MIDDLESBROUGH

‘Thank goodness my kids are big Boro fans.’

BOB MORTIMER big Boro fan

‘What a sensation!’

FRANK BOUGH BBC commentator on one of the most amazing goals ever seen at Ayresome Park

That missing ‘O’ always used to bother me as a kid.

My dad taught me to read when I was four because he thought working-class kids needed to be able to communicate with ‘posh people’ if they wanted to get ahead or bring about permanent revolution, whichever was easier. And I loved reading. By the time I was seven, I had a reading age of 15, to the delight of my primary school headmaster, Mr Collins, who kept the certificate proving it on his office wall. Mr Collins had played in goal for Wimbledon, but was obsessed with all sport and saw no reason why we shouldn’t be too, girls and all. He was way ahead of his time. He was the father of Shirley Valentine, sorry, Pauline Collins, and he was the kindest, most caring man a south London primary school could ask for.

I read everything I could get hold of, which really annoyed my mum, who’d much rather I was outside getting the sort of ruddy glow that all my Irish cousins had; and she was fairly certain that none of them had read any ‘Just William’ books, let alone all of them, twice. I also read a lot of football magazines and was convinced that every single one of them had actually misprinted the name Middlesbrough every time they mentioned them.

Obviously, even as a child, it seemed I already had that latent sense of London superiority that made me assume it was their spelling mistake and not my ignorance that was the problem. And I still don’t know why it’s not spelt ‘Middlesborough’, even though I have a friend who is so knowledgeable about the town he could tell you whether a milk bottle was from there just by its shape.*

The other problem is where it is. I mean, I know where it is, but where does it fit in football culture? And while I’m at it, what the bloody hell is a ‘parmo’? The first time I went to film there, I was told by everyone that I had to try the press room parmo. It’s a snack found only in Middlesbrough, and I reckon there’s a reason for that. Apparently it’s based on a parmigiana, but this version is flattened pork covered in breadcrumbs then deep-fried and dipped in white sauce and melted cheese. Obviously I tried one, it ticks a lot of my boxes. Meh. It’s basically a glorified Findus crispy pancake, which you have to eat really quickly because you can see the cheese congealing at one end even as you’re eating the other. But, being polite, I told the catering lady it was delicious. Yes, I did take a second one but only for research purposes.

Too often they are considered a north-east club, but in reality they are in north Yorkshire and they want their big rivals to be Leeds United, not the Geordies and Mackems. They do, however, have a proud, self-deprecating nickname of their own. They call themselves ‘Smoggies’ after the smoke and fumes that enveloped the town from the giant iron and steel foundries of the Industrial Revolution.

It had the largest Irish immigrant population outside of Liverpool (although I had no cousins there, which makes it pretty much unique) and was the first town bombed by the Germans in the Second World War – well, it’s nice to have a claim to fame that isn’t 5,000 calories of cheesy pork.

The original amateur Middlesbrough FC, formed in 1876, were yet another cricket club looking for some winter fun, but in 1889, some lads upped sticks to form a professional club called Middlesbrough Ironopolis (maroon and green stripes – I’d have been in Heaven). The club’s own official history referred to them as a ‘breakaway sect’ but my guess is they were working-class lads who were fed up mixing with posh cricket boys. Unfortunately, whoever they were, they had no business sense, because despite that rather cool name, they went bankrupt in 1893 while the amateurs they left behind carried on winning (amateur) things all over the place.

Professionalism followed soon after becoming the town’s only club, to the extent that they caused an absolute scandal in 1905 when they paid £1,000 for a striker called Alf Common. I can remember the fuss when Trevor Francis became the first £1 million player, but apparently that was nothing compared to the outrage of furious Edwardians at the first ever four-figure transfer fee, although to be fair, it must have seemed astronomical to a population who mainly earned less than a pound a week.

In 1949, they were at it again; Andy Donaldson was signed from Newcastle for the first ever five-figure transfer fee, an enormous sum in a town still largely flattened by the Luftwaffe.

Brian Clough played for them, which is always a plus for me, and, even better, he once scored five goals in one match when they beat Brighton 9-0. In the 1966 World Cup, the whole planet got to wonder about the missing ‘o’, with Ayresome Park hosting the games of group 4.

It must have come as a bit of a culture shock to the Italian, Chilean, Russian and North Korean fans who managed to find the place, because Boro’s current ground is lovely, but Ayresome Park fell squarely on the wrong side of shithole. And worse was to come for Italy: it was the scene of one of the biggest shocks in World Cup history when they lost 1-0 to North Korea. It is very much to the club’s credit that the housing estate that replaced Ayresome Park has many memorials, including a plaque on the very spot that the goal was scored from. And it was to the credit of Smoggies everywhere that even though memories of the recent Korean War were very fresh, they took the North Koreans to their hearts.

Twenty years later, the club became one of the biggest in recent history to nearly fold. Floundering under crippling debts, they went into liquidation but were saved at the 11th hour and 59th minute by a local consortium, and a team of youngsters and veterans were allowed to continue playing, albeit at Hartlepool’s ground since the gates of Ayresome Park were padlocked.

One of that consortium, Steve Gibson, has been chairman ever since, bringing a degree of stability unmatched by most clubs (especially Ironopolis). On the pitch there have been relegations and European wins and that move to the Riverside Stadium, but Gibson has ensured that they will never be locked out of their own home again – it’s a sorry thing to realise that, as for many communities in this book, for the people of Middlesbrough, the football club is the only thing financially secure.

Why You Shouldn’t Support Them

■ The spelling thing does genuinely annoy me.

■ Inexplicable taste in snacks.

■ If Leeds, Sunderland and Newcastle don’t care about them, why should you?