About
The goals to choose from
The countdown
The goals that got away
Goals 50 to 34
Goals 33 to 21
Goals 20 to 11
10: Brolly v Everton
9: Macca v Rushden
8: Oster v Sheff Weds
7: Cockerill v Huddersfield
6: Bonetti v WBA
5: Wilkinson v Everton
4: JPK v Spurs
3: Dobbin v Newcastle
2: Burnett v Bournemouth
1: Jevons v Liverpool
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4 January 1997: John Oster, v Sheff W
OK, we lost 7-1, but the one deserved to be eight for artistic merit
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I have been to Hillsborough three times and have never seen Town win. Indeed, I have only seen us score one goal. But that one goal is my favourite Town goal ever.
The day itself was a very cold one, with snow on the ground. If it had been a home tie then it would have been called off, but the mighty Owls with their Premiership ground could deal with a little bit of Jack Frost and the magic of the cup was tangible. We got to Sheffield in good time and parked in a side street close to the ground. What happened next is almost as incredible as the goal I will be describing. My old man, not known for his jollity back in the late 1990s, started throwing snowballs (I say 'snowballs'; 'iceandbitsofstoneballs' might be a fairer description) at his two sons and my best mate Christian. He then proceeded to slide down a hill laughing manically. A surreal start to a surreal day.
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It was my first time at Leppings Lane and I had my own minute's silence as we made our way into the ground. There were thousands of Mariners fans – indeed, we filled the away end – and all in good spirits as we endeavoured to kill the sleeping giant of South Yorkshire. Lots of singing greeted the team, which included such luminaries as Jason Pearcey, Ashley Fickling and someone called Graham Rodger, as we warmed ourselves in the dropping temperatures.
To say Town started badly would be like saying Saddam Hussain was a bit horrible. We should have been three down after two minutes, arch-nemesis Richie Humphreys pulling all the strings and being unlucky not to score. The ball pinged across the six-yard box below us like a hamster in a washing machine but Town stood firm. Having weathered that storm we may have been forgiven for thinking we were in for some Cup Luck, but that soon changed and we were three down at the break, Rough Diamond Fickling popping one in his own net right on the whistle. It was the same old story of a torrid season.
Three became five soon after the interval and Town fans started fighting among themselves as the frustration became too much. Wednesday were being made to look like world-beaters but all their goals were scruffy, tame efforts due to very poor defending.
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Then came Town's goal. John Oster, about 16 at the time, but looking about 11, was on as a substitute and looking lively. After about an hour he received a beautiful crossfield pass from Super Clive. Taking the ball in an instant, he jinked past two defenders before looking up and chipping the keeper from about 30 yards on an angle to the penalty area. It was audacious, it was marvellous and it was joyous. The 6,000 fishy people went absolutely mental – five down at the time, remember – and a star was born. It was the one shining light in a dark day, and how we cheered when Wednesday scored another two to deservedly batter us 7–1.
As we walked back to the car, the talk was all of the goal and the player, and he even got a mention on local radio; John "Oyster", they called him. After that goal, that skilful, sublime goal, the footballing world was definitely his.
Paul Thundercliffe
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