Sam was involved in a well reported incident when thick fog closed in on a game he was playing at the Valley.
"Soon after the kick-off," he wrote in his autobiography, "[fog] began to thicken rapidly at the far end, travelling past Vic Woodley in the Chelsea goal and rolling steadily towards me. The referee stopped the game, and then, as visibility became clearer, restarted it. We were on top at this time, and I saw fewer and fewer figures as we attacked steadily." The game went unusually silent but Sam remained at his post, peering into the thickening fog from the edge of the penalty area. And he wondered why the play was not coming his way. "After a long time," he wrote, "a figure loomed out of the curtain of fog in front of me. It was a policeman, and he gaped at me incredulously. "What on earth are you doing here?" he gasped. "The game was stopped a quarter of an hour ago. The field's completely empty".'
Cue Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse, I can just see it....
"three hours later and Sam is still poised, waiting for those Chelsea forwards to reign shots in on his goal" *Sam shuffles from side to side, hands up, surrender stylie, peering into the fog*
"Mean while, back at home, Sams wife has prepared Sams favorite dish for his supper, tripe and onions, yum" *Mrs Bartram taps her watch, frowns and shakes her head* "the tripe is ruined, she's not impressed. Sam's going to get it with both barrels when he arrives home!"
to be continued......
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