home of la revolucion, and seemed to me to represent all that was good, modern and progressive about a Spain which was still mired in manana, omerta and bureaucratic crap.

And so it was that we were given the chance to go on a school trip to Barcelona.

I've been once, and it has become my favourite city ever since. Something about it - La Sagrada Familia, the Gaudi park, Las Ramblas - seduced me and stuck with me ever since.

It was in Barcelona that I first snogged Hazel Spotswood. It was in Barcelona that I ordered my first ever cerveza.

It was in Barcelona that Johann Cruyff played football.

In Sugg's sports shop there were 4 football boots of choice to the truly discerning young player: Adidas Beckenbauer, Puma Pele Rio, Stylo Matchmakers (more of which in another chapter) ...

...and Puma Cruyff.

These were the most gorgeous boots known to man. Because Cruyff was the most gorgeous man known to woman. He was like a Dutch Georgie best - only better. His skills were outrageous: the Cruyff turn is still something today's footballers struggle to master. You wanted to be him. He had 14 on his shirt. I only thought football shirts went up to 11. It was incredible.

And Cruyff had transferred that year from the impossibly glamorous Ajax of Amsterdam, to the utterly-unimpeachably glamorous FC Barcelona.

I'm reminded of this at present, because this weekend is the weekend of El Gran Clasico - Barca v Real Madrid. The republic and the people v the preening royalists. A club still owned by its fans versus one mired in debt, debauchery and scandal. A club which did not take sponsorship on its shirt (until latterly it became sponsored by UNICEF) versus Corporate Mammon Whore. Wonderful Messi v cheating bighead, ex-Man U Ronaldo.

There is and can only be one team to support. This is what happened the same year when Barca met Real in el clasico.



And so it was, in 1974, that I saved up my entire spending money for the school trip, and went to El Corte Ingles to buy a Johann Cruyff Barcelona shirt. The very one below.

My mum saves everything. So a year or so ago I asked her if she still had it. The answer she gave me broke my heart.