Pre-Season Friendlies
The 2001-02 Season
Hello, I'm Buckinghamshire's philosopher greengrocer.
GET OFF MY GRAPES PAL, sorry, I got distracted there. Listen up, I run a greengrocers with style and panache and I
don't put any apostrophes where there shouldn't be any, alright? Such grammatical excellence meant that I was noticed
at the local round table and I soon outstripped all kinds of butchers, bakers and light bulb sellers. I am a man of
wisdom and I can tell a russet from a Cox with my eyes shut. OI, IT'S PRONOUNCED KUMQUAT YOU SLAG.
Anyway, I am big fan of Wycombe Wanderers, and my philosophising has kept dinner parties going long after the seeds
from some red grapes have been carelessly spat onto curtains that may look nice from a distance but close up have all
kinds of stinking hair on them - tidy your rooms housewives. You don't have much else to do.
Nonetheless, I was having a bundle with one of the delivery boys the other day, my apron had ridden right up and he
tried to squeeze a blood orange into my thigh - well I wasn't having that. I got him in a headlock and rubbed
potatoes on his spotty nose. He squeaked at me: "Oi, why not get your outlandish yet enticing views on Wycombe
published." I relaxed my grip, it was the chance he needed, and he slipped out, kicked me in the broccoli and ran off.
He got me thinking, though, and so here is a history of Wycombe in the Football League - through the eyes of a humble
greengrocer.
1993-94 The Year of the Potato
Yeah, I remember well, I was green behind the ears, had just
got my first managership of a nice little place in Amersham-on-the-Hill. Good clientele, liked their greens but could I
shift carrots? Could I fu, anyway, Chairboys - bouncing into Div Three like a sack of spuds off a Bedford Rascal. Good
analogy there my son, the season was much like a potato. Could have gone any which way. Back to the conference, mash,
mid-table, sauté, play-offs, chips, promotion, jackets, champions, Birds Eye Waffles.
Luckily, O'Neill knew how to use his wrists and we mashed for Bucks. Creamy mash spilled from the joyous mouths of every
Wycombe fan. Garner, sausage and mash staining his eyes, Jesus Carroll, he can still taste that potato. Listen with your
heart. Remember what you ate when you got back from Wembley and whatever it appeared to be, in essence it was mash. Go
into the kitchen and pull out a potato. Hold it to your ears and listen. "Davie Carroll, he could go all the way here,
oh what a goal!"
1994-95 Banana Split
I shift a lot of bananas, easy. They're a popular fruit.
Stick 'em in your pockets, slip one in a trifle, lovely. But they have a darker side, if you eat the skin, you'll be
feeling Pat and Mick pretty sharpish. 1994-95 was a banana season. I remember getting rid of 30,000 bananas for a spring
fete in Denham, sometime in March 1995. The Chairboys had been having a good season but it was unravelling. O'Neill weren't
too happy and we couldn't score goals.
Think back to the crucial April defeat to Plymouth Argyle. The Devonians carried with them some inflatable bananas, a
throwback to the past. The claggy fruit lodged in our throats and for the first time in the O'Neill years we choked on
our own success. I stopped stocking bananas for a while, we all did. They were bad times. O'Neill, well he went off to
Norwich and then Leicester. What did we do? We slowly went back to the old ways but we never feel guilty if you're in a
motorway service station and you buy a waxy banana. Even the Devil has to get some fruit.
1995-96 Cabbage Patch Kids
Sick down to my heart, well that's just the way it goes.
That sums me up at this time. The Venezuelan Fruit Embargo was hitting Bucks hard, I can tell you. People were literally
queuing up Market Street to get to my wares and while that is normally a sign of just how good my eggs are (yeah - I do
eggs, what of it? You saying I can't diversify?), this time it was bad news. A**n S***h had waltzed into the club like
some kind of dancing chimp and the coldness was coming. I could feel the winter in the heat.
Endless mounds of cabbage - all of it green I might add - and I couldn't wait for the season to end. The shop was
struggling, struggling bad. The people just weren't coming anymore. The supermarkets were winning and I was feeling
the pinch. I got a group of schoolkids together who I used to pay to knock over displays in the supermarket but they
were untouchable. Drone workers came out and rebuilt them without a second's notice. S***h got rid of Paul Hyde,
Terry Howard, Simon Garner. God, I can still taste that cabbage.
1996-97 Mango Mayhem
There was a new hope in 1996-97 but only after S***h had been
booted out of the club. I set light to 15 boxes of cabbages (and three boxes of lettuces after a slight oversight) in
celebration. Invited the local painter and decorator to express himself in my bedroom when the news came through. There
were street parties, caricatures, dances, penny-whistles and a whole lot of Bucks loving when that man departed.
