Dad, Divorce and the Chelsea Breach

I was born on 29 th December 1960, exactly halfway through the most successful season in our history, when we won the League and FA Cup double. To arrive in the world at such a zenith has always made me feel that my bond with the club is as strong as it gets. My dad, John Burgess (1933 – 2010), a Shakespearean actor, was a Spurs fan and I was seven when he took me to see my first game at White Hart Lane. It was the 7th September 1968 and we beat Burnley 7-0, Jimmy Greaves bagging a hat-trick. All those sevens – the stars were clearly aligned! I cannot remember any of the goals but what I do recall is arriving home and seeing on Grandstand (the weekly Saturday sports programme on the BBC) that we had not moved up in the League. I burst into tears and was inconsolable for at least an hour. I fell in love that autumn day and that love has never waned.

My brothers, Paul and Andrew, are both Chelsea supporters. They are two and eight years

younger than me respectively. Uncle Mike, dad’s younger brother, was also a Chelsea fan. My

parents got divorced in 1969 and dad left for Canada. Uncle Mike stepped into the breach and took Paul under his wing. My brothers maintain that dad had a gentleman’s agreement with Michael that, as he did not have any children of his own, he would step aside and allow Paul to support Chelsea. I have no knowledge of any such agreement. Once Paul was lost, I naively still believed that Andrew could be kept on-side but it was a forlorn hope. I was away at boarding school and had no chance of exercising any influence on him.

On 6th January 1979, I took a nine-year-old Andrew to the Lane for the third round FA Cup tie against non-League Altrincham. When Altrincham scored a shock equalizer, Andrew, much to my horror, jumped up and began cheering. My fellow season ticket holders did not look best pleased. In Andrew’s defence, a few months earlier he had presented me with a wonderful Spurs scrapbook in which he assembled photographs and press cuttings. There is a picture of Ossie, Ricky and Keith Burknshaw which had been printed in Shoot magazine, just after the two Argentinians had joined us. The caption is: “Spurs Argentine stars could have communication trouble.” Andrew wrote underneath the photo: “More troubles for Tottenham.” It is priceless and I still have it amongst my collection of Spurs memorabilia.

I have always found the football rupture in our family hard to deal with. I wish I could let it go, I really do, but it’s always there, a little bogeyman in my brain, popping up periodically to

torment me. A rational person would recognize that an act of altruism, in this case, a person

doing something really nice for his brother, is something to be welcomed. But football fandom is antipathetic to rationality. The whole issue has been much more painful for me than it has for Paul and Andrew. The fact that, for the last 20 years, Chelsea have been supremely successful while we have, in the main, languished amongst the also-rans, has rubbed salt in the wound over and over again.

Two games that I attended with Dad were particularly memorable. I persuaded him to

accompany me to the Hawthorns on the 7th October 1978 to watch us play West Brom. It was the first time since the late 60’s that we had been to a match together and it was also the first time we had been to an away match together. Furthermore, the fact that it was our first season back in the top flight after our single year of exile made it extra special.

We were on the back foot for most of the game but our goalkeeper, Barry Daines, produced his best ever performance for the club. He was magnificent and made a whole array of stunning saves. Our winner came with the first 15 minutes. Hoddle sent Peter Taylor through on goal and the winger struck the ball past their keeper with his weaker right foot. We were jumping up and down amongst the away supporters and, in the melee, I managed to spill half a dozen of Mum’s egg and cucumber sandwiches onto the terraces. It was the ultimate smash and grab but, as we sat on the train home sipping Heineken and eating the rest of the egg sandwiches, we could not have cared less.

The other wonderful match that Dad and I went to took place on the 2 nd February 1987, dad’s 54 th birthday. It was the League Cup quarter final against West Ham, under the lights at the Lane. We were sitting in the front row of seats in the Park Lane stand, right behind the massed ranks of standing Hammers fans. It was a sizzling atmosphere. The West Ham fans were scary, to say the least. They were all huge and many were bald-headed and covered in tattoos. They were chanting “come on you Irons” almost incessantly. As we flicked through our programmes, dad, oblivious to any potential mockery or worse from the cockney opposition, asked me loudly, in his cut-glass Royal Shakespeare Company voice, “Is Ardiles playing number seven for the Lilywhites tonight Harv?” I mumbled “yes” as I turned away, hoping that nobody had heard him.

We played some scintillating football that night and thrashed the East Londoners 5-0, Clive

Allen notching a nine-minute hat-trick. As we enjoyed a late glass of wine, Dad was

contentment personified as he puffed away on one of his favourite cigarillos. One footnote

worth mentioning about dad is that he somehow managed to wangle a ticket for both the 1966 World Cup final between England and West Germany and the 1968 European Cup final

between Manchester United and Benfica, both matches being played at Wembley. Not a bad double but not a patch on the West Brom – West Ham one.

We lost dad in late 2010 but I was thrilled that he was around to enjoy our 2008 League Cup

win and our first ever Champions League qualification in 2010.

Dad was somewhat evasive on the couple of occasions when I raised the subject of the alleged agreement with Uncle Mike but, being the kind-hearted soul that he was, I suspect that he did indeed consent to his second son’s escape from the Tottenham nest. I forgive you dad even though I have suffered as a consequence.

Harvey Burgess is the author of "More Trauma Than Triumph: The Life of a Spurs Fan"