It was Good Friday, 1971, and we had just arrived late to Upton Park straight from Heathrow Airport after an overnight flight from Toronto.
Stumbling along the aisle, I was a bleary-eyed 10-year-old trying to find my seat, when a voice boomed out in an unmistakable East London Cockney accent: “You’re in the wrong block, you blockhead!” Welcome to West Ham United. My dad and I were in EE when we should have been in E, or something like that. Eventually we found our seats and sat down to watch the larger-than-life Bobby Moore and company play to a 1-1 draw with West Bromwich Albion.
I recall Jeff Astle was in the WBA side that day, and Hammers who played included Clyde Best (for Geoff Hurst), Jimmy Greaves, who I think scored, Billy Bonds, Frank Lampard and Bobby Ferguson.
The pitch was so green, the fans so passionate, I had my first cup of bovril — so salty and warm — and the tickets were courtesy of none other than manager Ron Greenwood who my dad had met a number of years before. A great experience.
We also saw the Hammers a week later at Turf Moor against Burnley in which Hurst played. Martin Peters, the other member of the England three, had left for Spurs the previous year, much to my dismay, but it was easy for a kid to love this great side.
I was also from a tough, industrial city, Oshawa, Ontario, that prides itself on its working-class image and West Ham’s location fit in with my upbringing. As I grew older and made return trips to Upton Park in the 1970s and 1980s, I grew to appreciate the tube trip to the Boleyn Ground and the chance to enjoy the likes of David Cross, Trevor Brooking, Frank McAvennie and other stars who came and went.
The fans and atmosphere were always topnotch and the advent of football on TV and the Internet — Social Media is a godsend for those of us far afield — has made it all the better.
Looking forward to the next 42 years of fandom. Come On You Irons.
