Big Cyrille Rises

Pocket money day so I get the bus

to town. We are 13 years old, me and John

Brown. Walking to the match through

Primrose Hill Park. The chants start to rise, the fans in

good heart. It’s a cold December day in 1986. I’m in the West Terrace and I’m

chomping on a Twix. My programme is curled up in the back of my jeans. I’m stood behind the goal waiting for the teams. Twenty-two thousand are

inside Highfield Road. Spurs are the visitors, and they’ve

brought a load. Their fans are so loud, they’re

expecting a doddle. With Ardiles, Clive Allen, Hoddle

and Waddle. We’ve only lost once at home, this

ground is a fortress. And it was against Villa which made

it more torturous. The ref blows his whistle like the

commander and chief. ”City”, I shout with caramel in my

teeth. Clive Allen scores, we’re losing

already. Houchen replies, the ship is now

steady. Allen scores again due to defensive

charity. But here comes Dave Bennett to

restore some parity. Beno does it again, are we now out

of danger? I’m embraced by the hugs of a total

stranger. The clock is ticking when their substitute scores. A Belgian called Clausen milks Cockney applause. The game’s on a knife edge, no time left to spare. Our honest endeavour stifling their flair. Then a big punt from Oggy takes the wind in its stride. Big Cyrille rises and plays the ball

wide. A cross is delivered, has it gone too

far? But Big Cyrille rises and heads

against the bar. The ball hangs in the air and time

stands still. Big Cyrille rises again, he scores,

what a thrill! We all go delirious, this man’s

heaven-sent. That was worth the admission –

pocket money well spent. Brian Lanaghan