The Exiled Robin

For nearly 100 years of their existence, Bristol City had trundled along like many other middling Football League clubs. A couple of promotions, a handful of relegations, the odd shot at glory and a clutch of notable former players and moments had been strewn across the century. Then in 1976 that changed with promotion to an increasingly high-profile First Division. That story has been well told by many, with the ultimate repercussions leading to the story of the Ashton Gate Eight, men who sacrificed their future prosperity and family’s stability to ensure the very survival of our club. And most of those stories stop there. The remarkable gesture is a great ending to a story, and what came next is just seen as a gradual re-establishment to our standard jostling within the middle two divisions. But to skip over that period of the mid-to-late 1980s would be disingenuous to a man who was front and centre of Bristol City’s recovery, a man who rebuilt the foundations on a shoestring and ...

You could almost hear the collective sigh of relief across south Bristol at half-past-two on Saturday afternoon, as referee James Linington drew an end to one of the most disappointing and frustrating seasons in recent Bristol City history. Awful because we haven’t been able to go to games. Awful because of the never-ending stream of injuries, serious injuries, repeat injuries. Awful because of the inability to take enough shots on goal. Awful for the basic inability to pass the ball which has blighted our performances throughout the season. Awful for the apparent lack of care from a number of senior professionals in the last third of the season. Despite their constant references to fans being missed, I suspect there is a fairly significant contingent of players, staff and directors at Ashton Gate saying a little prayer of thanks that fans haven’t been allowed in during these last few months. The atmosphere would have fluctuated from frustration to anger to sheer vitriol, certainly...