Giant Subbuteo

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

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

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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

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

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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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