Ned Kelly story on Eric's Kung Fu kick

RedsForLife

Ooh aah . . . the day Eric went too far
By Michael 'Ned' KellON

WEDNESDAY, January 25, 1995, my life changed for ever. On that fateful day, United had a league game against Crystal Palace at Selhurst Park. I sat in the stand and watched the first 50 minutes of a hard but mediocre game that eventually ended 1–1, though the result would not be as memorable as the off-the-ball incident that would shock the footballing world.

During the match, Eric Cantona received more than his fair share of rough-house treatment, but, like the trouper he was, Eric was equal to it. He had, after all, had a tough upbringing in Marseilles and in the boondocks of French football. The Palace players clearly forgot it on that particular day and Eric’s response was muted until one provocation too many. He saw red and retaliated, booting Richard Shaw just a few minutes into the second half. Everybody in the ground saw it, including the referee, and Eric was sent off. Norman Davies, Manchester United’s 64-year-old kit man, rushed to escort him to the dressing-room along the side of the pitch, while the Palace fans gave the shamed player a barrage of abuse.

From my position in the stands, I noticed a Palace supporter leave his seat and run 20 yards down to the low barrier separating the spectators from the players before launching into an animated tirade of abuse. Eric clearly heard what had been said and lost control of his senses. He jumped over the barrier and launched a kung-fu style kick into the chest of the startled supporter — one Matthew Simmons, it was later revealed — before adding more punches for good measure. All hell then broke loose and there was a mad rush to drag Eric away from the Palace fan and remove him from the crowd before any more violence ensued.

While Paul Ince dealt with a couple of interfering spectators, the United players pulled Eric away and tried to lead him to the dressing-room, which was a difficult undertaking. No one had ever witnessed anything like this at a football match and many could scarcely believe what had happened.

There has been so much nonsense published about Eric, especially regarding this incident, that I feel it is time the record was set straight. I barged my way down the steps towards the pitch, brushing aside Palace’s stewards as if they were cardboard cut-outs, and ran to the dressing-room to find Norman and Eric. Norman was visibly shaking and Eric was standing with nostrils flaring, ready to take on the world.

“I’ll handle this now, Norman. You get back to the dugout,” I told the relieved-looking kit man.

Norman left. Eric and I were alone. I stared at him and said nothing. Not a word. He remained broodingly silent. And it stayed that way for almost half an hour, both of us deep in thought, contemplating the repercussions of the incident. I positioned myself at the door to ensure that no one could enter uninvited and no blazing mad Frenchman could leave. After what seemed like an eternity, the game was over and the teams returned to their respective dressing-rooms. The Manchester United guys all went to Eric and offered him words of support and friendly backslaps, while manager Alex Ferguson and some of the club’s directors huddled in a corner for an urgent discussion.

By now the dressing-room door was coming off its hinges as the press desperately tried to get a story, a photo or both, but I made sure they were kept at bay. Nobody was gaining access to that room while I was there. Fergie gave me a nod. “I’ll go out and talk to the press, Ned,” he said.

“Right, Boss,” I replied and led him out to face a sea of reporters and photographers.

The rest of the players began bathing, dressing and preparing to leave, but I held them back while a decision was made about how best to make our exit. The ground was thick with press, TV and radio crews, as well as Palace fans baying for blood. I suggested that we just rushed for the coach and, really, there was little other option. The club secretary, Ken Merrett, remarked: “It’s a bloody good job you were here, Ned.”

The players made for the coach while I hung back with Eric. I’d decided that we would be the last to run the gauntlet. I winked at Eric and he smiled and shrugged back. In seconds we had sprinted to the coach. We made the great escape unscathed, but the chanting Palace fans, who were by now spitting at the bus, held nothing back in their vitriolic rantings against the Manchester United team.


ERIC’S assault made headlines all over the world. The TV news bulletins led on it, the radio sports shows and phone-ins featured views on nothing else, while the newspapers were full of reports about the events at Crystal Palace. Not for the first time in his career, Eric was attracting attention for all the wrong reasons.

By the next morning a press circus had set up camp outside Eric’s house. Reporters and photographers were hiding in hedges, hanging out of trees, or were perched on stepladders and on the roofs of vans. Eric wisely stayed hidden behind closed curtains.

There was undoubtedly an air of panic the following day at Old Trafford as the club faced losing the man Fergie later rightly called “the talisman”.

Seeking some respite in the Alderley Edge Hotel in Cheshire, Fergie met with Martin Edwards (Manchester United’s chairman and chief executive), Maurice Watkins (the club lawyer) and Professor Sir Roland Smith (chairman of the plc board). I later discovered that they had discussed sacking Eric, but it was decided that he deserved a second chance, though everybody knew the club would have to be seen to take strong action against him. A statement was issued announcing that Eric had been suspended from playing for United until the end of the season.

Cantona was summoned to appear at South Norwood police station for questioning about the incident.

WHILE United’s season carried on, not quite as normal, the wheels of justice turned quickly for once. On the morning of February 21, I collected Eric from his home and as we headed south I decided, after the normal exchange of pleasantries, to leave him to talk to me. I imagined how low he must have been feeling, so idle chatter from me would probably not have helped.

After an hour or so into the journey we started talking about the weather, current affairs, clothes, food and drink. In fact, anything to take his mind off the day ahead and he finally began to relax. As we neared London, talk inevitably turned to the matter in hand.

