United playing in Merseyside in the cup.

Shane B

Not Fat, Old, Racist or Scouse
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This is a fecking long one, (Check how long before you start it, it may prove too much for some on here) but a brilliant read, I have been told it is an account from Tony O'Neil about the long tribulations with the scousers, anyone who thinks that our rivals are the Arse or Chelsea, might read this and understand a bit why the old school hate scousers -
The Old Bill, in their wisdom have changed our kick off to 5.30pm against Everton, read this and tell me if you think they have the slightest clue what they are doing!

Six years after the ‘79 semi-finals, fate took one of its turns and set up a repeat performance. As previously stated there was to be no toss of a coin to determine venue. The semi-final would be played at Goodison Park with Maine Road as the replay venue.



In 1985 a decent cup run was as good as it got. As the biggest club in the country it was a mere taste of the life we should have been living and everyone dived on it, especially the lads. Daft away games in the cup became major events and semi-finals were serious business indeed. Once again we’d been paired with the Vermin and everyone was up for it. The hype beforehand was unbelievable; the games preceding it were virtually none-events.



These days the police have things so ridiculously sorted but back then the smart tactical move was to leave from Victoria. Hardly ground breaking stuff, but it hadn’t been a staging post to bin-dipper country for a couple of seasons, so a switch back there made sense. There was also the fact that the bigger express trains went from Victoria, and space would be at a premium given the expected size of the turnout.



The intention was to leave around 10.30. I turned up in a cab at Victoria at about twenty past and bumped into a few kids I knew copping for a brew just outside the station. One lad said with a grin on his face, ‘you will not believe the firm that’s on the station. Absolute stormer, a proper fighting firm.’ As soon as I saw the turnout I thought ‘yeah, I like it.’ I clocked a few good faces that’d not been seen for a bit for various reasons. By 1985 things were getting a little bit heavier, and people didn’t go to every game like they used to. The talk was naturally focused on what would be waiting at the other end of the journey. It was a different set-up to six years previous in that regard. We’d definitely be taking both sets of Mickey’s on again but rather than waiting with Liverpool outside Lime Street Everton would be boarding trains to there own semi at Villa Park. The plan had a familiar elegant simplicity. Get off the train, start having it with whoever we found first, and continue all the way to Goodison. In retrospect, you’ve got to be a game firm if you’re confident about going there and taking the pair of them on. To put it into prospective, ask yourself if either Liverpool or Everton would have come to Piccadilly when City were on the station off to a semi whilst United were sat at the bottom of the approach waiting for them?



We were just approaching Edge Hill when some bright spark decided to pull the communication cord. No one knew who did it, and I still don’t to this day. The intent was obviously so we’d get off at Edge Hill and march into town through the University area, round the back of the Adelphi. Rather than come into Lime Street Station, we’d come into Lime Street down the road. Whilst this might have had some tactical merit, it wasn’t in the plan. Once the cord had been pulled, the train started screeching painfully. Everyone was lurching forward; naturally the train was overcrowded with lads in the aisles, on the luggage racks, three to a seat, generally about as unsafe as you could get. It was obvious our budding strategist hadn’t quite calculated his timing correctly either. As anyone who has taken the train to Liverpool will know, the last two miles or so mainly go through tunnels and sure enough when the train finally came to a halt we were slap bang in the middle of one. Talk about plans going wrong. Furthermore, we’d stopped roughly halfway between Edge Hill and Lime Street. Now for the normal law-abiding folk who are reading this, a special word. Please believe. This is all fact. There is no dramatisation whatsoever. Ridiculous as it might sound in this day and age, everyone got off the train. Right there, in a tunnel maybe a mile up the track from Lime Street. Surrounded by live wires and all the rest of it. There was no other option. We’d march up the tracks to Lime Street and really take them by surprise. No thought was given to other trains or those sick rail safety adverts they used to show in the ‘70s. We were here, the oppo was there, and the quickest way to bring the two together was to walk.



