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From Boreham Wood FC’s bus to the world of Mugabe, Yeltsin, Bush and Trump
Spor
06.05.2026

From Boreham Wood FC’s bus to the world of Mugabe, Yeltsin, Bush and Trump

With the Wood one win from reaching the Football League for the first time, a veteran correspondent recalls lessons learned from their amateur daysThe years teach much which the days never know. This weekend Boreham Wood FC go to Wembley fighting for a place in that treasured home of the global game, the English Football League. Why will I be watching 7,000 miles away? Well, the experience of riding the Wood’s team bus 50-odd years ago taught me much that I have carried across our world ever since. So, I’ll be somewhat possessed this Sunday, Boreham Wood versus Rochdale, even though I live in that footie mecca on the other side of the world, Argentina.The memories are rich. Back then I’m on a gap year before university, a football captain at school sees an advert in his local paper for a reporter, urges me to apply, and I do, convincing one of the best editors I ever worked for (by the name of Roger Norman) to take me, and I spend a golden period reporting for the Borehamwood and Elstree Post. Elstree, with its film studios, the poor man’s Hollywood. Borehamwood, a working-class hinterland of my north London, with not much to celebrate. Continue reading...

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Guardian Sport
‘Got. Got. Need!’ The boyhood autographs that remind me of Coventry’s Premier League heydays
Spor
20.04.2026

‘Got. Got. Need!’ The boyhood autographs that remind me of Coventry’s Premier League heydays

From Dion Dublin to Eric Cantona, the signatures I collected with my dad in the 1990s record a time when the Sky Blues seemed almost invincibleJohn Barnes: got. David Beckham: got. Ruud Gullit: got. Andrei Kanchelskis: got. Matthew Le Tissier: got. Alan Shearer: got.Looking back through the football autographs I collected as a teenager in the early 1990s feels delightful and discomfiting. The Merlin sticker albums, Pro Set cards and Shoot annuals chronicle a youth spent travelling the country with my dad, watching Coventry City take on the great and the good of the top flight at the dawn of the Premier League. We would hunt for the visiting teams at local hotels before each game, aiming to bag a handful of signatures when the players went for their mid-morning walk, then sneak around the back of Highfield Road after the match – darting past security, through the executive suites, to the players’ exit – where we would complete our haul as the players boarded the team buses. Continue reading...

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Guardian Sport