And for many a parent the go-to Christmas present for kids (and maybe vice-versa) was a football top.
My most memorable was, and this is pertinent in a week when we lost Diego Maradona, La Albiceleste.
Or the sky blue and white stripes.
Truth was that my attempts at long hair never came close to the chic cool of the hero of that year’s World Cup, Mario Kempes.
And physical evidence still exists in a picture album of a rather angst-ridden teen standing by the tree.
In truth I hadn’t asked for Argentina and would have preferred the Dutch shirt.
And I did rue the day I left the World Cup winners’ top behind in a changing room.
Which will, of course, draw you to these countries.
Dutch of class
The Netherlands: And it was probably just as well that my parents didn’t give me the Dutch top in the Glasgow of the Seventies.
Because an orange top is identified in Scotland with King William of Orange and the Protestant team Rangers.
And that wouldn’t have gone down well in my Catholic school.
Thing was though that as an eight-year-old and uncluttered by such nonsense I was dazzled by that colour.
And the Netherlands of Cruyff and Krol.
And I did manage to blend in with the Oranje Army when I treated the-then Miss F to a night out.
Amsterdam to Rotterdam where the Dutch beat the Greeks 1-0.
Portuguese man of awe
Portugal: And while it’s mostly always the top you get sometimes you need the whole shirt and shorts ensemble.
So that Portugal‘s red top with the addition of green shorts becomes the Portugal flag.
Our guide Jose Madomis told us from the off that Portugal in the days of the dictator Salazar was run on Football, Fado and Fatima.
So much so that among all the stands of Our Lady merch in Fatima you’ll find the Portuguese shirt and Cristiano Ronaldo towel!
Morocco: And not just because they were Scotland’s last opponents in the finals of a major competition, a 3-0 defeat in 1998.
But because of the lengths I went to to get myself a Morocco top
On my travels in Marrakech. I picked the green one rather than the red.
Where I got roped in by a trader after some pointless bartering.
To buy his threadbare top off his stall for more than its worth.
Which set in motion a tragical mystery tour from Jemaa el-Fna around the souks.
And that was just the start of my rocky Moroccan roll.
Roma: And we’re still waiting to get to see the Gods of calcio after Dad here promised the Son and Heir a match only to forget his passport.
But we did get a Giallorossi (red, more of a maroon, and yellow piping) top snd pencil case.
Calcio too is a religion in Rome
And as you come out of the Vatican you’ll find the shops on one side of the street bedecked in yellow and white, the other in Roma red.
Medjugorje: And, no, you didn’t read that wrongly…. the Balkans Wars just across the Croatian border in Bosnia & Herzegovina is solidly Croat.
Particularly in the Irish Centre, the focal point for your Marian tour.
Where your barman cranks up the volume when his faves Dynamo Zagreb play.
And with my Croatia friends on World Cup final day in 2018
And will accompany it with a tape of his best supporters’ songs.
Outside on the stands and in the shops and the only thing competing for space with Our Lady is…
Yes, you guessed it Croatia’s distinctive red and white checked tops.
And one just for me
Put your shirt on me
I was asked my shirt size.
And when I was taken into the changing rooms where English Premier League sides set up camp there on the peg was…
My own black top with white sleeves with my name on the back.