Tomaszewski

I was only just 10 years old at the time but some memories just persist in your mind throughout your whole life.

I am not talking about any life or death situation, abuse by a celebrity or neglect.

It is something far more important to a 10 year old than those, still traumatic scenarios.

It was when England, the football team ,failed to qualify for the 1974 World Cup tournament in Germany by only managing a one all draw with Poland at the old Wembley Stadium.

That result meant that the visitors progressed to the summer competition and the England players, although themselves dejected would no doubt find themselves as 'johnny no mates' on some beach in Spain or Portugal having to watch the games on a grainy, poorly tuned in TV and with commentary in the native language.

There can be no greater disappointment to a professional player than to have to sit out what is often cited as the greatest show on earth. It is the ultimate showcase of talent and athleticism. If represented by, say Selfridges or Harrods then the England squad would have found themselves sitting in their own deckchairs on the pavement outside Radio Rentals or Woolworths.

My own and no lesser feelings of despair, distress and frustrated anger from that particular failure by the National Team have been brought again to the fore with the impending match this week between England and Poland.

There are mitigating circumstances this time around.

In 1973 the match was the decider in the qualifying Group. Our lads just had to win. Poland just needed a solitary point.

This time around, although there have been other matches in the ensuing 40 years, Poland have nothing to play for but their pride having performed poorly in the round of matches in a tough group including Ukraine, Montenegro, Moldova and the making up the numbers team of part timers from San Marino (wherever that actually is in Europe or near Mexico from the sound of it).

England have to equal or better their main threat of automatic ticket booking for Brazil 2014, Ukraine who probably expect a goal fest against San Marino, already having leaked 46 goals with one single return themselves.

I have been immersed in footie from an early age so forgive my vagueness if I say that I think that I actually did watch the match live on the TV rather than imagining it or picking it up as a You Tube archive in my later adult life.

A live broadcast was very rare in the 1970's with a few important Internationals, the Home International series and the FA Cup Final.

I definitely must have watched it because of the dejected feelings that I so well remember. I did have a bit of a bad loser streak. Some three years earlier in 1971 I had attempted a head down charge on a friend of my big sister after she had expressed support for Arsenal who had just beaten my then team Liverpool in the FA Cup Final. The girl must have been a ballet dancer in the way that she sidestepped my bad tempered assault and left me a little bit stunned following a cranial impact on the kitchen sink unit.

I had a set procedure and ritual for a live evening TV game. Parentally imposed.

Homework, Tea, Wash, Pyjamas and dressing gown. The house occupants had learnt the hard way to be absolutely silent in the background. Younger brother, aged 4 would be in bed and my two sisters then 9 and 12 would be doing some activity out of sight and earshot.

In the Tv coverage there were of course the boring bits of introduction, recap of games to date,the all important table standings and the jabbering on of the guest pundits. Brian Clough was in controversial mood, obviously coveting a go at being England Manager if the night did not go as was widely expected in an England victory party. I liked him a lot for his individuality but mainly his downright rudeness and outspokeness. We all practiced his voice in the playground but no where as good as many performers of variety programmes such as Mike Yarwood.

The atmosphere in my parents' through lounge was tense. I was a bag of nerves, sweaty nose and fidgety legs sat on the pouffe as close as possible to the black and white television I could get without being told off.

I cannot remember who scored first but at one-one the game was finely poised for England to turn on the pace and style.

Brian Clough referred to the Polish goalkeeper as a clown for his antics and unpredicatability in a tight situation. He, Jan Tomaszewski, or as I called him Tommy Sheff Ski was expected to leak goals and throw the game to the better team in the second half.

I was already planning where the 1974 World Cup Planner from Shoot Magazine would have pride of place in my bedroom (shared with my brother). In the following 45 or so minutes of the match Mr Tommo Chef Sky ( I was inventive even at age 10) performed out of his skin in a dazzling display of reflex saves, parry's and just getting his body between the ball and the back of the net. If that was the act of a Clown then I would be queueing up to see Charlie Caroli at the earliest opportunity at Butlins Camp, Skegness (which I did actually do the following year). Brian Clough did make a tactical error that night in his premature dismissal of Tomma Zoo She and by doing so I believe that he made sure that he never did acheive his dream of managing the National side.

At the final whistle and the acceptance than Germany would not be calling I could see grown men crying in the Wembley terracing. Sir Alf's 1966 exploit was easily forgotten in the vitriol of the press and his critics. I was upset and probably went to bed without my drinking chocolate and custard creams as they would taste too bitter.

I am not sure what to expect this week with the Poland match. The odds and current form favour England but on an October night, under the floodlights and in front of a nervy crowd and my 50 year old self anything clownlike can happen.