This is an edited extract from 'The Place I Belong', a new book on Carlisle United by Peter Scholes.
Football stars in the 1980s were hardly on a par with Hollywood leads, but many of them were my early heroes. At Brunton Park, I was in awe of Haigh, Ashurst, Coughlin, Robson, Shoulder and Poskett.
These players were not regulars on Match of the Day, but to me they were every bit as regal as those performing in the First Division. Over the next few seasons, my adoration continued with Ian Bishop, Paul Proudlock and Keith Walwyn to name but three.
Finding a hero in the late 1980s and early 1990s was not so easy. I liked Ian Dalziel and Kelham O’Hanlon but, with the team constantly languishing at the foot of Division 4, it was hard to look up to our players when we were always at the bottom.
By the mid-1990s, I had a whole host of new heroes to look up to. Walling and Currie, Reeves and Conway, Thomas and Caig. By then, I would have been a similar age to the players on the field, but they were not mere humans like I was – they were legends, forever immortalised in United’s history books for playing the kind of attacking, stylish football we had been starved of for so long.
We had to wait another decade to unearth the next batch of heroes, and I fawned over Westwood, Bridges, Harte, Gray and Hackney, despite being a few years older than them.
Even now, in middle age, I can still be in awe of our star performers. Over the last few seasons, I would list Devitt, Grainger, Kennedy, Adams, Miller, Zoko and Ibehre as some of the players who I looked up to, despite being old enough to be their dad.
The Boys in Blue will always be my go-to footballing heroes, but I have also met one or two gods of the game…and, sometimes, things didn’t quite go to plan. One was Manchester United and Scotland legend, Denis Law.
Denis Law was working as a commentator at the 1989 Carlisle v Liverpool game when author Pete Scholes came a cropper... (Image: News & Star)
Denis was a guest commentator at Brunton Park on the day we entertained Liverpool in the FA Cup in 1989, but I am sure it would be events off the field that would leave a lasting impression on him.
Dad was stewarding that day and, as usual, we had to be there a couple of hours before the turnstiles opened. Despite being god-awful in the league, we managed to scrape through to the third round of the cup only to be drawn at home against the English champions.
A full house of over 18,500 was guaranteed and the nations sporting media watched on, hoping United could pull off a shock. That was about as likely as Donald Trump being voted feminist of the year!
Despite putting up a plucky performance, we were soundly beaten 0-3. The result might not have come as a shock, but my actions pre match certainly did. Mr. Law was standing at the foot of the stairs in C-Stand, chatting away to some suited official and, when the suit disappeared back down the stairs for a few minutes, I thought I would take my chance and grab a few moments of the great man’s time.
Rather than walk along the row and down the stairs, I decided to take a more direct route and climbed over the seats. I called his name, waved down at him, and asked if I could have his autograph.
He waved back. “Excuse me, Denis! Would you sign my book?” I shouted (isn’t it strange how we think it is ok to call famous people by their first name even though we don’t know them from Adam.)
“No problem, son. My pleasure,” He replied. “Just you be careful on the way down!”
With about three rows to go, I stood over one of the chairs and placed my foot on the back of the seated part on the row in front, causing it to flip up. I lost balance on my right foot and my left was already in the air. Gravity took hold and down I went, legs astride the back of the chair.
With only my groin to cushion my fall, I felt the pain before contact was even made. The agony on landing was excruciating and I toppled over, hands between my legs wishing for the end of the world. Us men will never go through the agony of childbirth, but if it is worse than I experienced that day, every mother has my sympathy and admiration.
As I writhed on the floor, crying and whimpering, Denis walked over to see if I was alive. This iconic footballer helped me up onto one of the seats and made sure I was ok. He even found my autograph book and pen (tossed in the air mid fall) and signed his name. “To Pete, from (illegible squiggle) Denis”.
His concern was genuine. Not once did he laugh. I would have laughed at me if I had watched on from a distance, but he didn’t. What a gentleman – what a hero!
A little closer to home, another encounter comes to mind with former Blue and Stoke City legend, Rory Delap.
Now, it is perhaps not too unusual to meet Rory in and around Brunton Park. After all, he did play for his hometown club and regularly visits his family and friends. I also went to secondary school with him (two years his senior), was taught by his dad in primary school, and socialised with many of his old friends.
On this occasion, Rory was at the top of his game, and it was great to speak with him when he was doing so well. He was well established in the Stoke City first team and had broken into the Republic of Ireland squad.
For football fans up and down the land, Rory was most famous for his incredibly long, bullet-like, throw-ins which became his trademark throughout a distinguished career. I was with my good friend, Niall, walking near to Stoneyholme Golf Course on the way to a game, when we bumped into Rory.
We chatted for a good ten minutes and caught up on all the gossip. Rory gave us an insight into the life of a Premier League and international footballer, and we told him about our careers in our lowly jobs working for awful bosses and a pittance of a wage. I think we were more impressed than he was.
Anyway, when we parted, promising to catch up again over a drink, Niall and I walked on to Brunton Park. “He is doing well for himself, isn’t he?” I said to Niall. “He certainly is,” Niall replied. “Still the same old Rory. His world is very different from ours though, isn’t it?” I laughed.
“Yep. A millionaire and a well-known face in the game. I’m chuffed for him.”
“I bet he won’t remember this conversation once his gets back down there with his Premier League teammates!” I scoffed.
“I bet he will,” said Niall, chuckling away to himself. “You were stood in a big pile of dog poo for the whole conversation. He noticed but was too polite to say anything!”
So that is why Rory and Niall kept looking down and laughing while we were chatting! Yet again, a chance meeting with a celebrity ended with humiliation and shame…
The Place I Belong by Peter Scholes is available in the Blues Store, and can also be purchased on Amazon. Hardback £15.99, paperback £12 and Kindle version £4.99. You can read two other extracts HERE and HERE
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