"I was born and bred in Accrington. You can�t buy class!"

I first came across this memorable phrase when reading something by Bob Dobson. Though I had the misfortune to be born in Blackburn, I was raised in Accrington and, at the age of six, was blooded in the rituals of football supporting at Turf Moor. OK...I admit it. I�m a Burnley fan. But I was also conditioned by an older generation that saw less need for the tribalism that sets modern-day football fans apart. I suspect such an attitude today towards Blackburn and Burnley would be unique to Accringtonians, something to do with the geographical equidistance of the town, but it's not the case with me: I openly confess to an irrational prejudice against anything in blue and white halves. Anyhow, I grew up on football grounds, two in particular - Turf Moor and the Crown Ground. And as I stood there each week, I became versed in the history of the game in a small part of Lancashire that supplied a quarter of the teams for the first-ever official Football League in the world. So this is a short trawl through some of the things that have remained in this particular mind�s eye.

I�m convinced that one of the ingredients of a deprived childhood must be the lack of a footy-mad Grandad who, come Saturday afternoon, saw it as his absolute familial duty to wrap up in scarf and flat cap and take his grandson to the game. As a mere nipper not yet into double figures, I used to enjoy these weekly excursions with my Grandad Cronshaw, but more for the company than the football. And of course, your Grandad was far more liberal when it came to the number of cola bottles you were allowed to scoff during the course of the ninety minutes. And ninety minutes seemed like an aeon when you were seven. This was a problem at the big grounds, there wasn't anywhere else to go. But at Accrington Stanley - oh, the luxury! - not only was there a programme shop where the most obscure things could be unearthed and bought for 5p, but there was also a bit of spare land by the clubhouse which invariably hosted an impromptu six-a-side, usually around an hour into the game. This was the average time it used to take for the Reds of Haggis and Co. to neutralise the opposition, and for your stomach to neutralise the half-time crisps and pop.

But the education didn't stop there. During the week, Grandad was invariably found shirt-sleeved in the living room, sat in 'his' armchair, cup of strong tea (Co-op, loose) and a fag (Old Holborn, rolled) never far from hand, and, in between marathon revving coughs, regaled you with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of football stories. Innumerable times I sat there, wide-eyed on passive smoke and wonder, my imagination fired by his first-hand accounts of one of the great eras of East Lancashire professional football - Burnley's misfortunes in the 1947 and 1962 Cup Finals (Kippax's flu, Potts hitting the bar, Robson's disallowed goal), the famous F.A. Cup quarter-final when Burnley lost a 3-0 lead to Blackburn, Harry Leyland, the eccentric Blackburn goalkeeper playing the game of his life in the following semi-final to get Rovers to Wembley (only to get well and truly stuffed by the Wolves team whom Burnley had pipped to the League Championship only days before). The great Accrington Stanley team of the mid-1950's, who succumbed to the brilliance of Liddell after dominating Liverpool at Anfield in an F.A. Cup tie, and who came agonisingly close to promotion to the Second Division on more than one occasion.

We were regular visitors to the non-league grounds of the area, taking in all the great characters of the day. Grandad seemed to prefer Great Harwood, but mainly for the reason that, at that time, they were the most senior non-league team in the area. They were forever marooned in the lower reaches of the Northern Premier League, the Coventry City of Northern non-league, but it was there that we witnessed some of the best non-league sides of the day. Altrincham were sent packing 2-0 one chilly evening, and even the great Mossley side of the late 70�s couldn�t prise the points away from Wood Street.

But often he took me to the Crown Ground to see Accrington Stanley. Th�owd Reds were on the march again, but were plying their trade in the Lancashire Combination. Stanley and Harwood once drew each other in some cup competition, and a bumper crowd turned up at Harwood to see the speed and strike power of the legendary Dave 'Haggis' Hargreaves pitted against the thuggish brilliance of a nutter called John Wood in the Harwood goal; and conversely, the aerial dominance of Harwood's towering centre-forward Furnival versus the agile but tiny Mick Finn in the Stanley goal. After a furious 1-1 draw at the Showground, with Stanley sneaking a late equaliser, the Reds finished the job back at their place in the replay, 2-0.