Picture then eight hundred or so lads marching in column down these railway tracks into the main station of a major British city. After half a mile or so the coppers in Liverpool came flying down an embankment screaming ‘you mad bastards’. ‘You could have been killed,’ said one. Even at this time of the morning though, people had been drinking and this well meaning concern was met with ‘All that’s getting killed is them wankers who are in the station waiting for us.’ The police turned the power off to the lines so there was more freedom of movement, but for the moment the firm was just held there.



In a move that I still can’t believe to this day, they then chopped the firm in half. The front four hundred were marched into Lime Street station whilst the back half were taken back to the original train which was then reversed back to Edge Hill, the logic being that there were buses at Edge Hill awaiting the arrival of the specials. So the second four hundred were at the ground for 11.45, gutted, amongst their number your narrator.



The front half were tossed onto Lime Street station to emerge in the chaos of Evertonians boarding trains to Birmingham. As you can imagine, it was total carnage. It only took one punch and it was off all over. To be fair, it wasn’t there firm. That said, a Scouser is a Scouser and anyone of working age was a legitimate target that day. As you can imagine, United just smashed the living daylights out of them. It had to be said though, of a quality firm of 800, more of the cream was taken into Lime Street. If you had to handpick four hundred lads to go and do the business, you couldn’t do a much better job than Her Majesty’s Constabulary had done. The police had played into the hands of the hoolies. They were already stretched keeping Liverpool out of the station, and trying to throw Everton onto the specials that had been delayed by mad Mancunians blocking all of the tracks out of the station. The net result was chaos, which is any firm’s best friend. The coppers response was to round United up and clear them out of the station on to Lime Street proper where the Vermin were congregated. Talk about a blinding result!



It might sound pathetic to a straight goer but when United had a firm on the run, they’d all chant ‘War War War’. On this day every man came out of the station with the battle cry on his lips. As I’ve already pointed out, your humble narrator was with the firm now on its way to Goodison. I know what happened from accounts relayed that day but the most unusual perspective I can recall is that of a Leeds fan who was with the firm of perhaps 700 Scouser's outside St George’s Hall as they waited for ‘dem Manc’s’. As a Leeds fan, giving us undue credit is not on his agenda but in common with a lot of hoolies he had a big thing about United, knowing the damage they’d done over the years. As he told me in later years ‘United came out of the station and they looked a mean and hungry firm. Just by the looks on their faces you knew they were up for it. Then that ‘War War’ chant started thundering of the walls of St Georges Hall. I’ll hold my hands up; it was all over before it started. United chased us all the way down the bus station and around the theatre, leathering anyone they got there hands on. To think that there could have been twice as many was frightening, as four hundred was more than enough.’ With Liverpool in full flight, United gathered themselves together and took a position on the crossroads outside the railway station, opposite St Georges Hall. Some of the Scouser’s came filtering back, but they were swiftly sent on their way. Lacking further concrete opposition in the town centre, firm one decided it was time to march to the ground.
 
Firm two meanwhile were being held behind the Park End at Goodison. 25,000 United fans were heading to this game, and they’d started to arrive. A large proportion of them were barmies, shirt wearers but not averse to having a punch up if they needed to. The Scouse firm, obviously knowing there own city better, were soon approaching having studiously avoided further contact with firm one. Straight going fans, there favourite target, were now to be found in boozers and car parks. Usual Scouse tactics were on the agenda, but there was something they hadn’t counted on. They were completely ignorant of the existence of firm two. The madness of the police splitting United’s forces merely resulted in United having numbers in front and behind the Scouse firm. Liverpool was expecting nothing more in the environs of Goodison than hapless stragglers.



The police cordon holding firm two soon thinned through a combination of dibble boredom and the need to police a wider area. Those in the cordon began drifting away in small groups, to meet up at the Stanley. Police interest died a death – they didn’t have the manpower to round up all these groups of ten or twenty heading in different directions and we all reformed down the side of the Stanley pub.



