Goodnight Vienna.
It hardly screams ‘football’, does it? The more cultured among you will recognise it as Herbert Wilcox’s 1932 musical, or Ringo Starr’s fourth studio album. So why use it in a football context?
Well, Goodnight Vienna has another meaning in British slang. It means ‘nothing more can be done’, or ‘it’s all over’.
As for how it came to adorn this Substack, that comes with a story, which goes all the way back to 1991.
The location is King George’s Playing Field in Thornton, where Thornton Cleveleys Under 9s are hosting the all-conquering Clifton Rangers in the Poulton Primary League.
Clifton are sublime, squeezed full of talent that would go on to grace the lower echelons of the professional game a decade or so later.
Thornton, meanwhile, are the definition of inconsistency and mid-table mediocrity. Their manager (who also happened to be my dad) has a penchant for coaching, but the team lacks basic ingredients such as ability, athleticism and grit.
Clifton are already several goals ahead when the ball goes up to their talisman, Lee Hardy. At nine years old, being big, fast, and being able to smack the ball goes a long way, but Lee had a certain grace and control even at that age. He would go on to play for the likes of Macclesfield and Inverness.
Facing him up is Lee Keegan, the Thornton defender. This Lee was a big nine-year-old, but didn’t come with agility, or acceleration.
(Don’t feel too sorry for Master Keegan; he would go on to be a fine centre half.)
Hardy pushes the ball past Keegan, and in a flash of yellow and black, he’s gone.
The despairing Thornton manager looks the heavens and shakes his head.
‘Goodnight Vienna,’ he sighs.
Hardy duly runs onto the ball and smacks it into the top corner past the hapless Thornton keeper.
The manager throws his battered packet of Lambert & Butler to the floor in frustration and turns away.
It’s game over. Nothing more can be done.
Clifton go on to win the game 9-0.
Some of the lads in that Thornton team would still be playing for that manager ten years later as they made their way in the amateur game. With adulthood comes an appreciation of humour, and some of the things Dad would come out with on the sidelines were the subject of that humour.
Who would be a football manager.
‘Goodnight Vienna’ is perhaps the pinnacle of those touchline ramblings. My mates and I use it often if a sporting contest is one-sided, or indeed if someone is too drunk.
It was the obvious choice to title this Substack.