74 episodes

A series in which 90’s football aficionado Josh Widdicombe is joined by friends, and fellow 90s experts, co-host Chris Scull and ‘Director of Podcast’ Michael Marden, as the trio embark on a tour of niche football topics of the period 1st January 1990 to 31st December 1999.

Quickly Kevin; will he score? The 90s Football Show Josh Widdicombe, Chris Scull and Michael Marden

    • Sports
    • 4.9, 2.6K Ratings

A series in which 90’s football aficionado Josh Widdicombe is joined by friends, and fellow 90s experts, co-host Chris Scull and ‘Director of Podcast’ Michael Marden, as the trio embark on a tour of niche football topics of the period 1st January 1990 to 31st December 1999.

Customer Reviews

4.9 out of 5
2.6K Ratings

2.6K Ratings

Cragsb13 ,

Full Back!

I was in my office pondering the game we had on Monday evening. I’d sent the players home with strict instructions to behave over the weekend, didn’t want any pictures to appear in the tabloid press newspapers of them with a blonde on each arm. That Paul Ince from the Leddersford Post has always had it in for me and was on the prowl, like a tiger which is native to both Asia or Africa, depending on the type of tiger, looking for his next scoop.

Just as I’d gathered my thoughts as to whether to go with standard full backs or a wing back system on Monday evening. That’s when our next game is. I looked out the door to see if Julie, my secretary, had gone home. She’s very plain but sometimes I see her eyes sparkle in a way that Shearer and Sutton used to in that title winning season they had at Blueburn. She had, no chamomile tea for me I guess, I tried to make it myself one once but I didn’t get a good education and anyway men are above such simple tasks.

The phone then rang, I picked up the receiver on the 3rd ring and heard the feedback hurt my ear. I’ve been asking Sir Lawrence for a new one but hard getting money out of him for trivial things let alone new soccer players.

‘Hello, Steve Barnes manager of Leddersford Town.’ I said

‘Steve it’s me Peter Penrice’

Peter Penrice sounded worried

‘What’s wrong Peter Penrice?’ I asked

‘There’s a man who was here earlier who spoke with a funny accent and an olive style skin tone. He told me to call you and tell you to meet him in the car park of the tripe factory, he had a gun’

‘Where are you Peter Penrice?’

‘The Feathers, but I think I’m being watched’

‘I’ll come there 1st’ I said and hung up the receiver.

Peter Penrice, the tripe factory and a man with a funny accent? I knew I never should have signed that Julimho - short for Juan Harambe Ignacio Perreira, our new wing back, he was always in some kind of bother.

I climbed into the Jags incredible leather interior, wound down the electric window and fired up its 3.2 litre v8. It hadn’t failed me yet and as I looked forward into the darkness I knew it was that time again...

Matthew EFC ,

Chairman!

As he drove across the Pennines Steve Barnes adjusted the climate control in his Ford Fiesta. Whilst it lacked the air conditioning, heated seats or individual temperature control of his previous jaguars, Mercedes and Renault Meganes, he found winding the window down a suitable alternative. Another Monday game he thought, didn’t Sky TV know his best football memories all revolved around (Sheffield) Wednesdays! He chuckled, “I’ll use that in my interview tonight”

One benefit of his new car however was the built in I-tunes feature which allowed him to while away the long drives listening to his favourite podcasts. He tuned into his number one choice, Quickly Kevin. In his mind’s eye he liked to picture Chris leaving a nightclub with two blonde beauties on his arms. On his left would be Josh, and on his right Michael wearing a Pamela Anderson wig. “What a jammy bugger” he thought.

Their chat meandered along in much the same way as the new Leddersford bypass, sweeping through 90s football just as the road pierced the moors, dipping into the postbag like the valleys of Brideford, before peaking at the interview as he hit the brow of the hill near his favourite watering hole “The Feathers”. He smiled as the lads wondered about the most exotic locations their podcast was listened to. He half pondered writing in himself, telling them about the time he listened to the podcast on the beaches of Rio as he gazed up at Christ the Redeemer. “No Steve, nobody would believe that story!”

Their witty repartee and friendly banter reminded him a lot of the good times of his youth, with Gary “his pal” Lister and Jimmy, the great Mulcaster United number one Brian Frob’s son. Just as he started to remember his old stories, his reverie was broken by the Bluetooth phone speaker. It was his assistant Julie. Reaching to answer the phone he decided instead to wait a couple of rings before answering, enjoying the frisson of excitement that came with waiting to hear her voice.

“Mr Barnes” she said

“That’s Steve to you Julie”. He laughed inwardly at his own joke

“Steve”, she replied, he liked to think coquettishly. “It’s Sir Lawrence Brook, he’s been rushed to hospital”. Steve felt the sweep of dread, not his chairman, the man who had invested so much into the town, who had literally put Leddersford on the map, what possible fate could have befallen him, “somebody has poisoned his cucumber sandwich”

He swerved off the road like an Arsenal full back hearing he had only been offered £55.000 a week. Not Sir Lawrence, a man without enemies (apart from Mossad, Serbian war lords and a disgruntled English teacher), who would do such a thing!

Only one man was worthy of this investigation he seethed, “not the Chief-Constable or his able deputies, no, Mr. Steve Barnes himself.”

BlackIsleBlue ,

Shotstopper!

Sitting in the manager’s office with owner Ashley Michaels, the ink still wet on the contracts that lay on the polished oak desk between us, he handed me a glass and proposed a toast.

“Not for me, Ash.” I knew he wouldn’t mind his name being shortened like this having made his fortune in the hustle and bustle of sports retail, he probably got called that all the time. “I’ll stick with my chamomile.” Julie had just made me a hot one, she always knew just how I liked it. “It helps manage blood sugar levels and reduces the risk of osteoporosis.” I said confidently, as if I’d conducted this scientific research myself. He was clearly impressed.

There wasn’t any time to waste. First order of business; another homecoming, that of Sandy Farrel, the ponytailed stallion that was going to lead the line all the way to European Cup Glory. But there was a problem – he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd during his time in London. A shady character named Big Ben, and I don’t mean the nineteenth century clocktower at the north end of the Palace of Westminster, loomed large over Sandy. And he wasn’t going to let him slip from his grasp without a fight.

Sandy had last been spotted falling out of an east end nightclub owned by ‘Benny’ with a blonde on each arm. That was over a week ago and exactly where I needed to pick up his trail.
“I’ll leave now and be there in 5 hours.” I told Ash as I drained the last of my chamomile and placed my cup back on the coaster, protecting the antique desk.
“I need you there in 4.” He quipped as he casually tossed me the keys to my new club car, the silver Jaguar emblem glistening under the electric light as they flew.
“Barnes is back” I said to myself as I left the office with a smile.

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