Letâs take a big breath and start again, shall we? We needed to after that last season, not to mention that year. It was memorable, alrightâŚmemorable in a win-a-grand-on-a-scratch-card-and-drop-it-down-a-drain-on-your-way-collect-the-winnings way.
What do you do after that? You go and buy another scratch card. Thatâs what you do. I renewed my season ticket, and the wife decided she wanted to come along and watch too. She obviously decided I was spending too many hours at football matchesâŚwithout her. Weâd only been married for 2 years so we were still comfortable spending a lot of time together. Young loveâŚ*sigh*
On a personal level, 1997 was a pretty good year. We had a fantastic 2-week camping holiday in France, with one week in Gironde and the other in the Dordogne. It rained quite a bit but the food and wine made up for it. In the spring I finally finished my 5-year day-release degree at Newcastle and a month or two later got the news that Iâd passed with a Desmond (2.2). My stock was steadily rising at work, and the future was looking good. (as a Boro fan, you should know whats coming - Ed)
In the wider world things werenât as turbulent as in 1996, but there were still some massively pivotal events. Tony Blairâs New Labour crew stormed the general election on 1st May promising a change from the old ways and a final goodbye to 18 long years of Tory rule. Things could only get better, they told us. I donât think Iâll ever recover from the sight of a dancing John Prescott.
At the end of August, Britain changed beyond recognition with the sudden death of Diana, Princess of Wales, Queen of Hearts, English Rose, and so on. I heard the news when the radio alarm clock woke me later that morning. I thought it was the Queen Mother at first with all the talk of a royal death, but when it became clear who had actually met their demise, it was quite a shock. The aftermath was unbelievable. It doesnât really need dwelling on here; suffice to say it made mawkish, cosmetic displays of public grief acceptable in a country famous for stoic defiance, with perhaps a slightly trembling lip. Iâve even had staff in foreign hotels telling me that my country is not the same now following her death. What do you say to that? Agree, perhaps, and weep gently on their shoulder.
In cultural terms, it was a bit of a lean year. James Cameronâs sickly blockbuster Titanic broke box-office records, and George Lucas gave us unnecessary remixes of the perfect Star Wars Trilogy. In music Puff Daddy and Aqua dominated the charts, but both lagged well behind Elton Johnâs tribute to Diana, Candle In the Wind. The whole world was going soft.
But back to the really important stuff: The new season was actually quite keenly anticipated, despite the fact Boro were back in the lower division. Season tickets were selling well and full houses were almost guaranteed for every home game. My wife and I went to see the razzmatazz-fuelled release of the new seasonâs kits at the stadium and duly bought one shirt each. Her indoors got the home one featuring the white chest band, which was back after a long absence (since the â70s, I believe). I got the away shirt, which was a blue number with a wide white Y down the front. Both had BORO emblazoned on the back at the bottom. We must have looked a right pair of berks wearing them, to be honest.
The season tickets â those red, wallet-sized, plastic booklets â duly arrived in the post and it was pleasing to note that they were thicker than last season. Lower league football is better value, you see; more games for your money. The fact that the games were against the likes of Crewe Alexandra and Tranmere Rovers rather than Manchester United and Liverpool was neither here nor thereâŚ.honest.
At the beginning of the season we had managed to hold onto Rav and Emerson somehow, or they hadnât managed to get away yet. Either way, there was still quality in the side. The addition of Paul Merson from Arsenal was a really, really good bit of business by Bryan Robson and the board. In midfield we added experience and nous in the form of Andy Townsend and in defence we still had the slightly unhinged but ever-popular Festa and the solid presence of Mark Schwarzer. We felt confident that we could get back into the top flight straight away.
The opening day against Charlton was a strange one. It finally hit home where we actually were, and the team struggled and toiled to come back from a goal down and beat the South London team 2-1, with Rav heading the late winner. I had the feeling weâd have a few games like this, where we had to scrap for the points. It wasnât all going to be pretty, flowing football. We lost the next game at home to Stoke in a turgid 1-0 defeat, and the pre-season optimism was melting faster than a snowman on holiday in the Sahara desert.
Things improved once the obviously-disruptive element known as the White Feather left the club. He finally managed to buy his ticket out of town and, in truth, we werenât sad to see him go in the end. His bad-mouthing of the club added to his on-pitch histrionics had started to irritate. With his influence gone, the team went on a good run through to the end of September, culminating in a famous, televised 2-1 victory over the Mackems at their new Stadium of Light. Emerson was once more their tormentor, spanking home a stunning volley to silence the knuckle-dragging monkey chants (ironic, huh?). Merson showed the finesse and vision we would come to rely on, setting up the winner for the ever-reliable Robbie Mustoe.
A home defeat to Sheffield United was ultimately just a blip as Boro steadied the early-season wobbles and started to climb the table. They also started on another cup run in the Coca-Cola cup, quietly seeing off Barnet over two legs before beating Sunderland again and defeating Bolton. No-one really expected us to go much further than
An away defeat to Wolves in early November was followed by an eight-game unbeaten run. Mikkel Beck, now free of the hectoring of a certain grey-haired Italian started banging in the goals, and Merson also found his scoring boots. Around that time construction works commenced in the empty corners of the ground, which was going to add another 5,000 to the capacity for the start of next season. The club were confident they could get back into the elite league and fill these extra seats.
With Christmas approaching Boro were at the business end of the table, challenging for automatic promotion. Two away defeats (to Manchester City and Charlton) either side of the silly season slowed the train down a touch, but February saw a fine sequence of results, with 5 out of 6 league games won and the other drawn. Even the inevitable departure of Emerson following more of his jolly AWOL japes didnât affect the team.
February wasnât just good because of the league results. Something special was happening in another competition, and quite unexpectedly. In the Coca-Cola cup Boro had beaten Reading 1-0 away in the quarter finals and suddenly found themselves one round away from another Wembley final. All that stood between them was a team called Liverpool. âIt had been a good runâ, was the natural thought when I heard that draw. With some developments at work, I wasnât going to be too bothered if they got knocked out because I would probably miss seeing the final. Selfish, I know. I wouldnât even get to see it on TV where they were thinking of sending meâŚto Minneapolis in the United States of America.