Time Transfer

By Mark Roland Langdale

Time Transfer is an enchanting story about football– a game which lost its magic, and follows the trials and tribulations of Manchester United and Accrington Stanley FC.
It’s hard to pinpoint the exact date the magic appeared in the FA Cup. Perhaps it was there from the beginning when the very first ball was kicked, or perhaps it first appeared in 1923 – the year the final was first played at Wembley, known then as the Empire Stadium. Just as the Premier and Champions Leagues were battling it out for the top spot, the magic disappeared, much to the fans disappointment.
Can the Football Association bring the magic back to the cup, or will they be powerless to act to restore the magic, like old wizards who no longer possess the magic touch?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781838599843

Mark Roland Langdale

Mark Roland Langdale has had a varied life and career. He has worked with children and teenagers, climbed Mount Kilimanjaro in an effort to fundraise, travelled down the Amazon and is a longtime member of Greenpeace. Mark likes to write modern day fairytales with an undercurrent of real life issues such as mental health, environment, dyslexia which he suffers from himself, and autism.

Book preview

TIME TRANSFER

Mark Roland Langdale

Copyright © 2019 Mark Roland Langdale

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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ISBN 9781838599843

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Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

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9

10

11

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Epilogue

Timeline – Stanley Higginbotham

Epilogue

Timeline – Duncan Best

Epilogue

FA Cup

Dedicated to Accrington Stanley FC, the Busby Babes of Manchester United and the Manchester United European Cup-winning side of 1968, Alex and Ben Smith, my sisters Jackie, Lindsey and brother Neil, and my mother and father, June and Alan Langdale. Thanks to Rosie Lowe and Emily Castledine for their help.

I am a football supporter, which means I belong to the biggest club in the world. It also means I have many favourite football teams, the number one being Accrington Stanley. Arsenal, Barnet and Millwall were my father’s and my grandfather’s teams, Brighton is the family team, Haywards Heath the first team my father ever took me to with my brother and Hamilton Academical… it’s a long story and has nothing to do with academics unless you count counting the numbers on the football pools as academic! Then I have a list of my all-time favourite dream teams; 1970 Brazil World Cup-winning team featuring Pele, Rivellino and Jairzinho, 1970s Ajax team featuring Johan Cruyff, the 1950s Hungarian team featuring Ferenc Puskas, Wanderers, the first team to lift the FA Cup back in 1872, the 1953 Blackpool FA Cup-winning team featuring the wizard of the wing, Sir Stanley Matthews, the 1958 Busby Babes featuring the great Duncan Edwards, the 1966 England World Cup-winning team captained by Bobby Moore, whose boots I won in a competition back in the 70s, and actually played in them and that day I bossed the game… fairy tale… lie – the true story was I was sent off for a bad tackle!

Leaving the best to last; my favourite side of all time are the League Two Champions of 2017-18, Accrington Stanley, although not far behind them are the Accrington Stanley Conference-winning side of 2006. I have to admit I am not a supporter of Manchester United, other than the vintage United sides and Newton Heath, although my nephew Ben Smith is another author in the family who has penned the excellent Hero trilogy.

This story is part fact, part faction, part fiction and part fantasy, set in the past, the present and the near future. The reader is asked to imagine this story as shown on an old magic lantern, viewed one lithograph slide at a time. Though the story is in part set in the near future, at no time is the reader asked to imagine the story viewed through a virtual reality headset, as this is not FIFA 3000!

Nobody has a crystal football that they can gaze into to see the future so there will be times in the story certain players are not playing for the club they are playing for at the time I completed the story, which was at the beginning of 2019 – Third Round of the FA Cup, a few days after the transfer window opened. But then again this is just a story and football is full of stories, some which sound more fiction than fiction which should probably come under the heading of a fairy tale!

I often have a recurring dream in which I beat the Benfica goalkeeper and faced with an empty net time stands still.

George Best talking about the second goal he scored at Wembley during the 1968 European Cup Final.

Time Stands Still – BBC report online 2015 referring to the Ronnie Radford goal he scored for Hereford against Newcastle in 1972, one of the greatest football fairy tales of all time, although Wimbledon FC, winners of the FA Cup in 1988, might have something to say about that.

Prologue

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact date the magic appeared in the FA Cup. Perhaps it was there from the beginning when the very first ball was kicked in the competition way back in 1888. Or perhaps it first appeared as if by magic in 1923, the year the final was first played at Wembley, known then as the Empire Stadium.

