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Goal Celebrations
Last week I scored a hat-trick in a 3-3 draw. The first a header from a pinpoint free kick from Steve Prince that found me unmarked near the far post. The second a couple of minutes later when I capitalised on indecision in the box to smack the loose ball home to put us 2-1 up then the third when I turned like quicksilver on the edge of the box to fire past the keeper to equalise in the last minute.
Oddly my goal celebration was rather subdued just pointing to the heavens in deference and gratitude for the talent bestowed upon me as I made my way back into my own half. I have, in the past, been noted for marking my goalscoring feats with an elaborate display of showmanship. At times it has been looked down upon and in this instance I am not referring to the footballing Gods upon high, but some of my more conservative colleagues.
What they fail to realise is that I am the first generation of footballer that was influenced by the new flamboyant manner of celebrating goals that first crept in during the very early 1970s.
I was an impressionable 8 year old when I saw Tony Currie play for Sheffield United more than half a century ago against Bristol City at Ashton Gate. I was in the Covered East End amongst thousands of partizan City fans fervent in their support. At any age it’s awesome and a little frightening being a part of that intense atmosphere full of menace and a sense of joie de vivre but at so young and age it’s multiplied by five and when United scored the only goal through Tony Currie at that end one could be excused for thinking it would best he ran away and hid. But no, Mr Currie faced the thousands of tormentors baying for his blood and blew them/us kisses. I was transfixed. I couldn’t believe the gall of the fellow. And although I hated him in that moment I also admired his chutzpah. It was better than any pantomime. This wasn’t an actor playing the baddie and being booed. It was real life. It had a profound effect on me, the sheer drama and intensity of the scene. Pure, unadulterated showmanship.
I make no apologies, therefore, for being in the vanguard in veteran footballing terms of marking a feat with a celebration. Most of my colleagues didn’t experience that. Their impressionable age corresponded with the time when a goal was marked with a few handshakes and the occasional ‘Well done, old chap’. So my bringing the gaudiness of a display of joyous triumph to proceedings still produces the occasional tut-tut in remonstration from opponents. But compared to what Tony Currie faced up to that day, it’s nothing.
One such celebration occurred when I marked my 100th goal in over 50’s football early in 2019. On sunny days I wear a bandana so my head doesn’t catch the sun. Without any other player knowing, I purchased a special gold coloured one and emblazoned ‘100’ across it in black felt pen. I kept it concealed in my pocket and when the glorious moment arrived I whipped it out and placed it upon my bonce and continued to wear it until I scored my 101st, which wasn’t too long afterwards. Whereupon it went back into my pocket and thence into my collection of memorabilia. As I simply wouldn’t want to be seen wearing something to announce I had scored 100 goals when I had actually scored more than that!
I stopped counting when I reached 138 in early 2020. I’m guessing that now, Feb 2024, in the Friday football I have scored about 250-275 maybe more.
Jonty Morgan Humourist 