“It’s not a murder inquiry, Eric. It’ll blow over,” I said to him, trying to sound light-hearted.

“F*** him anyway, Ned,” Eric replied, angrily. “He was just a hooligan. You can insult me all day, but he said terrible things about my mother, wife and children.” I was surprised. Until that moment I had not asked Eric what this particular individual had done to deserve such retribution. Having heard his reason, I wasn’t sure whether this constituted a defence in law, but it was a good enough excuse for Eric’s outburst as far as I was concerned.

On March 23, Cantona appeared in court in Croydon charged with assault. The chairman of the bench gave her verdict.

“FOURTEEN days’ imprisonment. Take him down.”

Eric gave a sort of enigmatic smile. The rest of us just sat there, stunned. The notion of our biggest star going to jail had never even entered the equation.

RedsForLife

Members of the press who had piled into the court beforehand were now stuck in a jam trying to leave it. As Eric was about to be taken down to the cells, Mr Poole (Cantona’s barrister) was on his feet requesting bail for Eric while an appeal was prepared. Mrs Pearch said the court was unable to grant bail, which meant that Poole and Maurice Watkins would have to go next door to the Crown Court to make a second application for bail.

I followed Her Majesty’s latest convict downstairs, where I was allowed to accompany him into the cell. Within minutes, Maurice and Mr Poole came down to say that they had started the appeal process but needed a judge to sign the interim liberation papers that would free Eric immediately, pending his appeal. They left, still looking shocked, and Eric borrowed my mobile phone to tell his wife about his circumstances. In the meantime, I quizzed the police and court officials about which prison Eric was most likely to be taken to. To my knowledge, it has never been reported that Eric was quite so resigned to going to jail. He was entirely philosophical about the events — too much so, for my liking.

“I think I’ll just do the time, Ned. Get it over with,” he declared, calmly.

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. Here was the greatest footballer in England quite prepared to spend two weeks in prison for an assault for which most members of the public, especially first-time offenders, would have received a small fine. I pleaded with him to put up more of a fight.

A prison officer entered the cell and asked Eric for his autograph. Though he had just locked the man up, he now wanted a favour from him. I couldn’t believe the cheek of the guy, but Eric, ever willing, gladly obliged, which says a great deal about his nerve at that time and the type of generous person he really is. Eric’s friendly gesture was not without reward, as the officer mentioned he could bring us some food, and because he described the normal courthouse fare as “ s***e”, he suggested the local McDonald’s was the safest option. We agreed enthusiastically and 20 minutes later were presented with two Big Macs and fries.

After Cantona’s sentence was reduced to community service on appeal, Manchester United prepared to hold a press conference.

I TRIED to hurry Eric along, but he was deep in conversation with his agent, Jean-Jacques Bertrand. I feigned impatience in an effort to move them along and it seemed to work, but as Jean-Jacques arose from his chair he asked me: “Ned, what do you call a fishing boat in England?” I thought this was a strange question from a French football agent, but I replied: “A trawler.” He turned to Eric and they continued their discussions in French. Then Jean-Jacques asked me another question: “What do you call the small fish in the sea?” I was intrigued now but thought carefully for a moment and said: “Sardines.”

Again they carried on chatting in excitable French, but at that moment I put the questions out of my head because one of the hotel staff came in and told me that Maurice Watkins was ready to start the press conference and Eric’s presence was urgently required.

Eric was asked for a quote and it was then that my earlier questioning from Jean-Jacques began to make sense: “When the seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea. Thank you.”

He then got up and walked out, leaving a puzzled press pack scratching their heads. Some of them still don’t know what he meant and never will, but I still felt proud that I was the man who had contributed to the translation for perhaps the most famous footballing quote since the BBC’s Ken Wolstenholme said “They think it’s all over .. . it is now”.

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Sorry i had to split this thread into 2 sections, cause its too long

spinoza

Good story about the seagull quote - one of the best pisstakes in ages. And the media still pretend they don't know what it means.

Livvie

A couple of years ago Eric said it didn't mean anything, but I don't think he meant that. At the time when everyone was knocking him, saying he was talking rubbish etc. it was so obviously a case of people just having a go for the sake of it.

When seagulls follow the trawlers they expect sardines to be thrown = When the media follow a celebrity it's because they hope for exciting titbits or a scoop.

Where's the difficulty in understanding it????

spinoza

I still see references to it in the paper from time to time to that effect - and that it doesn't mean anything.

It clearly does though.

Davo

The line doesn't seem as good now it transpires that he was thinking about it prior..it always struck me as an off the cuff remark..

Pretentious fecker

Aberdeen Red

Will always be a hero for me.
Genius with a hint of madness thrown in for good measure.
Sadly missed.

rOnaldo[7]

yeah..cantona7

ruuds left boot

Absoloutely I never understood why ANYONE didn't understand - it's not exactly rocket science is it for fecks sake !!

Murt

Such a great quote, really left em puzzled in the press room that day, what a man

manuman

yeah, he shouldve just come up with something random and littered his speech with "Yeah y'know" and "ya know what i mean" etc etc shouldnt he?, wouldve sounded much better eh Davo.

Stuff the Goat

ooh Ahh Eric Cantona, ooh aah Eric Cantona, ooh aah............