“Order, order.”

On the evening of the 18th of May 1882 at the Bull Hotel in the centre of Burnley, a special committee meeting of a local rugby team called Burnley Rovers was called.

The Bull was a fine establishment, its façade lit by “Old Gawmless,” the lamp in the centre of the street outside, some say because of its “dim” performance, others because it was standing in the middle of the road.
They could have chosen to meet in almost any of the nearly 200 inns, hotels, taverns and beerhouses that had grown up in the hard-working town (despite the efforts of the Temperance Movement) but they chose The Bull because it was the town’s leading hotel, known for its “magnificence” but nick-named “The Folly” by the locals because of its ambitious 40 bedrooms.
Some of the committee members would have arrived on one of the new fangled steam trams introduced into the town the previous year, hissing and clanging along cobbled streets described as, “the most heavily bill posted in the country,” passing Thomas Hoghton’s grocers shop, who advertised on his paper bags that, “Trams pass the door every 15 minutes.”
There’s entrepreneurship for you but he still hedged his traditional bets by having, on the same bag, a picture of an elegant couple arriving at his shop in an open hansom cab.
One or two of the committee might have been late, as there had been a bit of a dispute about the use of steam on certain streets and the new trams had to be pulled by horses for some of the way. If a member had walked from nearby Stoneyholme he’d have passed under the shadow of a giant, three-tier gasholder, only the second to be built in England.
Others perhaps chose to arrive by horse-drawn Cab, oil lamps winking in the fading light.
With the meeting called to order, the evening’s business began.
“It hasn’t been a bad season,” the Rover’s Treasurer told them,” And were it not for our changing facilities being blown down and the access bridge to the ground being washed away, the balance sheet might have presented a different aspect.”
There was applause and the balance sheet adopted unanimously. Two penny or three penny cigars were puffed on, purchased from Joshua Duckworth’s a couple of doors away.
Then, under the yellow light of flickering gas mantles, committee member Mr. Ernest Bradshaw stood up and spoke,
“ I move that the rugby club, in future, play under Association Football rules.”
Without more ado, for I suspect Burnley folk had acquired a reputation for bluntness even then, the motion was passed and a celebratory round of Grimshaw’s Ale was probably ordered.
A few days later, in order to forestall anyone else having the idea, the name of the new venture was changed to “Burnley Football Club”.
The club would play its first match at Turf Moor (still its ground in 2013) on Saturday, 17th of February 1883. A proud day, except that their opponents, neighboring Rawtenstall, ran off winners, beating Burnley Football Club, 6-3.
The first result might have disappointed but if there was ever any sunshine to be sought under the mill town’s sulphuric, rain-soaked skies, the Club’s committee was determined to find it.

In 1888 Burnley Football Club proudly became one of the founder members of the Football League, along with, Accrington, Aston Villa, Blackburn, Bolton, Derby, Everton, Notts. County, Preston, Stoke City, West Bromwich Albion and Wolverhampton Wanderers.

Burnley. Cotton. Football.
The last two words would come to define the town, sometimes to its annoyance but more often to its advantage for decades to come.

125 years later, Burnley Football Club has an established place in the history of professional football and you can tell them that with pride, even in the Copacabana Stadium in Brazil.

The beautiful game.

THE BEAUTIFUL GAME.

Shakespeare had a word to say about most things but it may come as a surprise to modern fans that he mentions football on more than one occasion, when the game was far from beautiful.

In the play, King Lear, one character calls another, “A base foot-ball player,” and in Comedy of Errors someone complains, ”Am I so round with you…that like a foot-ball you do spurn me thus…you must case me in leather?”

By the time the Bard was writing lines like these, the game of “ball-foot,” “fute-ball,” or foot-ball,” was well established in Britain. There was a version called “Camp-ball.” One can only be thankful that the name didn’t catch on, although the phrase, “hand-bags at ten paces,” obviously survived.

The word “game” is old English for “fight” and early contests were certainly that, a huge brawl over an area where the “goals” could be several hundred yards apart or several miles.

There was a ball, made out of leather, stuffed with horsehair or a pig’s bladder filled with dried peas. It was the Elizabethans who later invented the inflatable bladder inside a leather case.

The earliest written confirmation that the ball was kicked comes from an Anglo-French Bishop of Lincoln (who may have been at the match for his own personal reasons) when he described, ”Four and twenty bonny boys, were playing at the ball…he kicked the ball with his right foot.” Which seems to indicate that pretty footballers have always been popular and that there was a shortage of left-sided players even then.

The stream of Geordie players started in the 13th century when a Northumberland man killed an opposition player with his dagger, his plea being that the other man had “run against it.” There were no shortages of West Country hard men, either. In 1283 a Cornish player killed another with a stone to the head. In Oxford it was alleged that a player was, “killed by Irish students while playing foot-ball in the High Street.”

Mediaeval mob-football was organized mayhem. No rules (except to “score.”) no fair play and no Referees. Numerous laws were decreed to ban it, few of which proved successful.

King Edward II thundered, “There is an uproar …arising from the great striking of foot-balls, from which many evils shall arise. We do forbid, upon pain of punishment that such games shall be practised in the city.”

Football was banned in the City of Leicester. (Quiet at the back, please) and at Westminster, “When ye Parliamente is sitting.”

No government would attempt to pass that statute to day. Not if it wanted to remain in office.

By the 15th century, town “teams” appeared and Premiership chairmen will be depressed to know that you could buy a whole team for 20 pence.

Football boots appeared around 1526 and King Henry VIII ordered a pair. He also ordered 45 pairs of velvet shoes, so he wasn’t that keen. Although, being King, it was probably difficult to keep him off the team sheet.

Referees, of a sort, appeared by 1581 and it was, perhaps not surprisingly, an English headmaster who first offered to referee, “for small teams, playing in formation.”

Whatever the formation was, there are no Elizabethan references to 4-1-4-1.

There is a 16th century Scots poem, perhaps written by a McCoyle, which goes: “Bruised muscles and broken bones, discordant strife and futile blows, lamed in old age, then crippled withal. These are the beauties of football.” Nothing’s changed there, then.

“Pitches” arrived in an attempt to limit the carnage and “goals” (generally a gateway) with Elizabethan “Beasts” to guard them and new rules stated that you couldn’t kick higher than the ball. (Hah!)

With games lasting up to four hours the players would resort to the tavern for a little refreshment before the carnage continued. The first “Footballer’s Arms.”?

It wasn’t until 1870 that pushing players in the back was forbidden. Sadly this still doesn’t seem to have been taken on-board.

Sober or not, it would have taken a brave man to foul Henry VIII.

Especially when he was wearing his new Fute-ball bootes.