Four sleeps to Christmas and Chanukah.

 Four sleeps to Christmas and Chanukah. 

It may be hard to believe now but, on Christmas Day a long time ago, there was a full football fixture list in the old First Division, Second Division, Third Division, Third Division North and South and, finally the Fourth Division. Much to the amazement of those who witnessed it, the trains and buses were working and there was no let up in the great stampede towards the groaning festive table. It felt as if you were doing our utmost to retain some semblance of normality even though the rest of the country was just blase about it all. 

 And so you woke on Christmas Day, flung back the snow caked windows, threw on our clothes, football scarves, digging out rattles, klaxon horns and oiling our exhausted vocal chords. It was Christmas Day in the workhouse, time to clock on for another day of peeling potatoes, stuffing turkeys, shaking the brussel sprouts out of the bag and then dropping off to sleep after the heaviest of culinary blow outs. Then you stared at your families adoringly, abandoned yourselves to just a brief moment of sentimentality and knocked back several glasses of brandy and malt whisky. 

Then dad, uncle, son and cousin and, quite possibly daughter in those far off days, would jump into the back of the Ford Anglia or the celebrated Red Routemaster bus where the bulbs of light would shine radiantly, the bell chord would be rung several times by excitable kids and the bus conductor would demand that fares would be politely requested. Football was on the menu and the Christmas pudding would have to wait because Arsenal, Liverpool, Spurs, Chelsea, Manchester United and City, Blackburn Rovers, Everton and Fulham constituted the main meal.

So the London underground Tube station would patiently wait its first passengers just after breakfast on Christmas Day and football supporters in London would exchange silly crepe paper hats, laugh uncontrollably at the tinsel and glitter in each other's hair and then walk towards their respective grounds. The fans would tease each other mercilessly about their team's glaring defensive inadequacies and how their opponents would get stuffed and hammered because they'd had far too much to drink before the big day.

Then the trains rumbled and thundered their way out of those ghostly tunnels, football supporters now at full volume and dressed appropriately in Santa Claus red coats and white beards. It all seemed rather silly and pathetic because nobody took football seriously at Christmas time. The Christmas Day fixtures would normally be swiftly followed by a full Boxing Day programme and then another punishing slog a couple of days later. So we indulged ourselves on a hearty feast of high scoring extravaganzas and were rather pleased on Boxing Day 1963 when 66 goals bulged the net in the old First Division. 

Here we are though on the last weekend before football temporarily opens up festive presents, kicks off its shoes, plays endless games of charades and Ker Plunk with the family and then becomes deeply regretful and melancholy, wishing we hadn't quite eaten or drunk too much. Football will always remain subliminally on our minds and this season is no exception. The fierce rivalries will be at their most intense and the local derbies will invariably sort the men from the boys. 

At the top of the Premier League, both Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal are bossing proceedings and poor old Manchester City are probably feeling very sorry for themselves. For City, this must feel like a throwback to the days of the old Third Division when everything looked totally beyond repair. When City beat Gillingham in that famous play off Final at Wembley, it marked a significant turning point for City. The rest, as they say, is history with Premier League trophies in quartet succession and Champions League silverware to their name, as now historic reminders of who they were recently as opposed to way back when. 

But we are now approaching the second half of the season and nothing of course is decided on the eve of Slade's timeless festive anthem Merry Christmas Everybody. There are a number of daunting obstacles to be faced in the early months of early January. Some of the Premier League's filthy rich plutocrats will be easily distracted by the FA Cup and managers will be biting their fingernails, hoping that the precarious nature of their profession won't suddenly find them in the local Job Centre.

This morning football will be paying a rightful tribute to George Eastham, a fringe member of Sir Alf Ramsey's 1966 World Cup squad who died today. The England football team will be popping party crackers and blowing whistles before devouring turkeys and feasting on innumerable mince pies. Waiting in the wings will be a German gentleman by the name of Thomas Tuchel, the new England manager and most of us will be hoping for steady improvement, gentle progression and who knows perhaps a World Cup to show off in the USA, Mexico and Canada in two years time but that might be just a daydream at the moment. 

So it's four sleeps to Christmas Day and much jolly revelry. For the benefit of my wonderful Jewish family and friends, it's time to wish you all a happy Chanukah. Go easy on those mouth watering doughnuts and don't forget to enjoy your yearly helpings of salt beef and latkes(potato cakes). This year Chanukah, on its first day of menorah lighting, meets up with its religious friends and family on Christmas Day. It is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. But then every day is beautifully sweet.