The thing about Stan Bowles was that he played football the way we all dreamed it should be played. He played with panache, with daring and with impudence. His was the football of youthful imaginations. He was the reason I started supporting Rangers.
He oh so nearly brought the First Division Championship title to west London. Had it not been for the dubious extra days given to Liverpool to finish their season, Stan would have been on an open top bus down the Uxbridge Road, past Phil Parkes’ sports shop, holding the Championship trophy aloft.
Part of his mystique was that it was never clear what position he played. Was he a midfielder who scored lots of brilliant goals or was he a forward who bamboozled the midfield?
If we were often confused, better still, so were our opponents. His style and flair epitomised the QPR of the 70s: Total Football – Loftus Road style. His football was serious but he wasn’t. For the rest of the country that made us everyone’s second favourite team. When he scored he loved to conduct the crowd in celebration. There’s a memorable photo of him doing just that.
Off the field his life was often a chaotic mess. His betting compulsion often meant he had no money. The bookies at the old White City greyhound track were far too handy. He had a mixed bag of friends.
He was a magnet for tabloid newspaper headlines. Of course, the scrapes he got into only added to the legend. Some of the stories written about him were even true.
I only met him the once. It was at a TV studio.
He’d arrived dressed in a very sharp, three piece black and white pinstripe. Someone asked “where did you get the suit, Stan?”, “Harrods”, said Stan. “Was it Freddie the fingers?”, answer: “Maybe”. Freddie was at the time a dipper, one of London’s top pickpockets whose other speciality was lifting expensive suits. Freddie had left London’s top store wearing the suit underneath his street clothes and then sold it on to Stan.
One of my most vivid memories of Stan’s on the field prowess is of a home FA Cup tie against West Ham. The crowd was enormous, Loftus Road was bulging at the seams. As so often the pitch was a quagmire. You could see the Loftus Road floodlights reflected in the puddles on the pitch.
That night, while most players slithered and slid, Stan was the ringmaster as he ran the game as his own personal circus. He shimmied, he dummied, he twisted this way and that, leaving defenders behind him sprawling in the mud. We won 6-1. A Bowles masterclass.
It’s to England’s shame that Stan only won a meagre five international caps. At the time, England was run by a clutch of narrow-minded bosses who valued sweat over skill. Stan was never going to be Don Revie’s sort of player.
His death leaves the club with the tricky task of how best to commemorate him. There is a petition for a statue. I’ve already signed.
Of course there is already the Stanley Bowles stand on Ellerslie Road. Surely now that has got to be renamed the Stan Bowles Stand because all round Shepherds Bush always and forever he will simply be ‘Stan the Man’.
The views expressed in this blog are those of the author and unless specifically stated are not necessarily those of Hammersmith & Fulham Council.