Liverpool’s mob didn’t take long to arrive. With perhaps a few exceptions it was just Liverpool, which was a big difference from ‘79. Without Everton the Vermin just weren’t as game, plain and simple. Whilst United clocked them coming up but the Scouser’s remained blissfully ignorant of our presence. The shame of it all was Liverpool was all laughing and joking as they came which really shows how pisspoor they were and always have been. If United had just been chased all round Manchester, there’s no way we’d be smiling.



So picture the scene, Liverpool’s firm were ready for a straggler fest, to their knowledge United’s firm were at least a mile behind them. Things were looking up for them. Then, as they drew level with the pub, mob two erupted out of the side street. We came piling out, straight into them scattering them all over the dual carriageway. You could see the look of horror and disbelief on their faces as we came out; it was over before it all begun again. In these pre-mobile days no one knew how badly they’d been run in the city centre, so their morale, such as it was, had already taken a knock. There was a lot of commotion and charging about, but by and large the Scouser’s performed their magic vanishing act. The police came in to try and straighten things out. A few United had had there coats slashed and the like, a few more had been cut, though no one was badly injured.



The police were soon pushing United back towards the Park End again. Now we were safely ensconced behind a police cordon, a few Scouser’s felt brave enough to come over for a rant. ‘How’ve you got here? Your main firm came off the train at Lime Street’. ‘What happened at Lime Street’? We wanted to know. A couple held there hands up and said ‘They were game and they done us, but how’ve you got here’ Once we relayed our story, they were looking at us in total disbelief. They did there sums and didn’t fancy this any more. Obviously the word went out that they needed more bodies as from this point on a mob of Liverpool just kept growing and growing and getting braver and braver. Firm two were indifferent to this, after all the police cordon was for the Scouser’s protection.



As we were stood there, a mob of about thirty Scouser’s came to the edges and beckoned some of us over. Perhaps twenty of us slipped the cordon and wandered over to them. One of them got on a proper rant. ‘You fecking Manc’s, so you think you’re fecking big time? Well you might have done us in town but we’re going to have the biggest firm you’ve ever seen after this game.’ They’re giving it the real big ‘un, really trying but its easy done. Nothing could happen there given the proximity of the police and they knew it. They were big lads, they looked the part and they were proper ranting on. They get halfway through, When Bernard stops them dead. ‘Right, this is how it is; I’ve had enough of hearing this shit. Listen here you Scouse cnuts. You can tell us whatever you want but just think back to Anfield Road in‘81, the Kop in‘82 and Wembley in‘83. I can’t take you seriously’.



There was a bearded Scouser there, and at this he pulled out what I have to say was the biggest blade I have ever seen at a football match in my life. It was nearly a sabre; he had it down his pants. Said he, ‘Even if we don’t give it to you, one of you will be getting this later today.’ I couldn’t think of an answer quick enough, but Bernard, fair play to him, what an answer. ‘Listen here you, you Scouse bastard. I can guarantee you this, if you stay at the front of your firm for the rest of the day you will definitely bump into me. And I guarantee you, you will wish you’d brought a smaller blade than that, as I’m going to stick it up your arse and spin you round on it.’ None of the cheap bravado here, he meant each and every word.



At this, this firm of Mickey’s just crumbled. We all stepped forward but the old bill came flying in. The bearded Scouser had slipped his sword back inside his jeans. We gave them a look to say, ‘we can see your bottles gone’. They backed off with the words ‘Get to the back of the Kop after; we’ll have all our firm there’. How much do they like it their own way? We’re not even playing at Anfield and they want it there, right in the heart of their turf. That was how it was though. There are perhaps a couple of other firms on a good day that would have gone to the Kop to find Liverpool after a game on the other side of Stanley Park. Most would take the attitude that, as their wondering round on a chevaulauchee through enemy territory, it’s up to the home side to find them. Their satisfied with that. Not so United. But that was later…….

