Last Updated on 1 July 2010 by gerry
Following on from my recollections of the World Cups (1978 and 1982), which live strongly in my childhood memory, I come to the first tournament I experienced as an adult: Mexico 1986. Northern Ireland had qualified once again and the tournament produced the infamous Hand of God goal and the Goal of the Century in one match. However as applicable to many major world events and the current affairs of this period, my memories are extremely hazy. Let’s face it – I was 19, just finished my first year as a student in Edinburgh, and had spent much of the Summer term recovering from a nasty bout of glandular fever.
I don’t even remember where I was when I was watching the football action. All I’m left with is the fact that the name Josimar still fills me with a sense of awe and wonder.
So a huge hazy slot in my memory for my early adult years. Do you suffer from a similar haziness for that period in your lives?
Hey Gerry, unlike you I have so many memories of 1986. I was living in Cardiff at the time, being unemployed and playing in my band (when we had to sign for the money at gigs sometimes, I was always Graham Greene as far as the Inland Revenue were concerned). We were all mad for it and had studied all the form and players. Watched most of the matches in the pub.
The French great white hope, J-P Papin was regarded as a racing cert for the golden boot, had the most expensive boots sponsorship deal ever seen at the time, and underperformed dismally, eventually scoring with his head!
The most abiding memory is being literally on the edge of my seat ALL the way through the Belgium-USSR match, final score 4-3 to Belgium and all 22 men on the pitch looking like they’d just done a triathlon at the end. One of the most exciting, committed, end-to-end matches I’ve ever seen.
Hi Steve – thanks for commenting. Now you mention it, I do remember enjoying the Belgium-USSR match.
And I forgot to say, my first cat, acquired by a mate while he was drunk in the daytime but soon handed over to me when he got bored with her, was christened Papin, in honour of the way Motty almost wet his little commentator pants every time Papin got the ball: “And it’s Papin making a charge… oh, and he’s done nothing with it again” š