Richard Sutcliffe: Valley Parade days bring happy memories flooding back

“What is the favourite period of your career?”

Responses vary, with some playing it safe by claiming their current employer has provided their best memories while others, usually those possessing a confidence that is just about the right side of arrogance, point to their biggest success being some time in the future.

The answer invariably reveals a lot about the interviewee, some of whom have, down the years, turned the question round on me once the tape recorder has been turned off.

I never hesitate with the answer: my three years covering Bradford City for the local evening newspaper from 1997, during which time Paul Jewell ended Valley Parade’s 77-year exile from the top flight and then, against all the odds, kept the club there a year later.

It probably helped that I decided to leave the newspaper a few weeks after ‘that’ goal by David Wetherall, meaning I largely missed out on the subsequent years of decline and misery.

In choosing those three years as my career highlight, I am by no means decrying the other great feats I’ve been privileged to cover.

Leeds United’s run to the Champions League semi-finals was, for instance, an incredible adventure, while it was a pleasure to watch Hull City taking their first steps in the top flight after 104 years on behalf of this newspaper.

But, in terms of my most fulfilling time, it has to be those years spent covering every cough and spit at Valley Parade.

I was fortunate that a number of factors came together to make the job truly enjoyable.

First among these was the characters involved. Geoffrey Richmond may not be on many City fans’ Christmas card list these days but what should not be forgotten is just how he transformed a club going nowhere fast into one with genuine ambition.

In aiming so high, he, of course, eventually flew too close to the sun and paid the price. But at least he had a real go at a club who had forgotten how to.

And, in terms of filling a back page lead on a quiet day, there was no one better than Geoffrey.

Chris Kamara and Paul Jewell, the two managers on my watch, were equally approachable. As, indeed, were the players, who, to a man, accepted the local reporter as, if not exactly one of the lads, then at least someone who could be trusted. Match marks – the bane of any football writer’s life – may have been a touchy subject with some. But a good moan by whoever had been given a ‘5’ that particular week was usually enough to allow us all to move on.

The other big plus in my favour was that, while Bradford were big enough to face Chelsea and Manchester United in league combat, they were at heart a friendly and welcoming club.

Everyone knew everyone else, including the local hack, and the upshot was a bond being formed that endures to this day, as has been evident when ‘phoning round a few of the old faces to get their thoughts on Sunday’s final against Swansea for this newspaper.

The nights out were decent, too. From the Macedonian capital of Skopje to St Kitts in the Caribbean, great times were had with a catamaran trip spent playing drinking games devised by Lee Sharpe proving messy but a great laugh all the same.

Sharing in the adventure with these guys – some of whom were big, big names in football with the medals to prove it – was an honour.

And in these days when the role of a press officer seems to be as much about keeping the media at arm’s length as it is helping with access, I realise I won’t 
ever experience such times 
again.

Which is why, come Sunday, I’ll be as happy as any City fan if the League Cup, complete with claret and amber ribbons, is heading north and back to Yorkshire.