Showing posts with label Indoor League. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Indoor League. Show all posts

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Indoor League A La Mode



I love ‘The Indoor League’ so much it’s on my permanent medical record. The first, Yorkshire-centric series was an unexpected teatime success in a number of ITV regions, so series two introduced a raft of new things to appeal to a national audience, like arm wrestling, pool, southerners, black people and, ulp, women...



Fiery Fred Trueman, of course, was unphased. He's been all over the world, and as long as he's got his pipe and a pint to pretend to drink he doesn't give a jot. His outfit here is interesting, a musty coloured suit of armour topped off with a helmet of jet black hair. His trousers and shirt are taupe, but his thick cardigan is somewhere between mould and mustard. Freddie can't wait to see the ladies darts, which he describes as 'two lasses showing us what their right arms are for'...


This 'lovely little lady' (as the commentator insists on calling her) is Mrs. Loveday-King from down in Cornwall, 'Daphne du Maurier country'. Her outfit is deceptively simple, but her choice of colour, imperial purple, sets the tone for the way she will sweep her opponents before her. 


Here we see Mrs. Loveday-King's darting stance. Text book. As the commentator says 'if you think that all a woman can throw is spuds into a sink, then take a look at this'. I've highlighted the semi-hirsute man to Mrs. L-K's left not just because he is looking at her as if he's wondering what kind of a fit her flayed skin would be, but because I am entertaining the idea that, if you search closely enough, you will find pictorial and photographic evidence of this man at every major event in history, holding a pint and leering at the goings on. I might have to wait until I retire to pursue that project - or at least remember which telly programme I unconsciously nicked the idea from.


Mrs. Anne Westbrook is pretty mod in comparison to the simple elegance of her opponent, but her Vidal Sassoon hair style, big yellow collar and suedette jerkin with vague Native American stylings can't stop her slipping behind almost immediately. She's clearly nervous,but eventually starts to get some decent scores. After all: 'most of these women play with the men - and not just with their affections - they play 'em at darts!'. 


There's that bloke again. I'm pretty sure he's one of the figures at the base of a Brueghel crucifxion, I'll have to get my modern apprentice to look into it. Mrs. Westbrook soon discards the jacket, instinctively realising that something heavy and tight around the arm holes is not an ideal uniform for organised sport.


To me, this shot says everything about the tense, combative nature of darts, a sport where you are up against yourself as much as your opponent - where all you can do sometimes is watch your adversary take their turn and hope for the best - or worst. 

Mrs. Loveday-King is flanked by her rather sharp in an 'I teach at the Technical College' way husband, as well as her surprisingly hip parents (that said, they're probably in their early forties - these days, they'd be on skateboards). To Mrs. Loveday-King's right is a lady in a black sleeveless cardi and a melange of purples with a huge collar. She's part of Team Loveday-King, but looks a little old to be her daughter. Younger sister, perhaps? Anyway, that's irrelevant, and merely serves as a way of avoiding addressing the pachyderm in the Irish Centre, her fringe - part pudding bowl, part Frankenstein's monster. Mind you, her expression hints at experimental brain surgery. If so, sorry.  


The family are overcome with joy as Mrs. Loveday-King triumphs, and Mum gets to show off her bold brown and light blue paisley print dress, which reminds me a bit of Coventry FC's notorious second away kit of the late seventies. The lady on the far right seems to be a better candidate for 'the sister', and her skin tight floral all in one and thick glasses make her look like Olive from 'On The Buses' after a a crash diet and a shampoo and set. Hubby's pleased. She'll be getting some tonight. Briefly.



Finally, a grudge match between 'the world number one' Jean Smith ('in the red Paras beret' and housecoat) and Kay Bradfield, who looks like Sheila Keith and, inexplicably, has come dressed as an extra from 'The Sound Of Music'.  



Mrs. Bradfield wins with a virtuoso display of furious darts that 'even the men would be proud of'. Her victory comes after a shaky start for both of them, when the commentator stated that they were 'feeling nerves' and wondered if 'the port and lemons were taking their toll'. Sexist pig.


'Indoor League' will be back soon. In the meantime, Freddie says something incomprehensible along the lines of catching you all later. 

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Farewell, Indoor League




I haven't deliberately been witholding 'Fashions of the Indoor League' from you, dear readers, it's just that they've only released one series on DVD and it was all filmed in one day so a once rich sartorial vein has now been exhausted. Let's hope for further instalments in the future.