Haggis really was a legend in Accrington. Strong, without being bulky, his wild hair, 'tache and headband could have landed him a part in One Million Years BC, no problem. Season after season he ploughed his way through the mudheaps of the Lancashire Combination and the Cheshire Leagues in the red of the Stanley, yards faster than any of his opponents. In 1980, Stanley finished runners-up in the Cheshire League Second Division but were ridiculously denied promotion because of the standard of their ground. Undeterred, they set about improving the ground and the team promptly went one better and won the League the following season. Towards the end of that season, with repairs to the Crown pitch still ongoing, Stanley played a game on the ground of Accrington Amateurs F.C., accompanied by a gale-force wind blowing directly down the pitch. Stanley had the wind behind them as they kicked off the second-half, and on receiving the obligatory tap back, Haggis lashed the ball high over the entire opposition, over the flailing keeper and directly into the goal, fully 60 yards away. Nayim? Beckham? Nothing that Haggis couldn't do. Someone told me he was in the Guinness Book of Records. I don't know if that's true, but his goal a game ratio certainly earned him a paragraph or two in the Rothmans Yearbook - he played in the region of 300 games for Stanley.

With their ground up to standard, Stanley won promotion to the Cheshire League Division One, and a year later were admitted into the First Division of the newly-formed North West Counties League. The following years were ones of consolidation, and by 1987 the Reds had developed a squad good enough to challenge for the North West Counties title, eventually claiming the runners-up spot. The following season saw further progress as Stanley were admitted to Division One of the resurrected Northern Premier League. Things were changing for me too, as I negotiated my �O� and �A� levels and set off for Portsmouth to read for a BA in Politics. From this point on, Stanley�s results were a matter of the Sunday papers and phone calls from my Dad.

Stanley went agonisingly close to promotion more than once during this time. Although overshadowed locally by the rise of Colne Dynamoes, they finished 4^th, 6^th and 3^rd in successive seasons. But in 1991, shortly after my return from Portsmouth, Stanley�s luck changed dramatically as they were admitted into the Premier Division of the NPL on the basis of another team�s demise. With Colne Dynamoes gone and Great Harwood and Clitheroe now only shadows of their former selves, Stanley were now the senior non-league club in the area. The next two and a half years were to see unarguably the highlights of Stanley�s modern history, engineered for the most part by the unrivalled contacts of non-league wheeler-dealer par excellence, Phil Staley.

If Dave Hargreaves reminded me of One Million Years BC, then Phil Staley might have walked straight out of The Godfather, with his crisp white collars, long coat and cultured coiffure. Ambling up the touchline, casting stares and the occasional half-smile to the old geezers stood along the side, Phil cut a menacing figure and left you in no doubt that you wouldn�t want to be in the vicinity when he lost it. Rumour has it that, in the best traditions of British football management, Phil was on the Christmas card list of a number of cup and saucer companies, wobblers being not the only thing he threw.

Nonetheless, Phil�s odd combination of malevolence and charm did the trick, for a season at least. And he possessed another vital asset � a seemingly endless range of phone numbers to call in case of emergency player shortages. Phil was the non-league network king. Perhaps the best example of this came at the start of the 1992-93 season, when Stanley lost two keepers in two games � enough to constitute a crisis at most clubs. With only two days between games to solve this problem, Staley secured the services of Paul Collings. Little did we know as this blond giant of a keeper ambled out for his debut at the Crown versus Marine, that he was to be one of the best goalies ever seen in between the Stanley sticks. Unlike Mick Finn, Collings hadn't played in front of 45,000 at Goodison Park, but had been turning out for Tranmere Rovers reserves, and he progressed from Stanley to Bury. But, for four months between September and the New Year, Godfather Staley treated us to a real keeper.

Collings quickly established his credentials with truly stunning penalty save in a thrilling 2-0 defeat of Leek Town. With Collings in goal, confidence spread through the team. Paul Beck started to make goal-scoring look ridiculously easy, and the Reds embarked on their famous F.A. Cup run. Just for the record, with Collings in goal Stanley won 18, drew 6 and lost only 3 of 27 games, one of which was the Crewe cup-tie. They scored 76 goals in this period alone, 24 from Paul Beck.