Anyway, we were magic at times when JBG came. Some slick play but a bit lightweight away from home. Definitely a
mango year. No chutney, I don't dole out Pot Noodles pal, I'm as fresh as they come and my mangos were literally
flying out of the shop. Peel em, strip em, eat em, like em. I even had some posters put up. I spent a lot of money
when my mangos came in, I had an old Ford Capri that I did up and drove round, yeah, you've guessed it, delivering
Mangos. I remember the day we secured survival up at Stockport. I'd had a few too many light and ales on the way up
and I was lifting my apron in, well, joy I suppose. Some northern wag shouted "Oi, you Tango man?" So I looked round,
sized him up and said "Nah pal, I'm Mango man, peel me and eat me."
He looked confused but then, they ain't really got apples up there have they? Great days.
1997-98 Raspberry Jam
There comes a time in a man's life when he has to
look for a wife, settle down, buy a dog, eat more jam, cough when he doesn't need to and laugh at Jim Davidson.
Well not me. I am dedicated to greengrocering 24/7. I open the shop on Christmas Day, even if no-one wants anything,
I know that it can spoil a Christmas lunch if someone says "You got any more parsnips Laura?" and Laura can't provide.
Sends her into a mood and the guests are left drawing pictures in the condensation on the window.
JBG was affected too, although he didn't let on. The halcyon Mango days were a distant memory. He struggled through but
he had lost his passion for the region and he slipped back to Villa when the chance came through in February. So, we were
left with Neil Smillie, nice fella and all but a bit too obsessed with raspberries for my liking. He kept bulk buying
them off me and leaving me a bit short to be honest. A lady likes a raspberry and If I can't provide then I look like
a bit of a Charlie.
Well after the 5-1 win against Plymouth in March, things came to a head. Smillie was getting through six
punnets a day by this stage and I just couldn't cope anymore. I said, "Sorry son, you'll have to switch to
gooseberries" He didn't like that one bit and we didn't speak for three or four months. Like I said, I'm all
for a man having passions but don't let it take over your life. The way he ate raspberries reminded me of the Korean War.
1998-99 Courgette Heaven
Americans call them Zucchini but that's just nonsense.
A courgette is a courgette and that is all there is to it. Simple. I was doing good business by this stage and I was
thinking of opening a second shop in Chesham but I am a careful man and I weren't going to be rushed into it.
Bang! Out went Smillie, in came Sanchez. Now I had read about his love of salad in "Greengrocer's World" magazine so
I was made up when he rolled into town. Next time you eat some courgette, hold it up to your eye and stare into it.
What can you see? Yeah, that's right, don't be scared - a 2-1 win at Maine Road. I was down in Rusholme for the next
three hours, checking out all the courgettes on sale. I bought about 30 and ate them on the way home. Blinding days
and all thanks to Sanchez. I was thinking of wearing a suit of courgettes to Lincoln but in the end, I didn't need to
in the end. Who can remember when Emblen's goal went in? 2,000 courgettes flung in the air and the Sincil Bank faithful
didn't know what to do. Summer 1999 was a blur of zucchini and alcohol. Sorry pal, I don't remember a thing.
1999-2000 Onion Gravy
Versatile as Keith Ryan, that's the onion. I can even
remember knocking out toffee onions to nippers at Amersham Fair in the 1980s. People loved them. Sweet and sour,
solid, won't let you down. That's 1999-2000 in an onion shell pal.
We looked for the heights and nearly reached them. Gubbed Reading 5-3, I had some onion soup that night, I can
tell you. 3-0 against Col U? I remember, I also recall some heavy duty onion action in the evening. What a season -
nearly, not quite.
I remember the day after the Millennium celebrations. Mo Harkin pops in the greengrocers. "Alright son," I said, "You
want some onions?" "Er, no" he replied "You're the only place open, do you sell Hooch?" I was not impressed by his
attitude I can tell you. I had made some onion wine and had sunk 15 bottles of it the night before. Right as rain I was.
If I ever have kids, I am going to feed them onion wine as soon as they can open their mouths. Season of consolidation,
the season of the onion.
2000-01 Oranges and Lemons
I wasn't surprised when we got to the FA Cup semi-finals.
I had seen it in my oranges. Jason, my work experience lad had backed the forklift onto my foot so I was out of action
for a bit. I made myself useful by sorting oranges in the back. You get a lot of spiders with oranges, more than you think,
so you have to be careful.
