Born to Fight--The True Story of Richy 'Crazy Horse' Horsley Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Richy Horsley
under-strength Rossmere.
The first half was very even, with both sides creating scoring chances. The difference was they couldn’t get anything past me. We were more clinical, and went into the half-time break 1-0 up. There was only one team in it in the second half, as they played us off the field. The pressure on us was relentless. Adding to this was the fact that the ref was also their coach; he slipped on an extra ten minutes. This paid off, as they equalised with the last kick of the game. They had got out of jail by the skin of their teeth. Our coach ran over screaming attheirs and called him a cheat for finding an extra ten minutes from nowhere.
My love of football continued to keep me busy when I became a fan of our local team, Hartlepool United. Our Ruth’s husband, Dave, took me to some of their home games. Dave and his mates used to go every week and stand in the same place. They used to get right into it and gave the opposition players lots of verbal abuse. Although I followed Hartlepool United, Leeds United was my main time at that time. Mam and Dad were friends with a couple called Harry and Jean, who lived down the bottom of our street. Harry was a rough old sod, and used to grab me whenever we went to see them and give me a good tussle. To make things worse, he was a big Sunderland fan, a team Leeds played in the 1973 FA Cup final. Harry would scowl and blast torments at me, calling Leeds crap, bigging-up Sunderland, that kind of banter. Well, my nightmare was complete when Sunderland won the final 1-0. Five minutes later, there was a letter delivered to our house addressed to me. When I opened it, it read: ‘SUNDERLAND 1’. Underneath that in very small letters: ‘Leeds 0’. No prizes for guessing who had sent it.
What else influenced me as I was growing up? Well, certainly the community spirit of the 1970s. It might sound clichéd, but people did use to leave their doors unlocked. Then again, that could have been down to the fact that there wasn’t much worth nicking! Thatcommunity spirit still exists in Hartlepool, and above all in me, since its values have stayed with me. People cared for each other, and the family was the centre of your life. Like my mam and dad, my mother’s friend Annie Bobbin and her husband couldn’t have kids. In 1976 she finally became a mother when her and Jimmy adopted a beautiful baby girl, whom they called Joanne. When Annie went to pick her up and bring her home, my mam and Ken went along with her. She was a lovely child and never wanted for anything – in fact, she was spoilt rotten. When she was in her teens, she was diagnosed with kidney trouble and had to go on dialysis. We were all devastated. Eventually, she stopped the treatment and failed to turn up for her appointments. Obviously, this took its toll and, tragically, she died the week before Christmas in 2001.
Meanwhile, I had more family through my Aunt Lois, who was married to a Polish man called Bob Gers. They had four children, the oldest of whom, Janick – pronounced Yanick – was constantly playing his guitar. All he did was practise, practise, practise. I remember one day hearing him playing Rod Stewart’s ‘Maggie May’ in the front room, and realising just how good he was becoming. Janick was only young then himself. He played in a few bands, with Fish from Marillion and Ian Gillan from Deep Purple. He was such a brilliant player that it didn’t take long for him to get his first big break, when he got an audition for Iron Maiden. As soon asthey heard our Jan play, they knew he was the man they wanted. He’s now world famous himself and has been on numerous world tours. He played on the Number One hit single ‘Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter’. His hard work paid off. No one deserved it more: a real down-to-earth family man.
Janick especially respected my dad – he once told me that he thought the world of him. Not long after the Leeds defeat, Dad was taken ill, which certainly put
The first half was very even, with both sides creating scoring chances. The difference was they couldn’t get anything past me. We were more clinical, and went into the half-time break 1-0 up. There was only one team in it in the second half, as they played us off the field. The pressure on us was relentless. Adding to this was the fact that the ref was also their coach; he slipped on an extra ten minutes. This paid off, as they equalised with the last kick of the game. They had got out of jail by the skin of their teeth. Our coach ran over screaming attheirs and called him a cheat for finding an extra ten minutes from nowhere.
My love of football continued to keep me busy when I became a fan of our local team, Hartlepool United. Our Ruth’s husband, Dave, took me to some of their home games. Dave and his mates used to go every week and stand in the same place. They used to get right into it and gave the opposition players lots of verbal abuse. Although I followed Hartlepool United, Leeds United was my main time at that time. Mam and Dad were friends with a couple called Harry and Jean, who lived down the bottom of our street. Harry was a rough old sod, and used to grab me whenever we went to see them and give me a good tussle. To make things worse, he was a big Sunderland fan, a team Leeds played in the 1973 FA Cup final. Harry would scowl and blast torments at me, calling Leeds crap, bigging-up Sunderland, that kind of banter. Well, my nightmare was complete when Sunderland won the final 1-0. Five minutes later, there was a letter delivered to our house addressed to me. When I opened it, it read: ‘SUNDERLAND 1’. Underneath that in very small letters: ‘Leeds 0’. No prizes for guessing who had sent it.
What else influenced me as I was growing up? Well, certainly the community spirit of the 1970s. It might sound clichéd, but people did use to leave their doors unlocked. Then again, that could have been down to the fact that there wasn’t much worth nicking! Thatcommunity spirit still exists in Hartlepool, and above all in me, since its values have stayed with me. People cared for each other, and the family was the centre of your life. Like my mam and dad, my mother’s friend Annie Bobbin and her husband couldn’t have kids. In 1976 she finally became a mother when her and Jimmy adopted a beautiful baby girl, whom they called Joanne. When Annie went to pick her up and bring her home, my mam and Ken went along with her. She was a lovely child and never wanted for anything – in fact, she was spoilt rotten. When she was in her teens, she was diagnosed with kidney trouble and had to go on dialysis. We were all devastated. Eventually, she stopped the treatment and failed to turn up for her appointments. Obviously, this took its toll and, tragically, she died the week before Christmas in 2001.
Meanwhile, I had more family through my Aunt Lois, who was married to a Polish man called Bob Gers. They had four children, the oldest of whom, Janick – pronounced Yanick – was constantly playing his guitar. All he did was practise, practise, practise. I remember one day hearing him playing Rod Stewart’s ‘Maggie May’ in the front room, and realising just how good he was becoming. Janick was only young then himself. He played in a few bands, with Fish from Marillion and Ian Gillan from Deep Purple. He was such a brilliant player that it didn’t take long for him to get his first big break, when he got an audition for Iron Maiden. As soon asthey heard our Jan play, they knew he was the man they wanted. He’s now world famous himself and has been on numerous world tours. He played on the Number One hit single ‘Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter’. His hard work paid off. No one deserved it more: a real down-to-earth family man.
Janick especially respected my dad – he once told me that he thought the world of him. Not long after the Leeds defeat, Dad was taken ill, which certainly put