The years teach much which the days never know. This weekend Boreham Wood FC go to Wembley fighting for a place in that treasured home of the global game, the English Football League. Why will I be watching 7,000 miles away? Well, the experience of riding the Wood’s team bus 50-odd years ago taught me much that I have carried across our world ever since. So, I’ll be somewhat possessed this Sunday, Boreham Wood versus Rochdale, even though I live in that footie mecca on the other side of the world, Argentina.
The memories are rich. Back then I’m on a gap year before university, a football captain at school sees an advert in his local paper for a reporter, urges me to apply, and I do, convincing one of the best editors I ever worked for (by the name of Roger Norman) to take me, and I spend a golden period reporting for the Borehamwood and Elstree Post. Elstree, with its film studios, the poor man’s Hollywood. Borehamwood, a working-class hinterland of my north London, with not much to celebrate.
