The Sixty6 World Cup Cookbook - Epilogue James Robinson

With tomorrow being a rest day in the World Cup finals in Brazil, there will of course be no cook off to be had.

Instead, I have decided to take the unprecedented step and publish on this blog the epilogue taken from the Cookbook. The epilogue is a personal tribute to my father, James Robinson, who sadly passed away on Monday 23rd of June at 14:10. I make note of the time as bizarrely, the nearest carriage clock to my father when he passed on, stopped dead at this time and has not moved since. The clock in question was presented to him, when he was in the Army.

The final chapter in the Cookbook was of course written before he passed away. The Cookbook is a product of Sixty6 Magazine, a football magazine catering for the England national team. With there being no more England games this summer, the closest I could get to pay tribute to my father to reach as many people as possible was via this means.

Please take a moment to read it and reflect on how football can create such passionate, priceless memories and makes it the game we all know and love.

To my Dad - James Robinson. 26/01/1943 - 23/06/2014

The Sixty6 Unofficial World Cup Cookbook

Epilogue

I released my first book in 2007, when I was in the Royal Air Force, having spent four months in Afghanistan. The book was a diary-based account of the football season for my club Sunderland, including watching their promotion push from 3,000 miles away.

My Father, James Robinson wrote the epilogue that appeared inside From Afghanistan to Temazepam and so it is only fitting I stand in his shoes to write similar notes for this book before you and return the favour to him.

You see my Dad now faces his biggest and final battle of all – the battle against cancer and I suppose if I am honest, I am not the best at conveying my emotions, or saying how I feel. And so words written or typed down from me, is my way of getting it all out there.

A week before the 2013/14 season ended, he was told his five year fight against the disease only had a matter of weeks, perhaps months to play out.

Words can not express the pain on hearing the news and the sudden dawn and realisation that despite him having been ill for the last half of a decade, he would no longer be around, no longer there to cast opinion over the football, or tell me to “get my admin sorted” when it came to the business side of running a football magazine!

People always wonder why football means so much to me. Well the simple reason is, my sisters nor I would not be here if it were not for football. You see my Father was in the Army when he came up with my future Uncle Milton to see his Everton take on Sunderland. There he met my Mother and the rest is history. Little over a year later they were married and fate had it that Sunderland played Everton once more, a large percentage of the congregation attending the match after the ceremony! Bizarrely, Sunderland played Everton on their 35^th wedding anniversary, when they were treated to a box at the Stadium of Light, my Mum presenting Sunderland striker, Kevin Phillips with the man of the match award that day.

My Dad took me to Roker Park, Sunderland for the first time one overcast afternoon to watch the Rokerites (as they were then known) take on West Bromwich Albion in 1986. Sunderland were on the slide to the Third Division for the first time in the club’s history and their lowest ebb to date. It was still early season and we did not know this at the time. My Dad being my Dad got me to the game late…it wouldn’t be the last time we arrived at a football ground after kick off.

Sunderland were as miserable as the grey sky sitting over Sunderland’s former ground that day and lost the game. On arriving in the Main Stand paddock, my Dad asked a bloke nearby what the score was having arrived 10 minutes or so into the match. He told us it was still 0-0. We trudged home after a 0-2 defeat, only to see the man who provided the score on arrival was in fact incorrect, Grandstand showing Sunderland had lost 0-3 instead!

It was a comical beginning to 28 years of watching football together and life has never been dull since.

In 1992, we shared a moment in time I shall never forget. Perched high up in the Spion Kop at Hillsborough, Sheffield for the FA Cup Semi Final between Sunderland and Norwich City, we saw then Second Division Sunderland beat their top-flight counterparts…again against all odds.

The scenes on the terraces were unreal, as what it seemed like most of Wearside simply went mad with joy. The whistles from the fans near the end of the game were deafening as Norwich continued to attack the Sunderland goal, trying in vain to force an equaliser. After an eternity, the full time whistle sounded. I was stood at the front of our section up in the gods, my Dad 2 or 3 people behind, to allow the kids in my section a vantage point to witness the action.

I turned around to see him raise his eyebrows in disbelief that Sunderland had made the FA Cup final. No words were needed, we knew what it meant, his face beaming, his hands held aloft…this coming from an Evertonian by birth!

12 years later I returned the favour and got him a ticket for the 2004 FA Cup Semi Final for Sunderland versus Millwall at Old Trafford. Both teams were in the second tier of English football and both fancied their chances of reaching the final, but Sunderland were favourites, having only been relegated from the Premier League the season before.

