111: Steve Claridge, Leicester City, Merlin’s Premier League Kick Off Sticker Collection, 1997

Earlier this month everyone’s favourite bitey racist Uruguayan striker received a six-match ban for spitting at Gene Ramirez, Seattle Sounders’ director of security, following an altercation with Obed Vargas. Luis Suarez did apologise via Instagram, which of course makes everything alright, and Inter Miami have thankfully had the common sense not to send their players out in supportive t-shirts in their subsequent MLS fixtures. The latest of Suarez’s crimes against decency led to me asking my fellow bloggers if he was the “single most hateable footballer of all time” (which makes a far less accessible acronym than ‘GOAT’). While there was some general agreement our Rich took the opportunity to mention Suarez’s Inter Miami teammate with a penchant for tax evasion, humility and nausea inducing levels of hyperbole surrounding his ability. Moreover Suarez had at least “done it” on a cold Sunday afternoon in Stoke.

If I had been posed the same question twenty to thirty years ago I would have had a range of different answers, all capable of doing it at the Britannia, depending on which side had wronged Crystal Palace most recently. Jason McAteer was up there for injuring Michele Padovano and refusing to sign my programme but redemption came in the form of an on loan Ashley Cole clearing him out a few seasons later. Don Hutchison briefly held the title after his shithousery during an FA Cup thriller against Sunderland where he threw the physio’s bag off the pitch while Fan Zhiyi was receiving treatment. Martin Pringle ruined Boxing Day 1999, played for Charlton Athletic and had infuriatingly greasy hair which put him high up the list for a very long time. My adolescent rage, however, was mainly reserved for those who dished out misery on more than one occasion and no one seemed to do so more than Steve Claridge.

In the 1995/96 First Division play-off final Palace took on Leicester City and my family gathered at my Uncle Ian’s house to, hopefully, celebrate an instant return to the top flight on a sunny Bank Holiday Monday. Things got off to a great start when Andy Roberts gave the Eagles the lead after a quarter of an hour and George Ndah and Dougie Freedman were foiled by Kevin Poole in the second half. Palace being Palace of course meant that they conceded a penalty with fifteen minutes left and Garry Parker converted. Carl Veart cleared a Steve Walsh header off the line to force the game to extra time which provided me with early evidence of why it’s bollocks and we should just go straight to penalties. Leicester manager Martin O’Neill was clearly up for this when he summoned the gigantic Australian goalkeeper Zeljko Kalac from the bench with a minute of the additional half hour remaining. Perhaps this distracted Palace’s defence as mere seconds later Steve Claridge had scored, Leicester were going up and a very sad seven year old was crying in his uncle’s living room.

For many years I convinced myself that Claridge was offside (he wasn’t) and that he’d only beaten the legendary Nigel Martyn due to the fact he’d shinned his half volley rather than connected with his laces (he definitely shinned it). This huge miscarriage of justice was compounded by the ease with which the Foxes re-entered the Premier League, finishing ninth, and won the League Cup at the expense of a Middlesbrough side boasting Emerson, Juninho and Fabrizio Ravanelli. Needless to say Claridge was the extra-time hero again and finished the season as the club’s top scorer. There was some catharsis in the form of David Hopkin’s last minute winner at Wembley to see Palace past Sheffield United and back to the Premier League although the less said about the 1997/98 season at Selhurst the better. Meanwhile, having briefly been on loan at Portsmouth, Claridge left Leicester for Wolverhampton Wanderers in 1998 only to rejoin Pompey permanently.

Palace didn’t ever really look like bothering the promotion places in their first three seasons back in the second tier which gave them plenty of opportunities to reacquaint themselves with Steve Claridge. The October 1999 trip to Fratton Park saw him score twice in a 3-1 victory with extra insult added to this particular injury from Lee Bradbury who had only left Selhurst Park at the start of the month. A year later, and with both clubs locked in a battle for First Division survival, and with Claridge serving as player-manager, he scored again to help Pompey to a 3-2 win. Thankfully he had moved on loan to Millwall ahead of Palace’s must win visit to the South Coast in May 2001 but it would not be long before he was coming back for more. Palace kicked off the 2001/02 campaign with Steve Bruce in the dugout and newly promoted South London rivals Millwall due at Selhurst just four games in to the season. The Lions had seen enough to make Steve Claridge a permanent signing and, lo and behold, he found the net twice as an insipid Palace crashed to a 3-1 defeat. Clearly buoyed by his performance the travelling Millwall fans decided to celebrate by carrying out some impromptu renovations on the Arthur Wait Stand and making it bloody impossible for me to get home. Thanks Steve. When the sides met again on Boxing Day Claridge helped himself to another goal during a 3-0 derby win.

Claridge moved on from The New Den in the summer of 2003 to act as Weymouth’s player-manager and, thankfully, didn’t come back to score against Palace again as he endured a nomadic end to his career. By the time he played his last game for Salisbury in 2017 he had played over a thousand games and scored over 250 goals. Apart from a fondness for a bet in his playing days and a few too many speeding tickets there seems to be little dirt on him and his punditry for the BBC’s Football League coverage was never terrible. Perhaps after nearly thirty years it’s time for me to bury the hatchet. Then I remember that shinned half volley, how happy all the Millwall fans at school were in 2001 and the bloke I used to play five-a-side with who only wore one shin pad as a tribute to him and I feel more comfortable with my pettiness. I’ll give you something Steve – at least you’re not Luis Suarez.