The only Blade in Aldershot
Through top flights and lowlights, moving south as a child didn't dim Phil Ridley's passion for the Blades – and even made him a Hampshire football hipster
If you’ve listened to the Four Blades in the Pub podcast, you’ll know my accent isn’t really a true Sheffield one. This is my story about why, and what it was like growing up the only Blade in my school, my friendship group, and probably my whole town.
I was born at Nether Edge and spent my early years in Heeley/Meersbrook, but from the age of six until I turned eighteen, I lived about 25 miles south of Heathrow in North East Hampshire. We first moved to Aldershot, my stepdad’s hometown, just a stone’s throw from the Recreation Ground. His dad had played for Aldershot, and his brother was on the board before the club went bust, but my stepdad had no interest in football. He did buy me an Aldershot shirt when we moved down (I suspect to score points over my dad).
I confess to a soft spot for Aldershot Town. I played for their boys’ teams and even sneaked onto the pitch through a hole in the fence. But it was never more than that. My first love was always Sheffield United.
That began with my dad, a lifelong Blade, and my grandad before him. Boxing Day 1983, my first game: a 3-0 win with two for Tony Philliskirk and one for my new hero, King Keith Edwards. From then on, I had pretty much every kit, starting with that beautiful gold-and-yellow striped one.
Even after we moved south, Dad made the 400-mile round trip every holiday so I could spend time with him and go to games. Standing on the old Kop, watching the sway of bodies and hearing the roar when we scored — unforgettable. At that age, I think I loved the occasion and time with Dad more than the football itself. It wasn’t a great time to be a Blade, but King Keith and then John “Budgie” Burridge sparked my interest, especially in goalkeepers.
When Dave Bassett arrived, things changed. Heroes like Deane and Agana, Dane Whitehouse and Carl Bradshaw made me fall properly in love with United. My favourite was Simon Tracey, the player who cemented my obsession with ’keeping.
By the time I started senior school in Farnborough, being the only Blade made me stand out. My mates supported the usual suspects: Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea, QPR, Southampton. Promotion to the First Division gave me some early kudos, and holidays spent at the Lane added to the respect. Most of my mates hadn’t even seen their teams play live. That summer, I hardly took off my luminous yellow United kit.
Back in the top flight, my schoolmates’ jokes started when results went against us; even a teacher piled in. But after the win over Forest (21 Dec 1990) and a great second half of the season, I had bragging rights. None more than after a last-minute Marwood winner at Goodison — my best mate Steve, then an Everton fan, didn’t hear the end of it.
The next season, we finished ninth, a position we wouldn’t match for decades. I couldn’t get to either derby, which still bothers me, but at least I could walk into school knowing Sheffield was ours. Around this time I became “that kid in the United ’keeper kit” in the local youth leagues. First Tracey’s green Umbro, later Alan Kelly’s gloves and multi-coloured Umbro number.
Kelly arrived before the first Premier League season, when it felt like we belonged. I even convinced a new sports shop in Farnborough to stock the Blades kit after weeks of pestering. On the pitch, Brian Deane made history with the first-ever Premier League goal. He later bagged back-to-back hat-tricks, and suddenly my mates admitted he wasn’t the donkey they claimed.
The 1992 FA Cup run was unforgettable. I was on the Kop for the win over Manchester United — Schmeichel, Ince, Giggs, the lot — and then at home listening to us put six past Spurs on my mum’s radio alarm clock. Back at school, I wore my scarf with pride. That semi-final at Wembley was incredible for the atmosphere, if not the result. Celebrating Alan Cork’s goal is still a memory I treasure, even if the day ended in disappointment.
That summer brought my first heartbreak: Deane sold to Leeds. I convinced myself Jostein Flo would fill the gap, especially after his goals at The Dell, but relegation in 1994 hit hard. I wasn’t at Stamford Bridge that day — I was at Aldershot’s ground, listening on a radio — but found out the score before a party with my Chelsea-convert mates. The stick I got was merciless. At school on Monday, I snapped and kicked a lad’s legs out after he sang “Endsleigh League” at me. Cheers, Mark Stein.
By then, I was old enough to start making my own trips north. A standout was the 1996 FA Cup replay against Arsenal: Dane Whitehouse’s goal in the first tie, Carl Veart’s winner in the replay. Unbelievable. Later that year I moved back to Sheffield for good, buying my first season ticket for YY84 on the Kop — my seat to this day.
Since then, United have been as unpredictable as ever. Away from football, I got married, had a family, and introduced my son to this life of joy and disappointment. Up until this season, Saturday afternoon (or any other given day or time, thanks Sky!) was one of the only times I regularly got to spend with not just dad but also my two brothers and my own eldest lad.
Sadly, dad’s love for the game has waned to the point that this is the first season in my life he hasn’t got a season ticket. His lovable and infamous grumpy persona is hugely missed, both pre-match over a pint and stood on the back of the Kop. And whilst this story might be about me, really it’s about Dad. From my first game at five years old, to the endless round trips, new shirts and ’keeper kits, he made sure there was at least one Blade in my school — and that I’ll always be proud to be one.
Enjoyed your article and v moving....my dad bought me a season ticket in the early 70,s to stop me going on the kop!