Dramatic Promotions & Near Misses: From Ice Kings To Mud Baths
In many ways, the 1960s were golden years for English football. Stars such as Bobby Charlton, George Best and Geoff Hurst graced the nation’s pitches and brought the sport up to a new exhilarating standard. British teams flourished in Europe and in 1966, when Alf Ramsey’s team became the first Englishmen to lift the World Cup, the country bathed in glory like never before.
Mention this era to football fans across the nation and they’ll instantly think of Bobby Moore at Wembley, of Spurs’ ground-breaking 1961 double, of Matt Busby’s triumph in the European Cup or Bill Shankly’s rejuvenation of Liverpool.
What they probably won’t think of is Leicester City. The Swinging Sixties were arguably one of the most exciting periods in the Club’s history, and yet the impact the team made on English football seems to have slipped from the collective memory. They say no one remembers who came second. Leicester City were to discover that three times at Wembley in just one decade.
But at Filbert Street at least, fans purred at the elegant displays of Matt Gillies’ captivating sides. Cult heroes emerged in Mike Stringfellow, Frank McLintock, Richie Norman, and Colin Appleton. The famous ‘Ice Kings’ of 1963 danced at the top of the league and regularly outwitted the cream of the crop.
Room was made in the trophy cabinet for the Club’s first major silverware in 1964. It was won in the new, and albeit relatively unheralded, League Cup that saw the City beat Stoke 3-2 at Filbert Street in the two-legged final. A couple of years later and Gordon Banks flew the flag for the Club, becoming the only Leicester player to have ever won a World Cup while at the Foxes. His name is immortalised in the City story.
The Club experienced a taste of elite football as they took a trip to play Spanish giants Atlético Madrid in the 1961/62 European Cup Winners’ Cup. In the domestic league, meanwhile, City shoved aside the league’s heavyweights time and time again to reach three FA Cup Finals at Wembley.
Come the end of the ‘60s, and Leicester City had emerged as a force to be reckoned with. But while the Club climbed the football mountain over those 10 years and witnessed an abundance of highs, they never quite reached the peak.
The Ice Kings gave fans a tantalising taste of glory, but the league and cup ‘double’ melted away at the last moment; those three FA Cup finals left the City with the unwanted accolade of becoming the only team to have made four appearances without ever engraving their name into the silverware.
The decade was filled with chances to achieve greatness. For players to etch their names into City folklore. Instead, it delivered 10 years of near misses.
In short, Leicester City were always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. Eventually – maybe inevitably – all that disappointment took its toll. In 1969, after yet another trip to Wembley had ended in misery, City were relegated to the Second Division of English football for the first time in 12 years, becoming only the second club to reach a final and suffer the drop. Life as a Fox wasn’t for the fainthearted.
And if City had a hangover from relegation and their third successive FA Cup loss in a decade, then their mood wasn’t helped by losing Allan Clarke. He went to Leeds United, and a record British transfer fee of £165,000 went to Filbert Street, where it stayed, for the most part, rather than being spent on team building.
All the same, the final season of the 1960s began with the Club aiming to bounce straight back to the top flight and an emphatic 3-1 win against their West Midlands counterparts Birmingham City, with Rodney Fern scoring a sensational overhead kick, gave the fans something to swoon over.
The following couple of games, however, saw the City encounter some teething problems in their plan. One win in the first three games didn’t exactly send warning signals to the rest of the league. The team had to regroup, to adjust, to reacclimatise to a level of football they hadn’t experienced since Elvis Presley first appeared in the charts. And once they had, their indifferent start turned into a promising first half of the season. The first four months of the campaign saw only four losses, and City found the back of the net in every game up until December of that year.
But as the ‘60s petered out, so did City, with performances near the end of ’69 becoming sluggish and lacking intensity. City just about kept themselves in the promotion push, keeping level with their counterparts, but didn’t inspire much more than that. A further FA Cup Final was put out of reach as they bowed out to Liverpool in the fifth round, while the League Cup finished in a similar fashion.
Controversy on and off the pitch took the attention off City’s bid for a top-flight return. Peter Shilton ruffled feathers at the Football League by sporting a goalkeeping jersey with a collar that was deemed potentially dangerous, while a spot of bother with the Leicester Mercury emerged in the New Year when manager Frank O’Farrell broke the convention of releasing a teamsheet to the press by only submitting the names of his 14-man squad. At one stage the Mercury threatened to cut its coverage, but eventually peace was declared, and focus returned back to action on the pitch just as the promotion push came a head.
By Easter 1970, City were looking to break into the top two. Leaders Huddersfield Town occupied the top spot, while Blackpool sat just behind in second place. Leicester trailed three points behind in third.
Blackpool’s trip down to Filbert Street on Easter Tuesday, therefore, was a must win if the City were to close the gap. Two points were crucial to keep themselves in the race for promotion.
Yes, the Seasiders were above City in the table, and in daunting form. But on the back of an unbeaten Easter, including a 5-0 thumping of Charlton Athletic that saw their own winning streak extended to four, City fancied themselves at home.
The weather had other ideas.
The heavens opened an hour before kick-off and a freak rainstorm severely dampened both the spirits of the team and, more importantly, the turf. The pitch transformed into a treacherous mud bath, and the match looked certain to be postponed.
And yet the referee gave it the go-ahead. The game itself, however, was virtually unplayable. Passes and shots were intercepted by the mud. Fern had the clearest chance of landing victory, but his goal-bound shot rolled agonisingly to a halt just inches away from the line. If you’re looking for a metaphor for the decade, maybe that’s it right there.
Blackpool held out for the draw playing seven defenders, and thus City’s biggest danger came from the stuck-in-the-mud back passes.
It finished all square – 0-0 – but Blackpool were the real winners. They’d secured a gap big enough to hold off the challenge from City, and would make their own return to the first division come the summer.
There was to be no resurrection this Easter. The Club were left behind, consigned to another season in the Second Division.
And so, the Swinging Sixties came to an end on a flat note, as though someone had taken the ball, and shoved a pin in it. A decade of so much promise, so much skill and so much anticipation had ultimately produced so much frustration and anguish.
Still, there was always next year…