Nah, mate, I didn’t play for Chelsea, nor did I have trials for ‘em either. I meant my first encounter, my first experience as a Chelsea fan.
My very first introduction to the football world was straightforward, hassle-free and most importantly, no aggro all those years ago. My father and his mate Bernie took Steven, his son, and yours truly to see Arsenal v Manchester United, who actually changed their name to scum which I found out later. I know what you’re thinking, you’re only jealous….. Whatever! Listen, in football, you have to hate at least one team and mine was Man Utd – I don’t know why it just was. I sometimes laugh at my own ignorance because they’re a great club (god that hurts). This game was at Highbury, Arsenal’s famous old ground. Bern was an Arsenal fan, Steven was Man U and my Dad was Forest (I think), or was it Derby, I’ll have to ask him. There wasn’t any trouble in this game, which Arsenal won 3-1. I didn’t even know what trouble was back then but after all, I was only a kid. But what I do remember was a whiff of anger from the bloke sitting in front of me. I forgot to mention we were in the seats. I think the excitement of the goals going in and the fact this was my first game got the better of me. I kept kicking the back of the bloke’s seat all through the game and then, right near the end, he swung around with a big growling snarl on his face, but then realized I was just a little boy out with his Dad. He may have been Man Utd and was just upset about the result. Well, life goes on mate!
I didn’t go to football again for a few years; in fact, I’ll have to get the programs to check…. Hang on, here they are, crikey! That Arsenal/Man Utd game was in the 1972/73 season. It was one of Bobby Charlton’s last games for Man Utd (‘kin’ ‘ell!) and, according to my Dad, there was some trouble after the game but we didn’t see any of it. I can’t believe it was that long ago.
It was nearly 8 years before I went to football again. A friend of mine called Ian was a really keen Arsenal fan, who used to go to nearly every game he could. One day I decided to go with Ian and my mate Mickey Boy Meaker. This is when I first witnessed hooliganism/ agro/violence or whatever you like to call it. We were standing in the North Bank looking towards the Clock End at the away fans, who were Sunderland on this day. The Arsenal fans had been singing their customary songs about hating Tottenham, when ten minutes before kickoff the Sunderland fans started singing their songs (probably about hating Newcastle), I don’t know what but they were singing. Then there was a disturbance, you could see people flinging their arms around and kicking and some trying to get to safe ground, the technical term is kicked off! Or gone off! Or if after the game went off! Some Arsenal thugs had infiltrated the Sunderland enclosure. This was the first time I’d witnessed a row at football, it didn’t last long but the buzz of it was amazing, the whole of the North Bank was singing “Hello, hello, Arsenal agro, Arsenal agro, hello.” Then the game kicked off and god knows who won it, I didn’t give a toss anyway, probably Arsenal.
I carried on going to Arsenal home games for a while with Ian and it didn’t always kick off, but when it did the excitement was quite addictive, even though we never got involved because it was always up the other end of the ground, in the Clock End. By now I had the bug for the terraces and I was very familiar with what was going on, I knew all the songs, some of them were funny and some just right piss takes.
I remember people used to talk about whether or not someone had taken (normally the home side) end at football, like the Shed at Chelsea, or the Stretford End at Man Utd or even the North Bank at Arsenal. You see, none of the teams I saw Arsenal play were big enough or didn’t have a brave enough mob to do it. I only ever saw it happen once and that was at Middlesbrough by Chelsea. People seemed to talk about rows more than football back then; I suppose that was the way it was for some people, just a way of life.
One day, my mate Ian had mentioned that Chelsea were away to West Ham on the following Saturday and that we would be going to that game instead of Arsenal. At last! I thought to myself I’m finally gonna get to see my beloved Chelsea. How naive of me, West Ham/Chelsea was gonna be a different ball game to any previous Arsenal games I’d been to. I was unaware of what was to come. This game was a top-of-the-table clash in the Second Division. West Ham were top and Chelsea were second, so it was a big game for both clubs.