To pinpoint the exact moment the magic disappeared from the Cup might be a little easier as most football historians agree this occurred around the time the Premier League and Champions Leagues got up a good head of steam. Perhaps 1999, the eve of a new century but anything but a party for lovers of the FA Cup, was the very moment the magic disappeared from the cup as it was then that Manchester United pulled out of the FA Cup 2000 to take part in the World Club Championship. It’s hard to defend the indefensible as they say in football circles, as United, who had won the FA Cup more than any other club at the time, chose not to defend it, preferring to play in a competition that Accrington Stanley of the Conference North would have fancied their chances of winning. This to football historians was a major own goal by Brand United and a clear sign of where football was heading, which was not in the right direction. It would have been better at this point in time if Old Father Time had turned the timeline around and we’d all travelled back along the timeline in the Flying Scotsman to season 1922-23 and started again. To some young Manchester United fans, the club pulling out of the competition in 2000 was simply a story, an urban myth, as was the legend of Accrington Stanley.

It is at this moment along the timeline 2000 that the fans started to disappear from the terraces and stands in the grounds where FA Cup ties were being played and this time by a magic of a far darker variety. Shadow teams or reserve teams replaced first teams and to the fans who remained loyal to the Cup it felt as if the players on the pitch were little more than bit part players, understudies for the star performers in a show way, way off Broadway or the West End and you can forget the Theatre of Dreams!

Since re-entering the FA Cup Manchester United FC have constantly fielded a strong team, unlike certain other clubs, who obviously think they are too big for what is now being referred to by some in the media as a small-time competition.

Many players and fans swore their team’s name was written on the cup before a ball had even been kicked in anger in that year’s competition, their name written in invisible ink or quicksilver. If this were indeed the case then the engraver at the cup final was simply pretending to engrave the cup with the name of the winning team, as it materialised as if by magic right before his very eyes just as he was about to engrave the first letter onto the historic trophy.

Once upon a time the FA Cup had been able to conjure up magic at the drop of a hat, or at least with the help of a wand of a left or right foot from a wizard who performed his magic on the pitch. But that was all in the past and, as we all know, the past is dead and gone and is never coming back no matter how much at times we wish it would.

The FA Cup sat silently in its glass case at the Football Museum in Manchester some time in the future covered in cobwebs, what time is unclear as the crystal football is anything but crystal clear, shrouded in the mists of time. Fans young and old passed the cup by on the other side of the trophy cabinet as if it were invisible. The FA Cup, once the jewel of the football crown, not just in Britain but all around the world, was a relic of the past (as was once said about Accrington Stanley), an idle curiosity, a time capsule, a museum piece and nothing more. The challenge for the Football Association in this day and age was to bring the magic back to the cup, but the FA seemed powerless to act to restore the magic to the cup, like old wizards who no longer possessed the magic touch.

The spider spinning its web around the FA Cup was not, I’m afraid, a money spider, even though, to be fair to the FA, they had doubled the prize money over the last few years. This was too little too late, critics of the Football Assocation said, shutting the barn door after the horse had bolted, a white horse named Billy. It was Billy, with the help of his rider, who marshalled the 200,000 plus fans who were on the pitch that historic day for the 1923 FA Cup Final and that was before a ball was even kicked in the game, let alone over. Compared to what the Premier League big boys earned most who did not want to play ball unless it was money ball, and were happy to hang on to what they earned for simply staying up, clubs who, it appeared, for the most part had turned their backs on the football pyramid, which was beginning to creak like an ancient Egyptian pyramid, the treasure of which had been stolen by graverobbers long ago. The prize money (a large fortune) according to those who held on tightly to the purse strings in the game, was hardly what you might call a fortune, other than a small one, and if your club was knocked out early doors then this money really could be said to be nothing more than… sweet FA!

It was said by philosophers and wise men that you could not put the genie back into the bottle or the magic back into the cup, as if the FA Cup were a magic cauldron drained of all its powers, no longer able to create that moment of magic that would live long in the memory, another football fairy tale, a Walsall, a Hereford, a Sunderland, a Southampton, a Yeovil, a Wimbledon, a Wigan moment. There is more chance of time travel becoming a reality than the magic returning to the FA Cup; the football fairy tale is over, may the FA Cup rest in peace, a football journalist in The Times newspaper wrote in earnest, writing the FA Cup’s obituary.

