PLENTY of aspects of the mid1980s need to buried as deeply as possible - and I am not talking about women wearing shoulder pads and men, white socks.

We get a reminder of an event that left the deepest of scars this weekend when Saints tackle Halifax at Bolton for a place at Wembley.

People of a certain age are already getting cold sweats - at Saints...Halifax...Wembley; those three words in the same sentence.

Already memories of 40,000 tykes singing Hali-Hali, Hali-Halifax, Halifax triggers an irritating ear-worm.

Sadly it was all downhill once Bernard Cribbins had stopped singing and made way for the gladiators.

Suddenly, in our mind’s eye, we see that video nasty unfolding.

Wilf George going over for the opener and the touch judge keeping his flag down despite the big winger’s legs being in row c of the stand the half-hearted Mexican Wave, the cock-up at the scrum yielding Graeme Eadie’s score and John Pendlebury slotting a one pointer.

Alas Mark Elia’s name would be etched in Wembley folklore - but not for his majestic early second half 80 metre score.

Instead, as he dashed to the corner to score what should have been the late winner, Pendlebury craftily dislodged the ball.

St Helens Star:

The sight of seeing that crop of Saints, who had got them through the bad times and helped regenerate the club, in a crumpled heap on the floor was soul destroying.

For us fans, we got our reward eventually... nine years later.

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But it seemed an injustice that that crop of players - Veivers, Ledger, Holding, Haggerty and Arkwright - never got to walk up those steps for the winners medal....and that should have been their time.

So please excuse those fans who may take a grim delight in exorcising some demons on Saturday, deliverance from those ghosts has been 32 years in the waiting.