Unfortunately, Collings was quickly snapped up by Bury and Stanley never played the same without him. Phil Staley�s tenure at the Crown Ground was to have an acrimonious ending the following season. Unable to establish a settled line-up, Staley wasn�t getting results; in fact, the Reds suffered six straight League defeats in October, leaving them perched just above the relegation zone. Staley left under a cloud, ostensibly due to poor results. However, the ugly rumour doing the rounds on the terraces was that Phil had confronted Chairman Alty and demanded "commission" on the sale of full-back Martin Clarke to Crewe.

As the biggest fish in the local non-league pond, Accrington Stanley and rumour are inseparable companions. Although the best approach is usually to remain sceptical, the idea of Phil demanding a brown envelope stuffed with cash befitted my affectionate image of him as the Don Corleone of the Unibond League. A few years later, and in the most unlikely of settings, I was to get his side of the story. But all that was a long way off as, with Phil just sacked and winning a distant memory, we made our way to Altrincham for an F.A. Cup 4^th Qualifying Round tie.

And what a life-affirming game that was! The ironic strains of "We�ll win again, don�t know where, don�t know when�" were soon silenced as Stanley came out in a determined mood and fought tooth and nail for every ball with their Conference opponents. Under a roof for the second-half, the Stanley followers really began to make some noise. On the hour, an Altrincham free-kick hit the post, rebounded onto our keeper's knee and looped up into the air towards a mass of players on the edge of the box. An almighty scramble ensued before someone hacked the ball to safety. Was this going to be Stanley�s lucky day?

15 minutes to go. "You�re red, you�re white, your team�s a bag o�shite, Altrincham, Altrincham�" echoed around Moss Lane as Stanley continued to defend solidly. Then it happened. Paul Beck received the ball midway inside the Altrincham half and, advancing towards goal, beat one man, side-stepped another to the right and then expertly found the top left corner of the Altrincham net. Just between us, I don�t mind admitting that I went absolutely berserk at this point, as did the entire Stanley end. We then endured 10 minutes of tension before Becky repeated the trick. 2-0, and in the hat for the First Round proper again. I can�t remember having such a good time at a football match since.

Stanley have, to date, not yet managed to repeat these successes, and the recent high turnover of managers reflects the desire for success at the Crown. Trudging away from the ATS Cup defeat at Darwen last season, this success seemed further away than ever. In search of a bit of success on a personal level, I returned to university in 1995, this time at Keele, and found myself working part-time at the Keele motorway service station in order to make ends meet. I worked at Keele services for five months, and on my first day served Peter Shilton, and David Beckham shortly after that. But these two paled into insignificance when, one busy morning, Phil Staley walked in. As he strode up to the counter, I greeted him with a grin and the immortal question that unknown actors dream of: "Are you�.?"

"Are you Phil Staley?" (This was a daft question, as I knew full well who he was). Phil gave me one of his most fearsome stares, probably suspecting me of being part of some elaborate plot to humiliate him on national TV. Before he could answer, I explained that I was an Accy Stanley fan and remembered him for the fine side he assembled at the Crown. Phil visibly relaxed and we instantly went into nostalgia mode.

"Wasn�t that a great side, eh?" enthused Phil. "Big Eddie Johnson, Bernie Hughes, Beckie�."
"And Paul Collings in goal," I added.

Phil told me that Collings had lost his confidence and, incredibly, had given up the game. I asked him about the Clarke saga, and he expressed his disgust at the rumours that he had gone to Alty for a bung. He told me that Alty�s interference in team affairs had made it obvious that the Chairman had lost confidence in him. There had been a confrontation, but not about money. At that time, Phil was managing a League of Wales side, and our conversation ended with us having a laugh about the possibility of Staley in Europe � his team were challenging for a UEFA Cup place.

I don�t know what Phil thought about meeting an Accy Stanley fan at Keele services, but it certainly made my day. In the four-volume Association Football books, published in 1960, Witty and Prole write of Accrington Stanley that "whilst Accrington�s glories may be its memories, its triumphs are yet to come." Whatever the truth of his departure, Phil Staley�s team gave us a tantalising glimpse of the promised land and the triumphs therein that await for future generations of Accrington Stanley supporters. On Stanley, on!

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