<TLF, Mikkel Beck, and a bloke who had 20 quid on him to score>

On my return from honeymoon in the Channel Islands, I was invited to attend a match by a season-ticket holder at work. I accepted without hesitation and in mid-September I went along for my first view of the Riverside to see Boro beat Coventry 2-1. The new stadium was impressive, despite appearing to stick out like a skeletal, white metal thumb in amongst an industrial wasteland of rubble and decaying petrochemical plants. The media, naturally, weren’t shy in using this juxtaposition when reporting on the club’s affairs or when broadcasting the matches on TV. It was to become a sore point with proud Teessiders.

As for my match experience, I couldn’t fault it. Inside, the stadium was pristine and modern, comprising one large stand-alone main stand (the West Stand) and three smaller stands (North, East, and South) joined together in a horseshoe shape around the other sides of the pitch.   My seat in the East Stand provided an excellent view of the action. There wasn’t a spare seat to be had, and the atmosphere was electric, even for an all-seater stadium. At half time I looked around me at the beaming faces of Boro fans who had never expected to see themselves in a place like this. The novelty of it all was still plain to see on their faces. One man, who was sat a few seats away from me, looked like he wanted to burst with pride, shaking his head as he said to his companion, “This is all ours! I can’t believe it, man. This. Is. Ours!”  Things continued to get better and better.

In October, Boro signed a diminutive young Brazilian player called Osvaldo Giroldo Junior, or Juninho as he was more commonly known. He had featured well against England in a friendly at Wembley in the summer and was attracting attention from the likes of Arsenal, so it was seen as a massive coup for Bryan Robson to be able to secure this calibre of player. The town reacted with unbridled joy, stripping sports shops of Brazil football shirts and flags like plagues of fooking massive locusts, like. Samba bands were hastily thrown together to greet the little midfield wizard, and the excitement reached fever pitch when he made his debut against Leeds United at the Riverside in early November. It was love at first dribble as the “Little Fella” showed flashes of his devastating turn of pace and incredible ball control. He set up Boro’s only goal and even managed to get booked after decking a Leeds player twice his size. Skill, pace and the heart of a lion…his place in the Boro hearts was cemented from that day forth. 

 I managed to catch a few more games as the season progressed and if I couldn’t go, I endeavoured to watch any matches shown live or catch highlights on Match Of The Day. I persuaded my father to come along again to see a League Cup match against Crystal Palace, and it was on that night I made it clear that I was now a Boro supporter by buying a red and white scarf from the club shop at the North West corner of the stadium. My dad wasn’t surprised to see me put the scarf round my neck, but pretended to be disappointed that I had apparently switched allegiances from Manchester United. It could have been worse, I said. At least it wasn’t Liverpool or Manchester City. I just couldn’t help the way it had happened…it just did, and there was no guilt. Man U had been a childhood crush, and I had grown. I was starting to settle in this area and this was just a natural, albeit late, development.   The season continued to exceed the Teesside public’s wildest dreams, with Liverpool being sent home with their fancy-dan tails between their legs after a 2-1 defeat, and both Manchester City and West Ham being soundly beaten, 4-1 and 4-2 respectively. In the latter months of 1995, Boro moved into the top 4 of the Premier League. There was many a double-take when people looked at the league table in newspapers around that time, and Boro fans had sore arms from pinching themselves.   Reality bit with cold, icy teeth on Boxing Day, as the (I would come to learn) traditional post-Christmas slump took hold, aided and abetted by an injury crisis. Middlesbrough went on a horrible run of a dozen games without a win, including a 5-0 annihilation by Chelsea and home defeats to Newcastle, Everton and Bolton Wanderers.

From being a team that was looking likely to qualify for a European competition, they sunk to being threatened by relegation. A couple of well-timed wins against Leeds and Sheffield Wednesday saw them rally, however, and Boro managed to finish the season in a creditable 12^th position.  The last day of the season saw the visit of Manchester United, who were crowned Premier League Champions after a thrilling chase to the line with who Sky seemed to believe were the nation’s second-favourite team, Newcastle United. The Geordies had been 10 points ahead at one point, but had caved under the pressure as a Cantona-inspired  United wore them down game by game, sealing the title with a 3-0 win at the Riverside. I don’t think too many Boro fans were angry about the home defeat that day, especially as it denied the barcodes the title. Much of the Boro crowd sportingly stayed behind to applaud the newly-crowned Champions.

Maybe they even dreamed of seeing that crown-topped trophy back at the Riverside Stadium one day. They had been dreaming of seeing a major trophy for such a long time. Would the Robson Riverside Revolution help make these dreams come true?