Until then, let's pay tribute to the 1973 Indoor League Darts Champion, 27 year old Colin Minton from Easingwold. A Joiner by trade, Colin learned to play darts as a four year old child, standing on a bar stool in his Dad's pub, a bottle of pop in his hand. That's a serious jumper he's got on, and equally sturdy specs. A nice little touch is the fact that his shirt and tie, which look identically patterned at a distance, are, in fact, contrasting: the shirt has a wavy stripe; the tie a subtle paisley. Thirty nine years too late, perhaps, but congratulations, Colin, you've done Easingwold proud.

Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Further Fashions Of The Indoor League


Now then - the Queen's Hotel in Leeds has most recently been in the news as the place where Sir Jimmy Savile lay in state, but back in 1973, it was the venue for the awful, brilliant 'Indoor League'.

First of all, we're taking a look at a specific character, Stan Denton from Dartnell near Barnsley. Stan is a table skittles fanatic, and it must run in the family, as he's up against his cousin, Dennis Jones. Host Freddie Trueman describes them as artists, and he has a point: I mean, anyone can swing a wooden ball on a chain and knock down something in its path, but these lads knock down everything. I can't say I understand the scoring system, or what a 'flopper' is, but they know, and that's the main thing.





Please note the beermat propping up the table.

Stan is the reigning Yorkshire champ and, you will notice, a Leeds fan. All piss-taking aside, I think it's wonderful that someone loved Stan enough to knit him his outrageously complicated cardigan, and that Stan loved them enough in turn to wear it on national television. In case you weren't clear on his sporting allegiance, he is also wearing a Leeds United tee shirt in the classic seventies style, i.e. plain white with writing on it. Below the midriff, he's sporting a pair of deep fawn / dog shit coloured slacks and brown shiny shoes. His hair is great, too, just got combed at the front; just got up at the back.



His chip shop owning cousin Dennis is conservatively dressed in comparison, with his green jacket, black trousers, blue shirt and plum coloured knitted tie. There's no knowing what football team he supports. It would be remiss of me not to point out just how far up the female adjudicator's trousers have been pulled, perhaps in a hurry.

Unbelievably, this is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the 'sheer, naked drama' of Table Skittles, and the fashions of the men who excel at it, so here are a few more of its most skilful exponents.



This is James Porter from Doncaster. James was 75 on the day of filming, and looks great. Not many septugenarians would be so on trend, but Dennis' pale orange shirt, contrasting tie with pin, gold watch, patterned handkerchief and, in particular, his button hole, mark him out as a man who, although perhaps not a dandy or a fop, understands the importance of looking good and hasn't yet lost a keen eye for what's in and what's out.



His opponent, Grimsby fisherman Terry Lodge, cuts a dash with his caramel coloured ensemble (including a bizarre drawstring collar polo shirt) and Ian Brady haircut. He must be doing something right, however, as he soon defeats Mr. Porter and powers forward to the semi final.



Phillip Senior of Barnsley (left) is only 21, but 'he moves that little ball like a magic wand'. His look, eye catching at the time, is a jaw dropper these days, and can perhaps be best be described as 'member of Fairport Convention at a wedding'. Pleated checked pants with unusual external pockets, stone coloured bri-nylon shirt, brown pinstriped hunters style jacket and ginger Jesus 'pop style' hair and beard - all accessorised with an ever burning Embassy Number One.



Phillip walks away with the Indoor League Indoor Skittles title in the end, earning a career best £100 for the victory. When asked how he feels, he simply says "'appy". I know what he means.

Monday, 4 July 2011

More Fashions Of The Indoor League


We're back at The Queens Hotel, Leeds, 1973, for the second episode of 'Indoor League'. The fashions are our focus, and what a lot of fashions there are: the green, the brown, and the ugly.


This is Keith Naylor from Scunthorpe. He's 26 (!), married, but his wife hates darts. The red shirt is a bold statement, and I believe that the top button must be done up at all times lest his huge collar and large ears catch a draft and carry him off balance.


Interesting ensemble on the Robert de Niro / Bobby Darin hybrid: the cardigan is a shade of chocolate perhaps best described as 'coffee enema', yet his aqua marine shirt and yellow tie show some dash. His trousers appear to be pulled up extraordinarily high. His friend seems to like this. The gentlemen with the hair is either mentally undressing someone or adding them to his shit list. It's a real list, written in shit.


