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Mario the MASCOT
acting the goat

It was the match when City needed a point to stay in the Second Division. It was the match when at half-time an opposing player, Pat Holland, drank detergent mistaking it for water. It was the match when I was the mascot. Cardiff City vs West Ham, 6th May 1981, a chilly Wednesday evening.

On reflection it was a considerable honour for me to be selected for such a vital match and I'm grateful for Ron "look at me straight" Jones for picking me. The thought of City dropping down to the third division after four years of struggle and trauma was a sad possibility. This was a crack West Ham team, FA Cup holders and inspired by Brooking.

Arriving an hour and a half before kick-off I was ushered through the 'back door', the door that no-one enters except players, officials and scroungers cadging for complimentaries.

It was all confidential stuff, a miracle that they didn't wrap a blindfold around my head. Introduced to the City players in the dressing room I will never forget Billy Ronson saying

"Hiya!"

Neither will I forget the incredibly overpowering smell of Ralgex, enough to clear the most blocked of noses.

I was quickly sneaked out so the pre-match swearing and team talk could begin. Then it was changing time. My City kit was far from exclusive. Shorts from Gilesports, top from Peacocks and socks from Olympus. It almost reproduced the all blue kit and white socksthat City were wearing at the time. I didn't like this design anyway, it was a carbon copy of Chelsea's. Hark the blue with white and yellow stripes, my personal favourite, a kit that actually gave the club an identity.

The most unnerving part of my mascot duty, and perhaps of any other Mascot, is the wait in the players' tunnel. The atmosphere, was quite a volatile one, could be felt.

Hyped up morons were leaning over the wall complete with knitted scarf~ baying for the team to appear. Believe me there was no Junior 'get in for quid' Bluebirds in the Standing Enclosure in 1981.

Then came the march into the centre circle and the embarrassing wave to the Bob Bank and Grandstand. If Keith Pontin did it then so did I.

I declined the prematch kick about with the City players, instead preferring a frantic session with some of the West Ham players - Brooking, Devonshire, Parkes and friends. In fact I spent more time boosting the morale of the East Enders than I did with my Bluebird heroes.

One thing that still sticks today is that during all my time on the pitch I Iistened for the announcer to introduce me to the 10,000 + crowd but never heard it. I was told later that an introduction was made. There you have it, nine year old senses dulled by the tension and excitement of the evening.

I adjourned to the Grandstand, my ten minutes over. As for the match, City held on for a 0-0 draw and stayed up. How could I have lived with myself had West Ham won?