We left Broadstairs station at about twenty past ten in the morning, I don’t know what it was, but I had a really bad feeling about going. I felt like I’d got out of the wrong side of bed or something like that, everything just seemed odd. We also had a new face with Ian and I, this bloke’s name was Peter. Peter was a Man Utd fan who just came for a bit of a laugh, just for the crack. We saw a few West Ham fans on the train, Big Russ and a few others. We all went to the same school, although we weren’t mates back then. As we travelled to Victoria station I still had a feeling of anxiety, I hadn’t seen one Chelsea fan yet, and the only thing we did see was some Skinheads glue sniffing in one of the carriages – but I didn’t think they were going to football anyway.
We arrived at Victoria station, got a burger at Casey Jones and went down the tube station. Even looking at the names of the tube stations as we travelled to Upton Park gave me the creeps, they just sounded rough like shitholes.
Ian said, “We’re getting off at Mile End tube station, that’s where Chelsea fans will be waiting.” It was just a few stops from Upton Park. As we got off at Mile End all I could see was claret and blue everywhere, well I thought ‘Shit!’ But hey, let’s look on the bright side. They didn’t know we were Chelsea, did they? Positive thinking, that’s the order of the day. Unfortunately, it didn’t last very long because then we got back on the tube with the hordes of West Ham and proceeded to the final stop. Upton Park, marvellous, not! As we got off the train there was a great big roar of “CHELSEA… CHELSEA” echoing through the tube station. Ian was a lot braver than me, and he raised his arms and shouted “Chelsea” and I thought “What the fuck are you doing?” The big roar turned into a massive “WEST HAM!”, which was actually a tactical maneuver to sniff out the enemy. US! They weren’t Chelsea at all, ‘Bugger’ I thought! We’re gonna die. Thanks, Ian! Peter just seemed to have an annoying cheeky grin on his face as if he wasn’t scared, whereas I was crapping myself. But for some strange reason, no one did anything, perhaps the fans around us just weren’t bothered or Ian (cos he was the only one who shouted) wasn’t worth the bother, after all, we were very young. This being hunted was new to me and it hadn’t even started yet. I sensed that these West Ham yobs wanted to kill us.
We got out of the station, and walked down the road to the ground and by now I was really, really, crapping myself. Ian and Peter were loving it! We finally got to the away part of the ground where, at last, there were a few hundred Chelsea fans and loads of Old Bill. Funny that! I wonder why?
We stood there queuing outside the ground for ages because we didn’t have tickets, which is why we’d got there early so we could guarantee getting in, it was a big game. I started chatting to a few Chelsea geezers about the game and said “Eh mate, this is the first time I’ve ever been to a Chelsea game” and the bloke replied “Oh really mate. You picked a great game to start your Chelsea career off, didn’t you?” This seemed quite an encouraging comment but somehow his chuckles soon wiped the smile off my face. He was being sarcastic and knew we were gonna probably going to get battered. Fantastic!!!
We managed to get in the ground. We stood in the Chelsea corner and I said to Ian “Is this all they’re going to give us, what’s going on? This is a London derby. A team like Chelsea in a poxy little corner!” I thought we would’ve had the whole end. Hmm, had valium been invented then? ‘Cos every little issue seemed to make me more and more nervous I tried to be brave and positive about dying but it just wasn’t happening. We stood there in the Chelsea bit and Ian said “Let’s go in the West Ham bit, there will be Chelsea in there, its shit in here.” So out of the exit, down the stairs, along to the next entrance to the West Ham end. Marvellous! Right, ok! Good move and all that, now what? Peter still had that smug look on his face. But hey! So what! Again I thought to myself ‘They don’t know we’re Chelsea, not unless Ian does something silly like shout it out! (Like he did in the tube station) We’re safe’. So we stood there now in the West Ham section at the end of the ground, still next to the Chelsea fans in the corner.