This is Malcolm Rider, but I think he looks more like a 'Ted' or a 'Dick'. Everything about Malcolm is careful, including his Bar Billiards playing. Neat but nondescript jacket, matching shirt, and even a vaguely paisley tie in a mouldy green. His hair is immaculate. Strange, then, that he should have forgotten to put his teeth in. He must have known he was going to be on the telly.


I could probably write 5,000 words on this shot alone, a study in concentration. 4,500 words would be about the couple on the right. I think that they're engaged, but they haven't done it yet. This one does look like a Malcolm, the sort of man who sees a rust coloured jumper and thinks 'I'll get that, it will go under my itchy jacket'. His fiancee (she looks like a Brenda) is a knitter, and her torquoise cardy is a tribute to her art. They're saving up to get married, but they'll have to live with Brenda's Mum for a while until they can get on the housing list. I expect they're still together, and that this remains one of the highlights of their relationship.


Then, as now, students make for perfect TV audience members: they're easily entertained, have nothing else to do, and will travel enormous distances for a free buffet. This lot (all in their late teens / early twenties, remember) are pretty atypical 'Indoor League'-ers: they're quite attractive, for a start, and they're all dressed differently to each other. There's something slightly subversive and dangerous about them: the Baader-Meinhoff Gang watching a shove ha'penny tournament.


More soon, but for now - 'Ah'll see'thee'.

Monday, 20 June 2011

Fashions Of The Indoor League


I'd like to share some images from the first ever episode of 'Indoor League', a pub sports show which ran from 1973 to 1977. It's hypnotic, and I'm obsessed with it, although only the first series has been released on DVD to date.

The premise was straightforward: hire a hall in Leeds (first the Queens Hotel, then the Irish Centre); fill said hall with punters; organise darts, arm wrestling, table football, billiards and skittles tournaments; film the results and stick it on telly. Fred Trueman introduced, pint and pipe in hand, the mutton chopped embodiment of working class sportsman made good.

Nearly forty years on, it says some interesting things about working class life in the nineteen seventies, not least in the way the majority of people look: lumpy, pasty, tired, old. The 'fashions' are a long way from Mr. Fish, too: Glam never rubbed any sparkle over 'Indoor League', and the delicate touch of Vidal Sassoon is entirely absent. I find it fascinating, especially as I recognise most of the looks from my own childhood.


Here's Mr. Trueman in action. His ensemble, if I may call it that, is extraordinary: an ill-fitting symphony in browns. His hair hasn't seen a brush for a while, just the heavy stroke of a ham like hand dipped in Brylcreem or Suarfega. Fashion? He couldn't give a toss.



The young athlete at the Skittles Table is Philip Senior from Barnsley, a 'right young upstart' who is showing the older generation a thing or two. His shoulder length hair is his first challenge to authority, but his outfit, which features three variations on olive, is more conservative.We'll come back to Mr. Senior, I think.

I also like the judge to the right, wearing the regulation 'Indoor League' officials uniform of a double breasted bottle green blazer and a chunky yellow polo neck. The kid in the middle of the audience appears to be wearing a rainbow patterned knitted tie, which I like very much; the young man to his right may be wearing an open neck shirt and neckerchief, a very daring move indeed in this company.




These two sets of herberts are deadly table football rivals, Messrs Crane and Kelly and De Mauro and Elliot, respectively. Crane and Kelly are students, so look like shit, with sheets of thick, unkempt hair. They've both rolled up their acrylic sleeves to get on with the job - it's the most work they've done for a while. Elliot is sporting big glasses and a hand knit jumper, but it's De Mauro that catches the eye. Perhaps its the continental roots his exotic surname hints at, but his Dennis the Menace meets 'The Prisoner' is something almost approaching a fashion statement. The big blue Yorkshire TV badge should have a number on it, really.


Finally, meet Charlie Ellis from Bradford. Physically somewhere between Robert Shaw and Big Daddy, Charlie is rock hard enough to make a splash with big, bold primary colours: a rusty red airtex cardigan and a lemon sherbet long sleeved tee. Out of shot, some manly chunky gold finger wear. His striking fair hair hints at comb over, but his eyes dare you to fucking mention it.

We'll be back on the pub game catwalk soon. You can't say I didn't warn you.