But what if there was a way to put the magic back into this treasured old silver trophy so that once again it turned into a treasure chest worth its weight, not only in gold to the smaller clubs in the football pyramid, but in treasured memories. Memories that would live long in the mind of football supporters not only in this country but the world over, what if… well football supporters are nothing if not dreamers, as for the most part they have to be, so perhaps, just perhaps, this was one dream that was worth striving for and one not giving up without a fight. Written on the main stand at Manchester United in large lettering is a banner which reads The Impossible Dream… Made Possible, in which case nothing is impossible, not even restoring the magic back to the FA Cup, which is something all real football fans should wish for. I gaze into my crystal football and see a European League and a European Cup; unfortunately the FA Cup has disappeared for good! As they say in the media, football fans, ones who do not value the FA Cup, be careful what you wish for!

1

Timeline January 5th 2018 –

Manchester – Old Trafford – Third Round of the FA Cup

‘It must be a dull game!’ Dan Dickinson, the commentator high up in the commentary booth, quipped as the camera panned to two Manchester United fans in the Stretford End at Old Trafford playing a game of cards.

‘Perhaps they’re swapping Panini football cards. Right now I think United fans would willingly swap their team for the light blue team across the park. In recent times Manchester United have been swapping their managers as if they were Panini football stickers!’ quipped Danny Higginbotham, the ex-United player who was doing the co-commentary for BBC 1, referring to United rivals Manchester City. In truth Higginbotham was sounding more under the moon than over it, and a blue moon at that, and the same could be said for the United fans who were thinking the House of United was on shaky ground and could fall at any minute like a house of cards.

‘United could certainly do with pulling a rabbit or two out of the hat if they’re going to win this year’s FA Cup; in fact they could do with pulling as many lower league teams out of the hat and at home as Lady Luck will allow,’ commentator Dan Dickinson added, trying to make his commentary at least interesting on the ear as the game was anything but easy on the eye.

Manchester United’s star had waned in the last few years while the star and moon of their rivals Manchester City had risen and waxed lyrical, as had the public about the way Manchester City played their football. While City attacked, attacked, attacked, Manchester United defended, defended, defended, not only on the pitch but off as they attempted to defend their fading public image and brand image around the globe, which was fast losing its kudos. Glory-hunting schoolboys were no longer happy supporting Manchester United but were supporting United’s much more successful rivals, Manchester City. How times had changed from the days of Sir Matt Busby and Sir Alex Ferguson, and changed almost faster than the speed of light. How the United faithful longed for the magical Fergie Time, when the impossible was possible.

‘Card tricks, well it’s one way of putting the magic back into the FA Cup, I suppose. I suppose the next card he turns over will be the three of clubs, three being the magic number,’ Dickinson quipped. The commentator was desperately trying to block out the voices of several disgruntled United legends standing close by in another commentary booth, who were kicking every ball in the hope it would kick-start United and propel them back to the top where they believed United belonged.

‘I fear the card he’s just pulled out of the pack is the joker card!’ Danny Higginbotham replied, who clearly by the tone of his voice was not joking.

‘How did you do that trick, Dad?’ exclaimed United fan and youth team player Duncan Best, hoping that he would see some of that magic on the pitch. This was the sort of magic that George Best performed at the Theatre of Dreams on a regular basis, ghosting past the defenders as if they weren’t there. The ghosts of Old Trafford, it seemed, were haunting the modern players as if they were shadowing their every move, whispering in their ears, ‘Give it up, you’ll never be good enough to play for United, you’re not fit to wear the boots of Edwards, Law, Charlton, Best, Ronaldo, Captain Marvel Pop Robson, Beckham, Scholes,’ etcetera, etcetera.

‘They don’t call me the King of the Cards for nothing, son, a title that believe it or not once belonged to the great Harry Houdini, although in truth he was more known for his illusions and escapology exploits than close up magic,’ Mr Best replied proudly.

‘It’s all done with smoke and mirrors, as they say in the magic business,’ laughed a wag in the seat behind the Manchester United Club Magician, a title Mr Best had bestowed upon himself after once entertaining the players at a Christmas party held at Old Trafford.

