Giant Subbuteo

Back in the 70s, there was no Subbuteo: retired footballers would have their feet encased in plaster hemispheres for the Beautiful Game.


Felt pitches the same size as actual pitches would be meticulously unrolled, and two giant robots would do the flicking.


Back then, Subbuteo was for rich kids – we had to tie bricks to our feet and get the Town Giant to kick us up the arse.


Every town had its own giant: ours slept in a railway tunnel with his feet sticking out. We used to chalk stuff on his soles.


Do you remember when we collected Giant Cards of each town’s giant? They were so huge you could make them into prefab garages.


That was in fact how garages were invented: before then your dad would beg an old hankie off the Town Giant as a car-cover.


Then Town Giant Disease came, and all the Town Giants started withering – their fingers were like burnt goalposts.


I remember how everyone wept when our Town Giant died and had to be chopped up for firewood – except the rich kids!


They had their stupid robots to play with, stomping about the hills squashing turnips – we had to eat that raw mush!


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