Among the hundreds of thousands of sporting images found online there is a photograph that never fails to intoxicate me back to the happiness of childhood. Just one quick glance at it and I can virtually feel the Soda Stream fizzing up my nostrils and hear the electronic opening pulses of Knight Rider.
Is it not a famous photograph by any means nor does anything exceptional take place within it but to me it is Rosebud to Charles Foster Kane. I suppose a therapist might call it my safe space.
In the picture Liverpool’s Paul Walsh is in possession, balanced strangely as if enacting an exaggerated Gallagher swagger. In his wake are three Luton Town players: Ricky Hill racing back into position, Paul Nicholas watching on, and Mal Donaghy picking himself up off the deck having clearly been bested. Behind them Ian Rush and Jan Molby look on not appearing to be in any particular hurry. This attack apparently rests on Walsh carving out a chance alone. It is Kenilworth Road 1986.
And that’s it. That’s the photograph. Oh, well there are two more details omitted to this point. It is snowing, the plastic pitch white over with the lightest of flurries in the air. Mere inches from Walsh’s left boot meanwhile resides an orange Adidas Tango football.
The snow alone elevates this eighties vignette to a masterpiece because we can all surely agree that when played on the white stuff the beautiful game is at its most ravishing. Add an orange ball into the mix and it’s enough to turn grown men inarticulate. Make it a Tango and we edge towards pure heaven.
The successor to Adidas’ 32-panel Telstar – an interlocking of black and white pentagons so iconic that even today it’s the default design of cartoon balls on birthday cards – the Tango first made its bow at the 1978 World Cup finals as the Durlast so called because of its shiny weatherproof coating. It’s distinctive ‘triads’ tricked the eye into believing it was made up of twelve circles and though it was picture perfect when still – a revolutionary objet d’art no less - it truly came alive when in motion. Spinning through the air the triads blurred creating a thrilling zeal to even a long punt downfield and it was this zeal that accompanied some of the most memorable moments in modern times, from Maradona’s punch to Van Basten’s otherworldly Euro final volley.
For nearly two decades the Tango simply was football changing from leather to synthetic along the way and even encompassing Aztec-influenced architecture as its motif for the 1986 World Cup. Whatever its incarnation it was never less than gorgeous.
The cattle-friendly Azteca was the first World Cup ball made of synthetic materials, boosting its durability
Only there was a problem for the everyman i.e. myself and probably you too. At the ball’s peak of popularity in the early eighties with its sumptuous red lettered Mundial version it retailed in shops for close to fifty pounds. The average wage at the time was £125. A pint of lager cost 45p.
For many this necessitated compromise usually in the form of a knock-off market fake. In my case I went further miniaturising my need for it to the power of ten.
I don’t recall buying the pack of three orange Tango Subbuteo balls but I know that one was trod underfoot and I know that one was lost and I know that the third lasted pretty much throughout my whole childhood obsession with flicking to kick. It scorched into the top corner to secure a rare victory over my elder sibling. It rolled effortlessly base to base during tournament wins over my mates. Its function was the same as any of its counterparts but aesthetically it was a stunner, inspirationally so. How strange it is when reason is brought into it that a tiny piece of hardened plastic can emotionally mean so much but there has been a ten-minute gap between writing the previous sentence and this one because I’ve just bought some off eBay for a silly amount. The heart wants what the heart wants.
Which brings us back to that photograph and it doesn’t take an armchair psychologist to figure out why it evokes such joy. The Kenilworth plastic was often derided for being as inauthentic as a Subbuteo pitch. It features players synonymous to those of a certain age with Panini swapsies held together with an elastic band. And then there was the ball. Orange, striking and picture perfect. An objet d’art. Seeing that image never fails to edge me to pure nostalgic heaven.