‘The Mirror challenge, and I’m not talking about Ronaldo, Beckham or Pogba running down the wing with a hand mirror admiring their latest hair styles as they perform a trick or two. No, this mirror challenge was The Mirror newspaper who set Harry Houdini a challenge to escape from a set of handcuffs in 1909, the same year Manchester United won the FA Cup. That was a time when there really was magic in the air and in the cup,’ Mr Best said, showing off his knowledge of magic and Harry Houdini.

‘United could do with that Mirror of Erised from Harry Potter at this moment in time, although I don’t think any United fan wants to look into a crystal football in case things get even worse for United or even better for City!’ sighed the United fan, looking up towards the gods, where the United chairman and directors sat looking down upon the tired and huddled masses tired of the same old rhetoric coming from on high and tired of being second best to their two main rivals, Manchester City and Liverpool.

‘Yes, it’s a bit like a media circus these days. Circus of horrors would be a more appropriate line, given United’s spectacular fall from grace,’ another member of the United Fan Club quipped, joining in the banter that all football fans enjoyed before, during or after a game.

‘Your Duncan has learnt every trick in the book from Best, Edwards, Charlton, Law, Ronaldo, Beckham and Rashford and one day, God willing, he will pull on the red and white shirt. And when he does I hope to God he don’t disappear like most of the United players on the pitch appear to do when they put the red and white shirt on,’ said the United fan, looking up towards the gods, the soccer gods who lived in God Manchester who, it appeared, had deserted Manchester United in favour of their rivals Manchester City. ‘It really is as if they are wearing Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility at times and when they put the United third kit on, all green, it’s even worse!’ the United fan grunted, shaking his head theatrically as he patted Duncan Best on the shoulder. ‘By the way, I like your retro United shirt, Duncan. What year?’

‘1958,’ Duncan said proudly, feeling the starched high collar of his vintage Manchester United shirt with the name Edwards on the back. Then, as if performing a magic trick, Duncan pulled off the Edwards shirt to reveal another vintage shirt with the name Best on it.

‘While the United fans buy a new United shirt every year, our Duncan buys a retro United shirt every year. His prized possession is a yellow and green Newton Heath shirt, not a copy either but an original. It cost me nearly a year’s wages. Sometimes I think he wishes he was born in another time,’ Mr Best smiled, ‘but the past is the past. It’s the future of Manchester United we need to focus on now, and Duncan is the future and right now the future can’t come fast enough,’ Mr Best, part-time illusionist and full-time professional United fan replied, wishing he had a magic wand to wave over the United team at this moment in time as there was a distinct lack of magic in Old Trafford these days. The truth was the magic in Manchester was only to be seen in the Etihad Stadium, where the light blues of Manchester City put on a magic show every week, with the help of David Silva, The Little Magician rarely failing to score, and only losing once in a blue moon.

‘Yes, and isn’t it nice to see both teams playing in their traditional first team kit and not the uninspiring away kits teams are forced to wear simply so the clubs can make even more money off the fans,’ spat the United fan, clearly showing he wasn’t a fan of the modern away kit, but then again, apart from the club secretary and the chairman, who were, black, grey, brown, Day-Glo orange, luminescent yellow; they were either depressing to look at or made you wish you were colour blind!

‘Have you ever wondered why it is we always draw Reading at home in the Third Round of the Cup?’ a United fan said, turning to his mate in the Stretford End.

‘It was written that way,’ came back the laconic reply. ‘Let’s hope it’s not written as a football fairy tale!’ the United fan replied, looking grim as the football banter continued unabated.

‘Actually I think it may be down to Uri Geller, the magician/illusionist, as, if my memory serves me right, he once asked the Reading fans to will the ball into the goal with him. He’s probably doing the same with the balls in the third round draw of the FA Cup,’ added the United fan, managing to keep a straight face. In truth he was thinking that United could do with a player on the pitch who could perform David Beckham’s trick of bending the ball around the wall as if by magic, rather than a player who could perform Uri Geller’s trick of bending keys out of shape. Manchester United fans felt bent out of shape at this moment in time, not helped by the team’s shape or lack of it. Some of the players looked out of shape. The team desperately needed a shape-shifter of the quality of David Beckham, Ryan Giggs, George Best or Duncan Edwards on the pitch, or a manager like Sir Alex Ferguson or a captain like Roy Keane to whip them into shape.

‘Reading aren’t helping the game any parking the bus; you would have thought the stewards would have stopped the Reading coach before it got onto the pitch!’ another United fan quipped, trying to lift the flagging spirits of the long-suffering football fan.

