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Sporting Memories

We've partnered with Sporting Memories to set up a wonderful new opportunity for supporters of the charity to share their own sporting memories and have them made into infographic prints. While their support groups are limited during the Coronavirus outbreak, The Goal Hanger will provide this service for free. Simply submit your favourite sporting memory by emailing us the story here: hello@thegoalhanger.co.uk

Continue to share and discuss your sporting memories, just online!

The prints will then be made available to buy online with 40% of sales from each poster going to The Sporting Memories Project. Tackling dementia, depression and loneliness through the power of sport.

Here is an example of a sporting memory and the resulting print from John Dyer, Commercial and Operations Manager of The Sporting Memories Network.

Leeds v Man Utd, 1969

“I was there…”

This week, Leeds United fan, Patrick Reynolds:

1969, 6th September. Leeds United 2, Manchester United 2.

My first Leeds game.

I was eight-years-old and instantly hooked on the Whites for life.

There was no fan segregation in that all-standing area near the base of the floodlight; somewhere around the time George Best scored his second goal to put Manchester United 2-1 ahead, I got separated from my dad.

The Manchester fans surged forward, showering the air with their yellow tickets, thrown in celebration. I got swept towards the front of the stand, my dad got pushed backwards. Sometime after Billy Bremner equalized, near the end of the game with a spectacular overhead kick, Dad found me again.

After checking I was okay, he asked me what I thought; had I enjoyed the match. As I was the youngest of three sons, the previous two having no interest in football, he looked happy and relieved when I told him I'd loved it and asked if we could come again. I never realised how easy it was then to be a Leeds fan. Or that I'd just witnessed some of the best players in the world, going head-to-head in one of the greatest games I'd ever see.

My dad, Terry, died this week. He was 85, which isn't a bad age to reach, but I wish he could've gone on for a few more years. He’d seen his beloved Leeds competing in the top flight again. Even in the last week of his life I was chatting to him about Don Revie, born in 1927, same as my dad, married in October 1949, same as my dad; even with his memory as poor as it was, he still remembered the Don.