 
By this time, the other escort had come in and for the first time since the train, we linked up. The usual story swapping went on but now the police had everyone in one place and were determined to keep them there. Disturbing news filtered through with each successive wave of United fans arriving at the ground. The usual fare of innocent bystanders in pubs facing ridiculous odds, flares being fired into coaches, other buses having there windows put through, familiar scenes in the car parks. There were still shirt-wearing United fans to be seen drinking out and about though. There’d be no Liverpool fans in shirts to be seen drinking in Manchester at the replay, that’s for sure. Throughout all this, for perhaps an hour, an hour and a half, the police kept the firm penned in. There were a few minor offs as the Scouser’s made a few attempts to get at us, but would they have been so brave if the police hadn’t been there?



Kick off was approaching when the little Scouse firm reappeared. I just happened to be there when they did. They had a new lad with them, with black hair and no front teeth. It turned out his name was Macca. Stood next to me was a very prominent East Manchester face, and this kid shouted him by name. Apparently they new each other from a jail sentence and there was a bit of ill feeling. They wanted a word in private with him, all thirty of them. The bearded sabre wielder was absent, but by and large they where the same lads as previous. The United face turned to me, his mind already made up and said, ‘Do you want to come?’ ‘I’ll come over there and have a rant with them. A bit of verbal off Bernard’s already straightened them out.’



So five of us mooched out of the escort and wandered over to them on the corner. Says Macca to this lad: ‘Me and you have got a straightener to have from what happened in HMP (blank).’ He turned to us and said ‘I’m going to have it with him. We have got something to sort out.’ At this the Scouser’s have shaped up and we’ve all stepped forward, massively outnumbered though we were. ‘Look, there’s five of us, there’s about thirty of you. It’s me and you that have got the problem, lets just me and you go offside together out of the way.’ He was prepared to walk off through mad mobs of mid ‘80s vintage straggler-hunting Scouser’s, with a Scouser and thirty mates in tow to have a fight, on his own. No bullshit, no posturing. He would have gone. I always new he had balls, but let’s have it right. Immense.



This Macca’s only thrown a punch at him straight away. His bottle had obviously gone or else he’d have waited until they’d been where they could really have it. Our lads ducked and cracked him. Macca went flying backwards. We all knew how things worked, so the other four of us stepped in, outnumbered or not. Bang bang bang. Mayhem. It didn’t take long for the coppers to intervene and Macca’s firm backed away. The police couldn’t do anything to us, how can 5 lads take on 30 after all? All this had attracted the attention of other Scouser’s in the street and we ended up against the wall behind the police with a hundred-odd Vermin baying for our blood. We were giggling having a right result while they looked ill having been fronted by odds of one to six. The police moved us back to the escort but just before they lost us a Mickey wandered over, ‘Don’t forget, back of the Kop after the match. We’ll all be there.’



The game. That dirty long-haired twat Paul Walsh got the equalizer deep into injury time. I was wounded when that went in. I was physically sick and to think some Irish Reds near me saw fit to applaud and comment ‘What a marvellous game that’s been’. Marvellous game? I feckin snapped at him.



Once outside you could really feel the tension in the air. The plan had been to meet at the top of Bullens Road but there were all sorts of little offs everywhere en route. Our mob was so big it spilled onto the dual carriageway. While the police were trying to get it together someone said, ‘Turn right to where the coaches are, and get to the top of the road were the car park is.’ Everyone split off; I was with thirty or forty decent kids. There were a few more sporadic offs going past the buses but by the time we got to the rally point a hundred or so were already there. Someone else with an eye for tactics said, ‘Let’s give it ten minutes, because you’ll get the usual firm of cowardly Mickey’s coming to this car park picking Reds off.’

 
We numbered perhaps three hundred in the end. The news wasn’t too positive: The rest of the firm were in an escort back to town with a mob on them. ‘I thought their mob was going to meet us at the back of the Kop?’ ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out’ and to the back of the Kop we went. Up past the Arkles to where there are about half a dozen terrace streets that bring you out on Lower Brett Road. Anyone who’s ventured round the back of Anfield will know there’s a petrol station at the back of the Kop and we plotted up there. We stood and waited, it seemed mad because there was hardly anyone about. Just as we thought it was a no show there was an ‘aye aye, look at this coming down the street’.