‘Did you know Accrington Stanley have a bus permanently parked outside the Wham Stadium? You can see it from the main stand,’ an older United fan piped up proudly as this factoid had popped up out of his head and not out of a smart phone.

‘Accrington Stanley, who on earth are they? Soccer AM?’ the United fan cried, referring to the Sky TV show where, every time an Accrington Stanley fixture was read out, the presenters and studio audience cried out the well-worn phrase, ‘Accrington Stanley, who are they?’ as a voice in the background cried out in jest, ‘They, my friends, are members of the Flat Earth Society!’

‘I think this game could well go down in the annals of the FA Cup as the worst game in the competition’s illustrious history, bar none.’

‘I’d go even further and say this is the worst game of football in the history of football, an annus horribilis, which is probably down to the clubs playing weakened teams in the cup. Some of the players haven’t even played with one another before today, not even in training. No wonder so many fans are in the United bar reminiscing about the good old days!’ Mr Best quipped, licking his lips, unaware of the subliminal effect the whisky advertisement on the electronic advertising boards was having on him. In truth the advertising boards were far more entertaining than anything that was happening on the pitch!

‘Aye, the good old days when nobody left until the final whistle as everybody in the ground, including the opposition, knew come rain or shine we’d score in Fergie Time,’ jeered the self-proclaimed club poet, making up a little rhyme in no time at all.

‘Still, at least we’ve witnessed a little bit of history today. When you have kids of your own, Duncan, you can say I was there when the worst game of football in the history of football was played,’ the United fan laughed, almost falling out of his plastic seat. It was just fortunate for the fan he wasn’t up in the gods in the main stand, where nobody was laughing as most of the fans looked as if they were either asleep or had died in their seats and one thing was certain, they hadn’t died laughing!

‘Yes, horrible history, I’m not sure you can even call this facade football. Surely it must be against the Trade Descriptions Act to do so. United, you’re history!’ another United fan cried out, as the banter inside Old Trafford got up a good head of steam, which was more than could be said about the football as another misdirected pass sailed into the crowd. ‘I think he was passing to your Duncan, and why wouldn’t he? He’d have a better chance of scoring today and he’s sitting in the stand!’

‘As William Shakespeare once said, Nothing good will come of nothing, and let’s face it, nothing is what we’ve seen today, a 0-0 bore. It’s the emperor’s new clothes all over again.’

‘Shakespeare? I didn’t know Craig Shakespeare was in the dugout. When did he join the United coaching team?’ the United fan exclaimed slightly disbelievingly.

‘Not Craig Shakespeare the ex-Leicester boss, Will Shakespeare the playwright. Well, after all, it is the Theatre of Dreams and why not Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’d happily watch the players attempt a bit of Shakespeare. It can’t be any worse than this sorry excuse for entertainment. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo!’

‘Well, Romero’s playing for United and Romeo is in the stand playing FIFA 2018 on his smart phone,’ the United fan said, pointing to the Bobby Charlton stand, where David Beckham and his son Romeo were sitting.

‘Thank God the transfer window is now open. We can transfer the lot of them… on a free transfer, for right now I’d rather watch the youth team!’ quipped another United wag as a ripple of laughter broke out in that section of the Stretford End.

‘Look, our super sub is coming on,’ one United fan cried, as the United substitute, Jimmy Smith, appeared from the bench wearing a mask, due to a facial injury he had picked up the week before.

‘Are you Captain Marvel in disguise, are you Captain Marvel in disguise,’ the United fans cried as one, referring to the old-time United captain Brian Pop Robson, known to United fans as Captain Marvel.

‘It will take a team of Marvel superheroes to rescue this game!’ Mr Best quipped, as Jimmy Smith flew down the wing then fell over his own two left feet!

‘I wish The Little Magician was playing for United. He’d be conjuring up some magic for us with that wand of a left foot of his, the cup and this game in particular certainly could do with some of that old FA Cup magic,’ sighed Duncan, waxing lyrical about the beautiful game with his father, in the hope that some of that lyrical waxing would somehow transfer itself onto the pitch by osmosis. At this particular football snapshot in time there was very little to wax lyrical about on the pitch. Off the pitch there was so much to write about you could write a book, write several. In fact you could fill a set of encylopaedias –The Rise and Fall of Manchester United.

