Childhood football hero - Frank McAvennie

 One of my many pet peeves about modern football, is the football fan that doesn’t support a team but supports a player. It is generally a phenomenon associated with Messi and Ronaldo and the endless online arguments by ‘fans’ from around the world with profile photos featuring their icon arguing over who is the greatest out of the two. Unfortunately, back in the mid to late 80s I was guilty of the same crime but with a different and much less iconic player, the player I supported was Frank McAvennie.

Granted he is not in the same league as Messi or Ronaldo or their equivalents at the time. However, to 8 to 12-year-old me he was the greatest player that ever existed and I kind of had the excuse, that I was football obsessed child and not a grown up.

Why Frank McAvennie? Well, my dad’s uncle Eddie had moved from Hartlepool down to the East End of London, Barking to be precise, after the Second World War.  I remember a sprightly, cheery fella who we used to go and visit quite regularly when I was younger and use his flat as a base whilst me, my younger brother, mam and dad explored London. Having lived down that way for years he had developed a soft spot for the Hammers and used to visit the Boleyn Ground quite regularly.

At the time West Ham were flying high, with the talismanic duo of Cottee and McAvennie scoring goals for fun. Being a young lad, I was drawn to the charismatic, bleach blonde Scot, this was the 80’s and the exotic players in the topflight were more likely to come from Glasgow instead of Japan. The only problem being the TV blackout in 1985/86 meant that no football was on the television and this being the mid 80’s a football ground was seen as no place for an 8-year-old lad.

Despite this I wore the iconic West Ham classic shirt from 1985/86 with pride and devoured as much information as I could about my hero. I remember being elated when he made the Scotland squad for Mexico 1986 but gutted when he only made fleeting substitute appearances before the tartan Army headed home after an early exit.

When Celtic came calling at the beginning of the 1987/88 season, without any hesitation I swapped the claret and blue for the green and white hoops like my hero. The fact my Grandparents bought the Sunday Post each week finally came in useful as I could keep up with news about my hero’s exploits north of the border. I remember receiving the 1988 centenary shirt as a Christmas gift and somehow convinced my parents to buy me a bright green Celtic tracksuit so I could dress like my hero. Celtic won the league and cup double that year; I remember watching the highlights of the Scottish Cup Final as Frank scored 2 late goals to beat Dundee United 2-1. My hero had finally got the recognition and silverware he deserved.

The start of the next season opened a fork in the road for my football supporting path and Hartlepool United reared their head, as much as I adored Frank, I wanted to see what it was like going to watch a game and support a team from the terraces. From then on in my heroes wore blue and white instead of claret and blue or green and white, with each game Frank became a distant memory and I only paid a passing interest in the next stages of his journey as he headed back to both West Ham and Celtic in an increasingly nomadic close to his career.