Story ends: I nearly lost my shop, I nearly lost everything but I gained an insight. You can learn a lot from oranges
and lemons but if you go too far you will get hurt. I can barely remember the semi, all I was thinking about was
getting some juice at half-time. Oh that sweet sweet juice. I've seen some great Wycombe teams from my shop front and I
hope to see some more. I'll be keeping my eye on the new recruits in 2001-02, and if they show any sign of slacking,
Sanchez knows he can send them down to me and I'll give them some advice, some care and some fresh fruit and veg.
LOVE
It went well, we hung around the top but just like when you're cooking a potato, there was always the feeling that
something could go wrong. Would Martin take us off the boil too soon? Maybe, we were a bit fluffy and in the spring,
there was trouble afoot. Bad spell, water on the hob. These ain't King Edward's pal. Nightmare - play offs. Put it this
way, we had no milk and little butter, and yet we had to make some mash out of our season.
"Have a banana" the crowd shouted at him, trying to cheer him up and increase his potassium levels at the same time.
He shirked their advice and brought in a lot of peaches. Now I don't have much time for peaches, too furry and the stone
can kill toddlers. Now that ain't a joke. Anyway, we slipped down to sixth, missed the play-offs because those gadges at
the FA were cutting the Premiership down to size - and what were they using to promote the league? Yes, bananas, we just
couldn't get away from the yellow peril.
Now everybody knows cabbage is a winter vegetable, chewy, crunchy, not the best. Does a job on the plate, bit like
Gary Patterson, but nothing to write home about. Oh I know about these ponces up in London who try and re-invent the
cabbage but they are nothing without us, do you hear me? Well anyway, we started alright under S***h but the cabbage's
dull core soon shone through. Nothing to get excited about. We could have used some carrots, some red onions, a pomegranate,
to be honest, we could have used a banana, it was that bad. But we got more cabbage.
In came Johnny Boy Gregory. I can call him that because he was my pal in the 1970s. We used to shift surplus tomatoes at
First Division grounds. We built up a good rapport and I like to think that one of the reasons he came to Wycombe was
the high standard of greengrocering I introduced him to the area. Your wife gets home and finds her strawberries
crushed in her bag? Not a problem pal, come back to the shop and I'll re-stock you. I'm a nice fella. I'm the Greengrocer.
Well JBG had crafted a good team. I went up to Wigan on the opening day. We were 4-0 down at half-time but we played
some good stuff. I wasn't worried I knew we had some great days ahead. Then the Princess went and got herself slid down
a French Tunnel. People just stopped eating fruit and veg for months. I saw women eating flowers, chocolates, cakes,
crisps, meat but I couldn't force a single cucumber inside their mouths, and God knows I tried.
I put the move off when I saw what raspberry man Smillie was doing to the team. Eight defeats and two draws
from 10 games. We were heading down and I was not a happy grocer. My shop had never suffered a relegation and I
didn't want to see what would happen if it did. The sales of courgettes had been rising throughout the autumn, people
excited at the way they could be incorporated into a number of dishes. I was happy to dole em out, they were easy money
and I was spending a long time at the Dogs by this stage.
I know the feeling, you get back from the shops and you're unloading. Easy, no hassles. Oh yeah, there's your
onions, nothing much to write home about but they do a job. An onion will grind you out a draw away at Brentford.
And that's what Sanchez will do for you. He gave the team some onion spirit and they weren't going to let us down.
I was sorting them out, it was the night before the replay with Grimsby. Some fell down and I just knew, I don't know
how but I did, that we were going all the way. I put a tidy little bet on and settled down ready for the great days that
were bound to come. Then who came into my shop, looking for a suspiciously high number of lemons? Yeah, Beeks, the big
fella, the chief, the man-at-arms. He loves his lemons does Beeksie and he ordered a shedload.
So there I am, limping my way to Selhurst Park for the Wimbledon replay - loaded with oranges and lemons. I can't let the
side down. I've got citric acid in my blood and a lack of real spice in my life. I was beeling when that winning penalty
went in. I got out my zester and I made a pretty picture in the sky. But what they don't tell you about citric acid is
the way it sends you mad. I was knocking back a lot by this stage and I was getting into some crazy situations. There was
the time I drove my Bedford Rascal straight into Woolworths. I didn't feel a thing - that's what the citrus does for you -
but I got into big trouble. I was supposed to be banged up for the semi but I got the magistrate a great deal (and I mean
marvellous) on some red peppers and he did me a favour.
GREENGROCER
Summer 2001