Duncan Best was fourteen years of age and was already playing in the United under-fifteen team, and his father thought he was already better than most of the United first team players. But then fathers always thought their sons were world beaters and most never made the grade. You had to be something extra special to make the grade at United, or at least that used to be the case before standards and performances waned like an old moon.

‘Why are the United players huddled together in the middle of the pitch? Did I miss something, like a goal? It’s not the magic circle although we all wish it was!’ the United fan groaned, trying out some wishful thinking.

‘Sorry, Dad. I’ll repeat the names of the eleven magicians from the Manchester United magic football circle that won the 1968 European Cup three times to make amends,’ Duncan replied, putting his hand over his mouth to hide a smile. This was something he had often seen players and managers do so that TV cameras didn’t pick up on some remark that would get them in hot water with the FA. In truth Duncan Best hadn’t even mentioned the name he wasn’t supposed to mention, for fear it would put a curse on Manchester United for all time. That player’s name was David Silva or The Little Magician, also known as Merlin, who could perform tricks not only in the centre circle but in any part of the pitch, conjuring up a piece of magic out of nothing.

‘I hope one day when you pull on that red and white shirt at Old Trafford, Duncan, you will help to bring the glory, glory days back to the Theatre of Dreams, because these days it’s more like the Nightmare Theatre as all the plays put on here are tragedies!’

‘Jesus!’ the United fan exclaimed, standing up as if in praise of a higher power in this open-air cathedral in Manchester.

‘What is with everybody today, can’t we get through a game without somebody mentioning a City player?’ moaned Mr Best, shaking his head.

‘Not Jesus the City player, who, like Dynamo the Magician, walks on water, just, Jesus, how could our striker miss from three yards? He needs bloody shooting, as Brian Clough, the old Derby and Forest manager, used to say every time one of his strikers missed a sitter!’

The game ended 0-0, so a replay was required, to be played at the Madaski Stadium in ten days’ time. This meant that neither father nor son saw the magic show they were hoping for that day, a day that would thankfully not live long in the memory. Many United fans that day wished they could have rewritten history, or at least football history, so that instead of the game ending 0-0 it ended 4-0 to Manchester United. But that was simply wishful thinking. You could not rewrite history; that was simply a far-fetched fiction. The Reading fans, on the other hand, were ecstatic at this goaless bore, which seemed curious to any non-football fan, who would have thought the way they were celebrating they had just won the cup. The truth was the money generated from the game shown on TV and the replay, which also was certain to be on the telly, simply because Manchester United were playing in the game, would be enough to pay the players’ wages for a month. If it had been Accrington Stanley playing United at Old Trafford in this third round FA Cup tie and not Reading, and the game had ended in a draw, it would have generated enough money to pay the players’ wages for a season, perhaps two!

Perhaps the next time they came to Old Trafford the Bests would see the best of Manchester United, the magical Manchester United, as once more the soccer gods from God Manchester waved their magic wand over Old Trafford and the magic returned. For the first time in the history of the local paper, the Manchester Observer, they failed to file a match report. The reason given was the match was unmemorable; the reporter filing the report could not remember a single thing that had happened!

Thankfully for the United supporters, time moves on, for this was not a time that United fans had much time for and they were grateful that time had moved on and they were not stuck in a time warp. If there was a time warp Manchester United fans would have loved to have been stuck in, it would have been the magical side of 1958 that included the Busby Babes and the greatest footballer Britain ever produced Duncan Edwards, or 1968, when United first won the European Cup, a side that included Bobby Charlton and George Best, or the magical side of 1999 when they won the treble, that included Beckham, Scholes, Butt, Giggs and the Neville brothers.

2

Timeline – 2022 –

God Manchester

‘What are you watching, Duncan?’ asked Mr Best, as he walked into the sitting room with all the curtains drawn, as if he had just walked into a private theatre. This was something many footballers had built in their own homes, as fame made it nigh on impossible to go to the cinema unless dressed in disguise. Often players had high walls built around their homes with security cameras set up all around the house with the latest hi-tech security system making it more like a prison than a home.

‘What am I watching… I have no idea,’ Duncan replied, looking a little puzzled as if he had fallen asleep while watching the television.

‘I hope I didn’t leave the set on again, if I did your mother will kill me. Electricity doesn’t grow on trees, she’ll say, as if we’ve gone back in time to the days of the Edwardians.’ Mr Best sighed heavily.

