Colin Morris burnt my toast

DeadBat relives his memory of meeting a footballing hero...and his mate's dad.

Words: David ‘DeadBat’ Beeden

I often hear of supporters describing brief encounters with United players both past and present in the real world and it always, strangely, piques my interest. It's the same with any celebrity, really. 

Even as a grown man, there is a bit of that starry-eyed syndrome when you bump into one of your heroes. You question why are they doing normal things like buying a bag of chips (Brian Deane circa 1991), knocking you off a toy slide (Dave Kitson circa 2013) or using his Lamborghini to try and mow you off your bike as you cycle down Owler Bar (Lys Mousset circa 2020). Granted, the latter two were not heroes, before or after their unnecessary attempt at physical contact.

I digress. My first and only meaningful experience with a hero came in a very real form…

Your dad is who?

When I was in primary school, I had a pal called Mark. He told me his Dad played football. I thought he was a fantasist and responded in kind. 

“Well, my Dad is an erm..erm... pilot!” (he did make parts for planes).

I forgot all about it, but a few weeks later I was in the playground after school as Mark was being collected by a little curly-haired bloke that was obviously his Dad. He looked familiar. I'd seen him somewhere before… No! It couldn't be? 

I looked at his tracksuit with a United badge neatly sewn on and suddenly it dawned on me. I'd seen him the previous weekend winning (diving!) and scoring a penalty in front of me and thousands of others watching from the Kop. His Dad was Colin Morris.

Days later, I was getting my promotion souvenir book autographed by not only Colin Morris but the entire squad because he was kind enough to take it into training. The following week, I had tea at the Morris household. Around the table was my friend, Mark Morris, his younger brother Lee, his mum, and his dad. There was a knock on the door. Another curly-haired bloke walked in, and I thought I know this guy, too. It was their next-door neighbour. Glenn Cockerill. 

Bloody hell, did all the United squad live on the same road?! As I went home, I peeked at a few other houses expecting to see John Burridge doing handstands in a garden in his sheepskin coat or Keith Edwards polishing his golden boots, but sadly there was no sign of any other United players. Maybe they were out?

You're leaving…for Scarborough?!

For the next few years, I spent many happy hours staying at the Morris residence, and both Mark and Lee stayed at my house too. Lee was always a talented footballer, if a few years younger than me and Mark. I recall Lee getting annoyed and literally taking his ball home from the park when a game did not go his way. However, he clearly inherited many of his Dad's genes in terms of footballing talent. I used to sit in the South Stand with free tickets followed by a kick about in the concourse post-game as Colin enjoyed a celebratory beer nearby in the player's lounge. I have a vague recollection of John Sheridan, then of Leeds, tackling me whilst holding a pint of Stones Best Bitter.

However, my exciting and regular brushes with real footballers were not to last. At the end of the 1987-88 season, the Blades were relegated despite Morris's goal in the two-legged playoff defeat to Bristol City. Dave Bassett offered him a new deal, but a chance to play and coach at Scarborough, under Neil Warnock, saw him leave the Lane. I was gutted. Just before I was due to start big school with pals Mark and Lee, they went to Scarborough with their dad, moving to a little village called Kilham, near Driffield. 

I thought that was that. This was long before mobile phones and the internet. We agreed to write, but being occasional pen pals did not seem the same. I was given the chance to play at half time in his testimonial game against Wednesday, my one and only game on the Bramall Lane pitch. I think I had three touches in a ten-minute game, played across the width of the field. Still, to me, this was a dream.

When they left, Colin told me I could come and spend some weekends with them. I never thought this would happen but, remarkably from 1988 to 1990, I stayed with the Morris family on a number of occasions, and they stayed with us when returning to Sheffield to watch United. On the drive to Kilham, my dad would slalom down those never-ending back roads; I recall Colin coming and picking me up once. His wife Linda, also a Geordie, was a lovely woman. To eleven-year-old me, they lived in a mansion. 

Colin Morris burnt my toast

They seemed to have lots of fancy things that my family could only ever dream of affording. They had a coffee machine and a fancy toaster that span round, which Colin struggled with more than he did opposition full backs. He'd often burn my toast but I forgave him as he’d take us out later that night to a Scarborough restaurant called Bernie Inn – ok, it seemed posh to me! It was here I recall eating steak for the first time in my life. 

He became Scarborough manager for a while after Warnock left Scarborough for Notts County. I vividly remember having a kick about on the McCain Stadium pitch and seeing a huge opposition player that turned out to be a young Wayne Allison who was making his way in the game for Halifax Town. I remember Colin discussing his team selection on a Friday night, asking me and the rest of his family who should play. Me and his sons giggled and chose one player for his funny name: Les McJannet. They had this little, round goalkeeper that also made us laugh. A chap called Kevin Blackwell. I’m not sure whether Colin ever took our selection advice but he didn’t remain in charge at Scarborough for long, as the former and future Blades conveyor belt to the East Coast saw Ray McHale installed as his replacement.

After his stint in management, Colin and the family remained in Scarborough. He drifted out of the game and became a car salesman for a while. As for me, the visits kind of stopped. Maybe I lost interest when he was not involved in the game? Either way, I was sad not to see Mark and Lee so much. But friends lose touch, especially at that age. Of course, less than a decade later, Lee and one of his pals from Driffield, a lad called Curtis Woodhouse, came through at the Lane as talented youngsters. Lee's own career was beset by injuries but he got a big-money move and will have earned far more in his short career than his Dad ever did. 

I've actually seen Lee at a few big Blades play-off/cup semi-finals as a fan and he does remember me which is nice. I've even forgiven him for not re-signing for the Blades when instead he opted for a move to Leicester. He now lives and coaches junior football in South Carolina in the States.

Colin and Linda moved to Portugal for a long period but recently came back to the UK to live near Manchester where Mark lives now. I recently got back in touch with Mark and we have spoken of meeting up hopefully one day soon. It'd be nice to see his Mum and Dad, too. They were such lovely people and Colin was as down-to-earth as they come. To have one of your football heroes as one of your best mates’ Dad was pretty cool growing up. What a great winger and penalty taker he was, even if he couldn’t make toast!

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David ‘Deadbat’ Beeden is best 'known' for his matchday reports and for being the co-host of The Tufty Club podcast, available on all good streaming services. Occasional tweeter @Deadbat_DB with sporadic ramblings also at tuftyclubsufc.wordpress.com.