Gibbo-In My Life

Chapter 29 The Great Escape It was all hush-hush. But I knew! Bamber, my old school mate, a true friend from the time we were six years old and then, assistant kitman for Albion, called me from England to tell me the Albion first team would be coming over to Orlando for mid-winter break and he had cleared it with Manager Bryan Robson and his assistant Nigel Pearson for me to join them as their guest for the day. I kept the secret. Didn’t want to spoil the day. I knew if I told one person, the press and supporters (like me) would be all over it. My thoughts raced back to the day Bamber and I watched with a keen eye as a young Bryan Robson played the intermediate league game at Spring Lane in the Black Country. It was the first time I ever laid eyes on him, and as I look back, I count it one of the highlights of my career—predicting that Bryan would one day play for England. He did play for England, representing his country on ninety occasions. He was the sixth and most capped England player of all time and has the eleventh highest goal scoring tally with twenty-six. Robbo captained his country sixty-five times. Only Bobby Moore and Billy Wright captained England on more occasions. It filled me up to think that I was about to be on my way to spend a day with West Bromwich Albion and the legendary Bryan Robson, thanks to my mate, Bamber Gascoigne. I left the Treasure Coast that day, driving over to meet the lads, feeling like a schoolboy again with thoughts that it would be just like the days when Bamber and I used to watch Albion train when we were so very young. I thought about the possibility of Albion becoming the first Premier League Club, the first top division team in fourteen years to avoid relegation, having been bottom of the table at Christmas Season 2004-2005. Robbo led the team to that “last-day” breakout. They call it The Great Escape. All the fans were singing the theme tune from the film The Great Escape. I’ll never forget it. It was one of those goose-bump occasions, and so I shivered as I made my way to the pitches, deep inside understanding the privilege that was about to be mine. I passed the indoor gym, which hosted volley ball and cheerleading, realizing for the first time why my lads were always keen on playing here. All those girls— The baseball stadium was to the left, and in the distance I could just make out the medieval-type flags waving in the Florida breeze, telling me where the footy fields were. I was getting close, and when I saw those players in a practice game wearing Albion colours and stripes, I knew I had arrived. I could see Bamber in the distance, walking toward me. He put out a hand and said in his typical broad accent, “A doo, mucka.” We shook hands and stood there watching our heroes play. Just like we used to all those years ago. We were school boys again. Living in another moment of glory. I could see Robbo strutting his stuff amongst the players. There he was head coach, and he couldn’t resist playing the game he loves so much, always leading by example, doing what comes naturally to him. He wasn’t that skinny little fifteen-year-old Bamber and I first saw at Spring Lane that day long ago, but he still played with all the flair of a football legend, such a stylish player even now. After the game, Nigel Pearson came over and introduced himself, we talked for awhile, and then he introduced me to Robbo. We participated in a little photo op. I value that picture with Robbo to this day. He and I chatted briefly, I wished him the best for the season, then thanked him for including me on this one magnificent day, and I expressed my appreciation that Bamber had arranged for me to be there. Bamber told me to meet him in the lobby of the Peabody where they were staying. He said, “I have a little gift for you from Robbo.” And off he ran, disappearing into the elevator. In a short moment, he came back with a bundle in his hand. “Ee am, mucka,” he said, handing it to me. Sweaty training gear all bundled up. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but I had an idea he got it from Robbo. I thanked him and said, “That means a lot, mate.” Bamber knew it did. I traveled back to the Treasure Coast that night, arriving around midnight. When I got home, I unraveled the parcel. It was Robbo’s top, his shorts, and wait for it!—his Marks and Sparks (Spencers, we called it) XL black briefs. Talk about a personal gift! I still have them today and indeed I wear them, and for those that are reading and questioning—“Yes, I washed them first!”