The night before I stayed at my parents’ house along with half of the family so it seemed and the wine flowed, a little too much for my Dad and brother-in-law, Tommy – both of whom were accompanying me to Manchester the following day. Both men were ill due to drink, both vomiting up. Come the following morning, my Dad uttered the words no one in my family will forget of “where’s me teeth?”.

Having worn false teeth for years, it transpired he must have spat them down the toilet when bringing back up the red wine he had drank previously. And so after the laughter had died down, we found a spare set of teeth, in order for him to go to the match.

My Dad (and my Mum for that matter) also contrived to make me miss a Kevin Phillips goal at home to Southampton at the Stadium of Light in the most bizarre of circumstances. Sitting there watching the game in my seat, the tannoy crackles with “could Malcolm Robinson from Fulwell, please report to the nearest steward immediately!”. As you can imagine I jump from my seat and find the nearest steward, to be told to be escorted to the main reception, on which I will get further details.

I was frantic as I raced over to the West Stand to be taken down to the main reception, as thoughts of any number of emergencies raced through my mind. As I made my way, I could see my parents waiting there and asked what the problem was? It turns out they had forgotten their front door keys and this was the only way they could get hold of me, as my phone signal was jammed! I was laughing too much to be annoyed; yet on the way back to my seat, I hear the roar of Sunderland’s second goal of the afternoon…thanks Mum and Dad.

One of my favourite stories was the time we got former Everton playing legend and popular Sunderland manager, Peter Reid to call my Dad during the first period he was unwell with cancer. Now Peter Reid was one of my Dad’s favourites, obviously having played for his boyhood club on the blue half of Merseyside and then becoming Sunderland manager in 1995. I remember the day Reidy was appointed manager, my Dad was overjoyed and said he would sort the club out once and for all. He was of course correct as Reidy took Sunderland to the top flight and their highest finishes in the league since the 1960’s.

I was away in Afghanistan at the time, but knew Reidy was calling following an interview he did for Seventy3. Like a school kid I call home to see if he had rang yet, to which my Dad starts to laugh. He said “you’ll never guess who called tonight…Peter Reid!” It turns out Reidy called my Dad and said “Hello Jim, its Peter Reid here.” My Dad’s reply being… “Peter who? Peter Reid, I don’t know any Peter Reids!” him thinking it was someone local calling. It wasn’t until Reidy added that it was thee Peter Reid, former Everton and Sunderland, did the penny drop for my Dad.

I will forever be grateful to Peter Reid for calling that day, it gave an old Evertonian a rare smile at the time and I am thrilled he agreed to be a columnist for Sixty6 magazine last summer.

Reidy of course starred in Mexico ’86 for England and this would have been the first World Cup I could remember. Italia ’90 was a lot more clearer and my Dad and I spent many a time, glued to England’s progress to the semi finals.

Out of all the major International tournaments, it was most probably the European Championships we spent the most memorable of times together watching England in front of the box, most notably Euro ‘96. There was the incredible Paul Gascoigne goal against Scotland we sat and gawped at in my sister’s front room in Saffron Walden, Essex, en route to bloody Germany to visit my other sister who lived there. She had just given birth to my niece, hence our visit, timed just perfectly we had to watch the England versus Germany Euro ’96 semi final in Paderborn. I will always remember the natives celebrating their penalty victory, hanging out of cars, blaring on their horns and we had to travel back to the ferry from Holland the next day in our English registration plate. That was interesting!

Its funny how I always remember our first game and have course the memories in between, yet I cannot quite put my finger on our last game together. I have it in mind as Stoke City at the Stadium of Light, possibly around 2011. I suppose it never dawns on you at the time that it will be the last time you go to a game together. I do remember him saying he would have loved to come to Wembley for the League Cup final for Sunderland against Manchester City this season, which brought a lump to my throat a few days before the showpiece game. If only I could have taken him somehow.

Maybe one day you will look down, the day I take your grandchildren to the game, I sit here, a product of, until the time we can meet for a pint, put the football world to rights and go to the match once more, someday, somewhere.

My Dad wrote in his epilogue for my first book “we are all very proud of you”. I suppose a son never tells his Dad how proud he is of him back. And so James Robinson, you will never know how proud I am to call you my Dad, thank you for always being there for me and I love you with all my heart and always will.

Here’s to New Brighton, the Toffees and the red and white army in the sky.

Malcolm Robinson, proud son of James Robinson – the best Dad in the World.

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Epilogue taken from the Sixty6 Unofficial World Cup Cookbook. 

For more information on the book see www.worldcupcookbook.co.uk