These Scouser’s had tried to be smart, bless’em. We were expecting a proper horde to turn when in actual fact numbers were about equal. They tried to make it look good by coming down three of the parallel streets at once, but they’d only succeeded in splitting themselves up, and that was the worst thing they could have done. When you’ve been up and down the country you can spot these tactics a mile off, so these were the instructions. ‘Back off twenty yards and let them come into the road. Don’t let’s get stuck in one of these streets with Scouser’s on both sides. Plus, it makes it look as if we’re running.’ A classical manoeuvre, but an effective one. Liverpool fell for it and came running out of the streets, roaring, shouting the big come on. Once they were all out in the road we were straight into them. Serious mayhem. We were leathering them all over the road. It was colossal. I came diving over the wall thinking ‘this is going to be the best ever, there’s not a cozzer in site.’ When you’re around these situations regularly, you can feel the mood and smell weakness. They were weak. Within a minute, even the game ones of theirs at the front were backing off and as you went back at them you could see already that some were fleeing. As we drove their thinning ranks down the road towards the back of the Kop it was great to think that we were doing Liverpool outside the Kop having not even played at Anfield.

We went after them time and again and you could see more and more backs of heads. They reached that critical point, wavered, and dissolved in the traditional twenty different directions. Not long afterwards, the police presumably notified by a local none to enthralled by his afternoons free entertainment, showed up in force and pinned United by the chippies on Lower Brett Road. That was the end of that. The mob of Scouser’s rematerialised and trailed us into town giving it all the fingers across the throats malarkey, the odd flash of a blade but when you’ve just clattered someone, you’re hardly going to be intimidated by them are you? So two different escorts both made there way into the city centre unmolested. It was a semi-final, we were in their city, and you would have expected a proper showing all the way to the ground, under attack from all sides. I’m sorry to say though, as they didn’t have Everton with them, they had neither the resolve nor the calibre of the foe of ‘79.

At the station was also the mob of Liverpool that had trailed the other escort. Now with the numbers, they made a few token efforts but given the police presence it was merely a shoddy attempt at face saving. All in all, a shockingly poor showing from the locals considering the build-up. You simply cannot imagine United allowing that to happen in Manchester and the replay would provide ample opportunity to demonstrate it.
 
Liverpool, 1985 FA Cup Semi-Final replay, Maine Road.

Back in those more innocent times, replays were played the midweek immediately following the game with none of this ten days wait palaver.

Being a night game noon was the earliest time mooted to meet in Town, with maybe eight pubs mentioned all within a decent area so it wouldn’t take much to pull everyone together. The general feeling was that the Mickey’s would show up mid-to late afternoon at the earliest, possibly not until teatime, so people drifted in without to much urgency. As the afternoon wore on more and more faces turned up and a pretty hefty mob developed occupying a swathe of Town, with fifty in this pub, a couple of hundred in the next and so on but there wasn’t a Scouser to be seen. No word had filtered through as to which station or rattler they’d be on so certain lads took it upon themselves to go and check the various stations at irregular intervals and watching the services come in without reward.

Given the complete lack of opposition, there was nothing for the firm to do but have a beer and the afternoon turned into a big drink. Maine Road held fifty thousand so roughly twenty thousand dirties were expected but as the afternoon turned into evening there was still no sign of any of them. “This is ridiculous, there’s just none of them about at all.” “I’ll tell you what them Mickey’s are going to do, there all going to dive on them specials. There not even going to come on the service, we won’t even see them.” If they had been on the service, they would have been on the scene already, it being 4pm by this time.

