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Vague memory of watching us get relegated at Wimbledon...last game of the season?
Think we lost 2.1.
Was that the day of the Bradford fire?
Oh heck, sorry about that Peter I only just noticed the number 1 near the top of the screen and realised it what it meant! It's only been there for 10 months too 😂 Between being a fairly infrequent messageboard user and having to clear pop ups and clickbait before being able to read anything, it completely passed me by unfortunately.
It's a shame you missed out on the Franchi experience, I've been three times and despite it being a big open concrete bowl they still manage to whip up a feverish atmosphere. It's under development now so the capacity is drastically reduced, but god knows when they'll finish it. Between Italian politics and construction red tape, it means that nothing on that scale is ever straightforward. When they do, the two ends of the ground will be closer to the pitch at least. At present it resembles old Stamford Bridge.
I had heard of By the Horns but didn't know of the pub. I used to live in SW17 in a former life, although it was closer to Tooting Bec then leafy Wimbledon. Micro brewing seems to have made a comeback in the past decade, so it's a shame to see any of them go.
Also the day of the last edition of the pink football Echo, I have a copy up in my loft. I think from memory Tarki Micallef scored our goal. I can’t remember if it mentions the Bradford fire or not, it was usually published pretty quickly after the final results
2006 according to Wiki
An associated paper, the Football Echo, later called the Sport Echo, was published on Saturday afternoons from 1919 until 2006. Printed on-site, on pink paper, it was available soon after the final whistle of rugby and football matches, across the street. At its peak the Football Echo sold up to 80,000 copies.[6]
The pink served me proud for a year or two. My parents divorced and we children to too scared to tell the authorities that we didn't want to live with my violent father as we lived in fear of him ourselves after my mother left (or was driven out by his violence).
I gave up watching City and, instead furtively visited my mother on alternative Saturday afternoons, read the pink on the way home and made out that I attended the games. (We had given up on visiting her officially as he used to literally interrogate us when we got back from visits to her).