By Ian Smith
As a Boro fan, or just a football fan in general, you’re likely to have a hero or two.
Over the years I’ve been enthralled by many players; Gazza, Le Tissier, Giggs, Ronaldo (the original) and many, many more.
However, when it comes to heroes, those that play for your Club are always that extra bit special obviously.
Speak to any Boro fan, especially those from the last 25 years or so, and they’ll tell you Juninho is their favourite player, and in many ways he’s the archetypal hero.
A maverick with the ball, a big kid (or little, but you get what I mean), he played for the fun of the game, and it showed in each of his performances. The Little Fella had a big heart, and his hero status was cemented upon slumping to the turf on that fateful afternoon at Elland Road. The pain and anguish, as well as tears, etched on his face told us he was one of us, he felt the hurt.
Ordinarily you’d expect someone like me, a fan who grew up in the 90’s, to cite the Brazilian as his absolute hero, but you’d be wrong.
No, my hero is a little less obvious, especially among the modern day fan, but he’s by no means any less of a hero than yours.
Brucie Babe
Stuart Edward Ripley first captured my attention at the turn of the 90’s. A product of Brucie Rioch’s famed and revered ‘Brucie Babes’, he’d been a regular in a Boro shirt since the mid 80’s following the Club’s near death experience.
Along with the likes of Gary’s, Hamilton, Parkinson and Pallister, as well as Colin Cooper and of course Tony ‘Mogga’ Mowbray, Ripley was part of a golden era of talent thrust into the team in the Club’s time of need.
Part of a side that won back to back promotions, elevating the Club from the old Third Division to the First Division in just a couple of seasons, he’s arguably a Boro legend given the importance placed on that period of success following their huge flirtation with extinction. They were all legends. As fans look back fondly on a side that shaped so many careers, many whom went on to have successful ones elsewhere, Ripley was of those whose career took off following his early years as a professional in the red and white of Boro.
My memories of him don’t really go any further back than 1990, and even then they’re decidedly sketchy.
It’s odd in some ways to see him as my Boro hero on the face of it; after all I can only recall the latter stages of his time at Ayresome Park, the 1990/91 & 1991/92 seasons being the absolute limit of my first-hand knowledge of him.
But what a couple of seasons they were for me.
The ideal model
As a youngster I did pretty much what most lads do with a football; I ran with it. And ran. And ran some more.
I loved nothing more than getting the ball and just darting past players as quickly as I could, although what I was going to do with the ball when it came to making a decision was a different matter.
Yet, watching Ripley was almost an education as well as a joyful experience. He was the ideal model for how I wanted to play.
It always seemed like the first thought he had when he got the ball was to put his head down, and then run with it. Strong as an ox, he was a formidable presence for any full back to contend with. Big and burly, but not clumsy, he was also pretty quick when in full flow.
Growing up in Doncaster, I left many scratching their heads as I would constantly reference Slaven or indeed Ripley when football cropped in conversation (as it always seemed to).
As a lad I was tall, but not strong, yet with pace I felt I could outstrip anyone. Even from a young age I would watch Ripley’s movement, often pretending to be him on the school playground whilst all my mates were trying to be Giggsy or John Barnes. As I would cut inside, much like Ripley did to great success, I would begin to cross balls (although my inability to master the use of my right foot like him meant a lot of playing the ball with the outside of my left).
It was about that time I realised I wanted to be a winger, and it was all down to Ripley.
He excited me with the way he played. No fancy flicks or step overs, or any of the histrionics you see these days, he was a no frills, but by no means boring, winger who knew what he wanted to do and he did it.
Much like nowadays, I obsessed about Boro. I had all the VHS season reviews, watched every snippet of Tyne Tees tele we could get (my Dad managed to angle our aerial to receive local TV from Middlesbrough).
Quite often I’d see Ripley interviewed and his whole demeanour, his unassuming persona just resonated with me. Not only did I like watching him, but I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him. He felt like a departure from what I perceived a footballer to be; someone with a god-like aura, a flamboyant, confident figure.
Instead, he came across as a shy and modest guy, quietly uncomfortable with the media obligations but almost too nice to say no. I liked this; it felt like he was representing people like me. Shy lads who whilst wanting to play football, didn’t have that loud and brash side to them, he was just a regular guy.
But yet he wasn’t, he was an extraordinary guy.
We put our heroes on a pedestal, and the old saying goes ‘you should never meet your heroes’ – but I did, and how fortunate I was too.
Like meeting Father Christmas
During the 91/92 season my family were nominated to for an award issued by the Club for ‘Best Travelling Supporters of The Season’. Basically the Club back then recognised the commitment and sacrifices fans went through to get to games, choosing to honour those who travelled from far and wide.
Whilst Doncaster isn’t a million miles away, a 180 mile round trip every other weekend is some effort on my parent’s part, and both my brother and I were fortunate to be given the opportunity many kids didn’t get – to see the team they supported on a regular basis.
As it happens, we won the award.
Proud as punch, especially my Dad who was originally from Yearby Village just near Middlesbrough, we were invited to a game (of which the opposition escapes me) as guests of the Club and afforded the hospitality treatment.
As part of the award we got to meet our favourite players. As you can imagine, I was pretty giddy.
That giddiness however turned to nervousness and shyness, as the large figure of Ripley entered the hospitality suite after the game.
I don’t remember what he said to me, or indeed what I said to him (I probably muttered something inaudible), but he came across as such a great bloke, just how I’d imagined. When the time came for a photo opportunity, I was asked if I’d like to sit on his knee. I did, and I’ll be honest I was so shy the picture looks as if I’m hating it, however inside it was like I’d met Father Christmas. It didn’t matter to me that Jamie Pollock was sat next to me too, it almost seemed irrelevant.
Only the other day I dug out the picture the Club photographer took, a blown up one that sat pride and place for many years in my bedroom, but now packed away with lots of other Boro memorabilia at my parents’ house. It took me back to that era, that day, and like any Boro nostalgic trip it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling, that classic sense of escapism.
Classic throwback
It took me back to the goal he scored against Southend, picking the ball up on the half way line, cutting inside and driving forward before smashing the ball into the top corner from 20 yards out – real hero stuff.
His goal against Peterborough in the League Cup quarter final, another driving run, this time into the box, twisting and turning he lost his marker before whipping an effort into the far corner, keeper unmoved.
Cross after cross after cross, more often than not on the head of a red shirt before hitting the back of the net. He was a classic winger, who nowadays would be seen as something of a throwback. For all the extravagant and outlandish skill you see these days, there’s nothing quite like watching a player getting their head down and running at the opposition.
When Adama Traore was doing it last season, my mind cast back to Ripley. Of course, they have their difference in styles, but in the end they both shared the ultimate aim – to beat the opposition and get as close to the opposing penalty area and make something happen as quickly as possible.
It’s that pure unadulterated joy got from such play that captured my attention as a 5-yr-old, shaping my aims as a child, and whilst I didn’t quite make the grade (nowhere near in all fairness), and I didn’t quite master the art of being both footed (again, nowhere near), I like to think he had an impact on how I enjoyed the game.
I wanted to be a footballer, that much was a given, but I wanted to be just like Stuart Ripley.
And that, to me, is what makes him my Boro hero.