‘No, the TV came on as if by magic, the moment I walked in the room. It must be the new Google set, the one that reads your mind,’ quipped Duncan, making fun of the old television set that he called a magic lantern and Mr Best called John Logie Baird’s magic box of tricks. When the television set first appeared, in the mid-nineteen-twenties, it really was as if it belonged to Merlin the magician, owing to the magical quality it brought into people’s living rooms, as if they were in a small theatre watching a magician conjuring up the impossible and all from his magic trunk.

‘This must be a programme on the history of football, as what you are watching now is the 1923 FA Cup Final, the first cup final to be played at Wembley. Back then Wembley Stadium was known as the Empire Stadium, built for the Empire Games. It must be fate, Duncan, serendipity or the science of synchronicity. Perhaps you’re destined to play in the FA Cup this season, the anniversary Wembley competition or the Vintage Cup as the media has labelled it. I probably haven’t told you this but once upon a time the great magician/illusionist/inventor/clockmaker Robert Houdin ordered a book on clockmaking from a publishing house, but when it turned up it wasn’t what he had ordered but a book on magic. The book was called Scientific Amusements and the rest is the history of magic!’

‘You should probably add memory man to your magic act, Dad,’ Duncan quipped.

‘Magic, that’s a dirty word as you well know. I’m an illusionist not a magician,’ Mr Best replied, his face as straight as a magic wand.

‘Yes, you’re one hundred percent correct, Dad, go to the top of the football class. In fact you’re a genius, so perhaps they should have you on the TV programme Football Genius,’ Duncan added, picking up his mother’s TV guide magazine to see if this was in fact a programme about the history of the FA Cup.

‘1923 was the first time a radio broadcast was heard over the airwaves in Britain and the year after John Logie Baird invented his magical box of tricks, otherwise known as the television,’ said Mr Best, as the words came out of his mouth in automaton-like fashion, as if he was one of the automatons of John Joseph Merlin, the seventeenth century clockmaker.

‘You should go on Mastermind, Dad, specialist subjects Manchester United football club and the history of the FA Cup,’ Duncan said mischievously, trying to wind his father up like an old grandfather clock.

‘History of the Football Association Challenge Cup, to give the trophy its full and proper title. Fact: in the 1922–23 competition there were six qualifying rounds which lower league sides had to come through to reach the first round proper of the Football Association Challenge Cup. Fact: the amateur side Corinthian-Casuals got a bye to the first round proper,’ Mr Best said, paraphrasing the old Liverpool boss, Rafa Benitez, in his press conference after a spat with Alex Ferguson, the United boss. ‘I still prefer watching football on TV in black and white rather than in colour although in all honesty I prefer listening to football on the radio than watching it on television.’

‘Yes, Dad, I realise this, so does every fan that sits around us in the Stretford End as you give a running commentary on the game, hardly drawing a breath,’ Duncan said, trying not to smile.

‘Well, it saves the fans around us listening to the commentary on their mobile phones, although some are betting on the times that corners, free kicks and throw-ins occur in the game and the younger fans are playing FIFA Football on their mobiles,’ Mr Best added, playing the straight man in this comedy routine. ‘There’s a time lapse between the radio and the television commentary, which means if you watch the TV and listen to the radio commentary the comentators on the radio always give the game away. On the radio United score then, as if by magic, three seconds later on television the ball ends up in the back of net, now that’s what I call a spoiler!’

‘I’ve tried listening to the matches on the radio but I feel like the teams are never going to score, like the neverending cup tie we watched at Old Trafford a few years ago. Either that or the opposition are going to score a late late goal, Fergie Time in reverse. I can’t bear the tension, it leaves too much to the wild imagination. At least with a picture you can see what is going on!’ Duncan laughed as he then recalled the story his father told him of Harry Redknapp, the old Spurs manager, who was sold a TV by a wide boy which was nothing more than a box with a screen on it and nothing inside it!

‘If United are playing they very rarely do. Sometimes I wish George Best, Duncan Edwards and all the United greats would walk down a time tunnel and out of the tunnel at Old Trafford and onto the pitch. The sooner the boffins invent a time machine the better as far as I’m concerned,’ Mr Best said, playing the straight man in this double act.

‘I see you’ve been rereading The Time Machine again, by HG Wells,’ Duncan replied, as he pulled out the book as if by magic from behind a cushion on the sofa.