Word went round to meet at the Gamecock, a pub on the Moss Side end of Hulme. Some lads even walked there to kill time. The contrast to the non-stop action of the previous Saturday couldn’t have been more pronounced. A constant trickle of reports came in from each of the stations. I met this train; suchabody met that train, no sign of any of them. The time was drifting towards 5pm but it was inconceivable that the Scouser’s would stay away, so it was surmised that Liverpool’s alleged mob were indeed sneaking in amongst the civilians on the specials. Then word came from Victoria. The first special was due in at 5.30pm. Plain logic indicated that the police would either escort them or more likely bus them to the ground. Without any concrete information no major moves were made and yet again it turned into a drink with small war parties and individual scouts constantly mooching off looking for the enemy.

The first solid info came in not long after the first special had arrived, with the police operation at Victoria in full swing. Some lads had sighted a fleet of buses at the back of Victoria, presumably for transporting the bin-dippers to the ground. The police had no intention of a repeat of the scenes of ‘79 by walking the Scouser’s through bandit country. United had been drinking for over five hours now and really weren’t in the mood for walking back into Town to tangle with an organized police operation. Even the most optimistic thug realised the best that could be hoped for was chucking bricks at buses, with little chance of any real fighting. That had never been United’s style. Everyone stayed at the Gamecock, figuring that we’d go to the ground and meet them there. People were getting restless, it was ridiculous this. A semi-final replay against Liverpool with not two hours to kick-off and we’d not had so much as a sniff of a Scouser.

It was decided to move to the ground, so perhaps 700 lads headed south to the hovel. Numbers swelled en route as various other small firms were collected from pubs and street corners. For a nobble, we made our way down Great Western Street, where coaches were parked up in those days on the off chance. Sure enough there were coaches pulling up full of Scouser’s. There wasn’t a huge police presence, just a few dotted about. The bin-dippers were all singing, feeling secure on their buses when we made our appearance in the street. Suddenly, everything went quiet; they knew what we were all about. This wasn’t their mob, they were mostly ordinary fans.

A couple of coaches full of Scouse barmies chose that moment to pull up. They got a bit silly; shouting abuse, thinking the police would save them if it came to it. There weren’t enough coppers though. The look on there faces as we made our way through was a picture. It was a never-ending stream; it must have looked half a mile long and ten yards wide. These barmies made the fatal mistake of giving it Munich and all that, and elements of the firm took offence and went for them. United were soon scuttling them. A couple of the Scouser’s were quite handy as it goes, and they stuck it out quite gamely. They didn’t understand the rules of this game though, and it wasn’t long before they were getting ragged all over. The police came in on motorbikes and they’d obviously called for reinforcements, so it was time to do one leaving damaged Scouser’s lit by flashing blue lights. The column of hundreds instantly dissolved into tens and twenties and split up down all the various side streets that make up Moss Side. In a way by now familiar to regular readers as well as the veterans, word was spread in those few seconds to meet at the Parkside, which was on the ‘Scouser’s’ side of Maine Road that night.

Not ten minutes later the majority of the firm have drifted up to the Parkside, hopeful of a real do. These hopes were dashed as it quickly became apparent that the pub was full of United. Some teams had travelled via The Sherwood and the Claremont, but they were both securely Mancunian. Other pubs like the Osborne and the Lord Lion were similarly local. Where were all the Scouser’s? We heard their coaches were also being parked up at Hough End; ergo they’d be in the Princess. A medium sized team drifted over in that direction but that was another non starter; yet again they were just scarf wearers. They went for a wander round the ground on their way back and came rushing back with news which went round in a flash. The police were unloading the buses from Victoria at the back of the Kippax. Elements of Liverpool’s firm were seen, mingling with the rest of the punters off the specials. As had been surmised, they’d bottled it big time. Finally, seven hours after the first lads had been in Town, we had a solid contact.
 
There was some dissent as to the correct approach, but it was ended with these words. “Forget the time and trying to go and do it near the death when the police are going, let’s just go and do it now.” After all the hanging round it was good to get moving and the firm was on its way in pretty short order.

