And Other Subbuteo Stories

Thankfully, this Crystal Palace player survived the massacre

Subbuteo was huge in the 1970s. It’s hard to imagine now that whole tournaments were played by flicking to kick the outsized ball with these little guys all over a green baize pitch that had been spread out in someone’s living room, obscuring the view of the TV. But in the days before FIFA20 and so on, this is exactly how we young football fans got our kicks. Or more accurately, flicks.

My friend Bill and I used to do practically nothing else in that decade, with our music playing on the radio in the background. At the time of Ziggy Stardust I had just a couple of teams. By the time the post punk era arrived, I had dozens. It was our favourite way of passing the time, at least until we discovered girls, when of course it was relegated to second favourite pastime.

Our enthusiasm spread and soon many of our friends were playing it too. So many in fact that we decided to actually form a league, with home and away games, fixture lists, and even referees. I was always Crystal Palace, because no one else wanted to be, and I remember one game in particular where I caught a bus to the other side of Eastbourne on a cold and dark midweek night to beat Mark Plowright’s Leicester City 4-2.

I also had a Blackpool supporting friend who was disappointed to find that the team he bought didn’t have the two tangerine rings around their socks. So he painted them on the players’ legs himself, which required a lot of time and patience as the figures were so small.

Bill and I carried on playing well into our twenties. I left the country in 1983 and that was that. I think we’d still be playing now if we lived closer to each other and could be sure our knees wouldn’t give out. We once had our own FA Cup, from the 3rd Round to the final (Arsenal v Burnley I think) and a World Cup, where the unlikely winners turned out to be Hungary.

But there were problems. Early on, when I didn’t have many teams, I left Everton v Wolves which was taking place at Goodison Park (my bedroom floor), to go and have my tea. I must’ve been so excited about eating – no change there, to this day – that I left the door open. “Ooh,” thought my Labrador puppy, Henry. “”Something to chew!”

The plastic carnage was a sight to behold. There was no hope for Everton, most of whom had been half eaten, but curiously, he didn’t touch Wolves. I never have worked out why. Whatever the reason, the match was abandoned.

I miss Subbuteo, I don’t mind telling you. FIFA just isn’t the same. And it’s the only way that Palace would win 4-2 at Leicester nowadays…