There the conversation ended as the two men got sucked into the television set and disappeared as if by magic as they watched the 1923 FA Cup Final play itself out, or at least they imagined they had.

3

Wizard or Wanderer?

Timeline – 1922 October 7th – Accrington

‘I wonder which Stan Higginbotham is going to turn up this week, Sid; the party magician, the ex-wizard of the dribble or the wanderer, one of football’s journeymen whose time is almost up,’ coughed a man in a flat cap, chuntering over his breath as he left the factory on a Friday afternoon. This football fan didn’t need a crystal football to see how his team would fare in this year’s Football Association Cup, as it was the same every year, a quick exit followed by a struggle to stay in the league.

‘The wanderer, that dark character out of Wagner’s opera, The Ring Cycle, I would imagine, Charlie, or one of the dark wizards out of the same opera. I hope not. Hopefully the wizard of the dribble will turn up, as we’re going to need his magic touch if we’re to get to the first round proper of the Fooball Association Cup!’ another man replied with a red and white scarf wrapped around his neck, as he kicked a stone across the road as if it were a football. By the look on the man’s face he was imagining the stone was the eye he had just plucked out of the foreman’s head!

‘What do you know about opera, Sid?’ the man’s colleague enquired, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

‘What, just because a man loves football it means he can’t love opera, ballet or art? Some would say there is very little between football and opera, both being theatrical and dramatic. Add that to the fact in opera the hero or heroine always meets a sticky end, as do Accy Stanley on a mudbath of a pitch more times than not, where a player needs the skills of a prima ballerina to stay on their feet. Then there’s the club’s history, full of dark days with a bitter ending, which is how all great operas end,’ replied Charlie, a little put out by this comment.

‘Yes, I suppose I can see the similarities between theatre, opera and football. Can you imagine if we made it all the way to Wembley, now that really would be drama and theatre of the highest order,’ said Sid, trying to keep the conversation civil, as it could often turn ugly between lovers of the beautiful game. It was a well-known fact that when it came to football a football fan could start a fight in a police cell with his own shadow!

‘No more than I can imagine Stanley getting to the Third Round of the cup, Sid, so I suppose if you’re going to dream you might as well dream big,’ Charlie replied, trying not to laugh. For these two men football wasn’t a funny game, it was a game to be taken deadly seriously and the only bright spot to light up the dark satanic mills that littered the northern landscape like giant shadows.

‘Aye and unfortunately for Accrington Stan’s no wizard or a great magician like Houdini. I imagine at times Stan wishes he played for Wanderers, winners of the very first Football Association Cup in 1889. I hope he doesn’t try anymore of his party tricks on the pitch, as more times than not he ties himself in more knots than Harry Houdini!’ Sid replied, sighing gently, wishing he had the power of a magician to transform his team into a team of world beaters. During the working week most workers in the mills and factories wished their lives away but only because it meant that Saturday afternoon would come around quicker so they could watch their beloved Accrington Stanley. The moment Sid and Charlie stepped into Peel Park, the home of Accrington Stanley, time had no meaning. It was simply an illusion until the last five minutes when Stanley were leading 1-0 then time dragged interminably. Unless Stanley were losing 0-1, then time flashed by faster than a rocket, although not Stephenson’s Rocket, as its top speed was only a sedate 28mph. Regarding time and the passing of it the Rocket was not a good analogy for speed. If you were looking for speed look no further than the Flying Scotsman. However, at this moment in time that iconic locomotive was yet to be unveiled, but when it was it would indeed be a most magical moment, in fact, to some it would be the greatest feat of magic of all time. ‘Hey presto!’

‘Stan wishes he could disappear into the mist of time more like, after one of his less than magical performances, as the manager won’t be able to find him. Or wishes he could rediscover his youth, the more likely story discover the elixir of youth, or wishes a wizard would end his bad spell,’ quipped his mate, as the banter continued as if the two men were standing on the terraces watching a football match rather than standing outside a factory in a small town in East Lancashire.

‘Ah, if only Sam Pilkington, the Stanley manager, had a magic wand he could wave over Stan to end his barren spell, then we might all get our wish of reaching the Third Round of the FA Cup for the first time in the club’s history.’

‘If that’s going to happen then Sam is going to have to wave that wand over the whole team they way they’re playing this season!’

‘Forget all this