Spencer took me to my first Everton game in November 1995 (vs Sheffield Wednesday) – just a few months after we’d won the FA Cup. Given we haven’t won anything since, I guess that was a bad idea.
He spent so much time trying to get me into other things too; golf at the Arrowe Park pitch and putt, war history, and anything to do with ships and planes, but none of these things stuck. Well maybe one more…that time he bought me a shandy bass on the way back from walking his dog, Tyson, at Storeton Woods….it tasted horrible but I soon learned to like a beer, which became essential together with supporting Everton.
Almost every week Spencer would somehow find me a spare ticket to the game. I’d get the call at 1pm and run up to our local pub, shirt on and scarf in hand, just in time to get a taxi over to Goodison with him and the rest of the crew
By the time I turned 17 however, I became the taxi driver!
Win, lose or draw we would be back at the pub again before the late KO, chatting about the game, estimating the league table and predicting our next result.
Living here, away from home, people often asked me if I missed anything from England. I always said the same thing – I miss going to Goodison. But really it’s not just that, I missed going to Goodison with Spencer.
Whilst I know nothing will bring him back, he gave me something that will remain with me forever: Every time I watch the players walk out onto the pitch, the crowd in full voice, Z-cars blasting around the ground, and the grass greener than ever, I’ll know that Spencer will be by my side cheering them on too.
Thank you Uncle Spencer.
COYB