Howard Wilkinson just celebrated his 70th birthday, and I’m glad. At least, I assume he celebrated. I hope he did. The story goes that he didn’t let winning the league title with Leeds United interrupt his Sunday dinner; but then there’s the footage of him that afternoon downing a glass of champagne with his kids to toast the success. Then again, he also went to play a round of golf with Harry Gration a day or two later, so that week probably doesn’t count as a debauch.
We almost made it to eleven months. Some parts of the world would be pleased with eleven months of peace, but in Beeston it doesn’t seem all that long. It was cold, and there was a takeover, then it was warm for a bit, then it got cold and there was another takeover. Or, at least, there was talk about it.
Drunken ebullience is rarely rewarded. Oh, a headache? My, what a prize! In this case I won something even worse. ‘Ooh, a ticket in with the Huddersfield fans? I’m spoiled!’