Wolves never won at Turf Moor in the 1960’s, a run that began with a fateful defeat in the 1959/60 season that would ultimately cost us a hat-trick of titles, and the first league and cup double of the 20th Century. Though Burnley had an excellent side in those days, under the inspired leadership of Harry Potts, few people realize the principle factor in their home successes was the one-in-three gradient that Turf Moor was built on.
Of course, it was not unusual back then for pitches to have inclines – it was considered by many to constitute an intrinsic part of the game, and could increase the cash-flow of struggling clubs in the winter months, when they would hire out their snow-covered venues for sledging. Nearby Silsden’s ground was so sloped that both goals were placed at the same end to create a more even game. But while relatively widespread, sloped pitches could create difficulties for teams used to playing on level surfaces, even the mightiest of the mighty like Stan Cullis’ Golden Gargantuans.
In previous seasons, Cullis had successfully deployed a “Mardy Kabandha”, switching to a “Rampant Indra” shape when attacking downhill.
In previous seasons, Cullis had successfully deployed a fairly typical “Mardy Kabandha” formation at Turf Moor, with all eleven players forming an arc around the goalmouth in the first half, and switching to a “Rampant Indra” shape when attacking downhill. Potts had since stymied that tactic by choosing to attack the Bee-Hole End second half when winning the toss, and Cullis had struggled to find an answer.
He’d tried the “Christian Burial Ground” shape: a rigid and narrow 3-2-3-2 with imaginary wingbacks; he’d experimented with “Tin O’Beef”, which was even more rigid, but used a creative midfielder with diminished responsibility to knit weaving runs through the banks of four which would “catch” the ball like a net (we lost that one 2-0). For the last ten minutes of one match he used an okey-cokey formation with no goalkeeper — all to no avail.
On 24 November 1964 this prolonged tactical war would give rise to what coaches now know as the “hemi-semi umbilical F2” shape, but which Cullis called “Stubborn Betty”, allegedly after a cleaning lady past whom it was difficult to negotiate in the narrow corridors of the Waterloo Road Stand: one at the back plus the goalie, with seven players huddled around the ball at the corner flag on Ron Flowers’ side, stopping Burnley getting to it. Crawford and Le Flem were placed slightly higher up the field (about four feet), and instructed to crow at the Burnley players when their attempts to win the ball inevitably failed (not a natural role for the genial Ray Crawford, but one he performed very professionally, I thought).
We were unable to see the ball…
It worked rather well. So well, in fact, that during one spell we were unable to see the ball from our position in the Longside for thirteen straight minutes. Some people did leave early. A 1-1 draw was secured, which was a fairly decent return at Turf Moor in those days, and on the way out a rumour started that in a pub called the Star there was an Aleph where you could see every part of the universe, inside and out, at the same time, including yourself looking at the Aleph in the Star in Burnley. We headed instead to the Coach and Horses, where Dick Flint found a deep-fried beetle in his scratchings,