Ten minutes later the Chelsea fans had filled the corner terrace up, it was packed. The Chelsea mob were blasting the roof off singing “Chim chiminy, chim chiminy, chim chim cheroo, we hate those bastards in claret and blue.” I got quite excited and so did Ian. The Chelsea fans were giving it the biggun! Ian said, “Let’s get back in the Chelsea bit.” “Ehh?” I said (alarm bells ringing), so we did, only this time across the terrace to the fence that separated the fans. As we got to the fence, the Old Bill stopped Ian and said in a Dixon of Doc Green voice “Where do you think you’re going sonny” and Ian replied, “I’m Chelsea.” He took his top off to reveal a Chelsea shirt. I mean, I didn’t even know he had one on. Anyway, the copper opened the gate. In went Ian, in went Peter and last but not quite, me! But as I went to go through the gate a hand grabbed me by the back of my neck. I thought I’d been nicked and it was the Old Bill, but not so lucky. I turned my head and saw a great big meathead West Ham yob saying “C’mon Chelsea.” By now my legs were in an uncontrollable state of tremors, I could hardly stand up my legs were shaking that bad. I frantically struggled for my life and got free, the Old Bill had saved me and I was through the gate. I was now in with my own Chelsea mob. Some Chelsea fans had seen what had happened to me, they must have thought I was trying to take the West Ham end or something, or even better, thought I was one of Chelsea’s top boys doing the business, how wrong! This one bloke said “Ha-ha! Nice one mate” and I very unconvincingly replied “Wankers!” I had my big hard chewing gum face on now, still hanging onto the metal rail in front that stops the fans from surging forward, otherwise, I think I would have had to sit on the deck because of my jelly legs were shaking so much!
The drama continued on. Suddenly there was like a great big tremor, a gigantic rumble and the West Ham had come into our corner, behind the Chelsea fans at the top of the terrace. I kid you not, that rumbling sounded like 10,000 heads being punched, kicked, stamped on and head-butted all at the same time. This was just the icing on the cake for me, it just couldn’t get any worse, and I was wondering whether I would ever see Broadstairs again. No word of a lie! The fighting was getting a bit out of hand now, spilling onto the pitch. As the Old Bill seemed to gain some control I saw Ian being led around the pitch, he was really getting some grief from the West Ham fans on the side terrace; this was called the Chicken Run.
Even when the game kicked off, that horrible rumbling sound that haunted me for weeks after would start all over again. It was a bit like in the Zulu film when the British soldiers were at Rourkes Drift. That little platoon of soldiers against thousands of Zulus, “Zulus to the south-west sir….. Thousands of ‘em”; what a classic film, sounds like I’m having fun now doesn’t it?
It rained all afternoon and I don’t mean the weather, just coins and any other objects, and anything people could get their hands on. Standing in front of me about ten feet away was a man with a full-face crash helmet on. He had obviously done his homework.
Even though I thought we’d got a battering that day, we did in more ways than one. We lost the game 4-0 and Mr Brooking got two of his best-ever goals. Sorry Trev if I missed your goals, I was too busy trying to survive a war. I think the Chelsea fans still gave a good account of themselves giving it to West Ham all afternoon, after we had had wave after wave of attacks, Chelsea still out-sung the home crowd easily.
The next day the papers went to town and one of the headlines said ‘A DAY OF FAME AND A DAY OF SHAME!’ The real shame for me was that thousands of Chelsea fans were locked out. I heard that things were different outside but I wasn’t there. I would say that West Ham did have one of the best firms back then, arguably the best. This was the famous ICF, the only ones that I saw ever try and take the Shed in my day. I know, I was in there!
For me, football violence never got any worse than that February 1981 day. When I finally got home, well down the boozer, I told every one of my ordeal.
After that day I started going nearly all the time, more away games than at home. Chelsea’s away support was better than anyone’s, even better than all the top Division One sides back then. By now I had the bug.
Remember, this was my first experience of being in the thick of things at football. To be honest it never really got any worse. I’ve had all sorts of other experiences and other hairy moments at football but have never really been hurt.