Now, the area round Maine Road is good for splitting a firm up so it appears only a fraction of its size until you bring it together at the point of tactical interest. In this case, we rejoined behind the Platt Lane end occupied by the Scouser’s. The ground was segregated along the halfway line with United having the North Stand. It was thick with Scouser’s queuing up to get in, but they were happy to back off. They weren’t the target, though a few got a dig as we went through and things got said. This was discouraged by the majority though, as we didn’t want to bring it on top with the police till we got to grips with their lads. As it happens, the police did get a whiff of it, but amazingly, they were happy to contain the scene of trouble rather than sorting it all out.

There’s a lane that runs the full length behind the ground at the back of the terraced streets and empties out on the Kippax car park. The firm vanished down there with their intentions clear. Up to the end and a straight charge into them as quickly as possible. Those familiar with the layout round there will know that alleyways run off on the houses side. We’d passed two or three of these ginnels when out of passage number four saunter seventy or so Scouser’s. As soon as they were sighted, a shout went up from the vanguard of our firm. It was dark and they probably reacted to the noise before they had a proper look at what they were facing but fair play to them, they stood.

Over a thousand years ago, a Danish army was trapped on marshland when two Saxons held the only path leading off. (As it happens, the Saxons acceded to the Viking request for honourable battle and were slaughtered.) Horatio in the histories of Rome held a bridge with six companions against thousands till it was destroyed and the city saved. The point is numbers can’t be made to count over a narrow frontage, and that alleyway holds seven or eight wide at best. The Scouser’s had emerged a mere ten yards or so ahead of the front line and it was roar up and in on both sides.

They were game but in their position they had little choice. It was defiantly do or die outnumbered ten to one as they were and a brutal toe to toe slugfest developed. They were slowly forced back by the literal weight of numbers. If you wanted no part in matters, you shouldn’t have been there, as the heaving mass of bodies left no room for manoeuvre. Game as they were, the Scouser’s were slowly back-peddling, and the opening to the Kippax car park was getting closer. I don’t know if it was the realisation of the numbers they faced, or if their bottle simply went. They weren’t entirely stupid; they knew what would happen to them in the wide open space of the car park. You could tell that the heart had gone out of them, because even though we were still having it with their frontline, you could see the press of bodies behind them slackening as the back few got off to save themselves. You could feel the resistance fading. Then events reached that critical point where the last fifteen or twenty who stuck it out were overwhelmed. Things rapidly got out of hand as the Scouser’s were battered and booted all over. One of them managed to pick himself up; he was quite a big bloke as it happens. He’d just got himself straightened up when a kid from Cheetham Hill ran in. I don’t know where he got it from but I can still see the Woodpecker cider label on the bottle. Bang right over his head. They were big, heavy bottles and unsurprisingly the bloke dropped like a sack of spuds.

Things were past a point now, because the vanguard had moved up towards the car park and the Scouser’s therein and as the body of the column followed, they were trampling over the prone figures, occasionally booting them on the way. The fugitives from the alley encounter had already reached the car park, and the Scouser’s there were alerted to what was just about to happen to them and they formed up to receive a charge. United reached the gate, you heard a shout and off it went.

I don’t want sound like a peace negotiator here, because I’m not, but I’d been toe to toe with these Scouser’s for thirty yards down this alley. Daft as it might sound, we’d gained a little bit of respect for them, dare I say. Now Scouser’s being Scouser’s that last fifteen had to be put down. No question. Once they were down, enough was enough. Some lads at the back of our firm were making a proper meal out of this though. These Scouser’s were still getting battered, mainly by lads who had neither the will nor the aptitude to have been in the frontline a few minutes earlier. It was the best prospect some of these kids had, and I didn’t like what was going on around me. One Mickey had been bottled; things were generally going too far. So I found myself saying to some of our own lads “look, enough’s enough. Leave it now, they’re done in. There finished.” Some saw their arse at this. “What do you think would happen to us if twenty of us were down in Liverpool? Do you think that any of them would try and save you? This is our chance to do these bastards some damage for all the straight goers over the years.” If they were peeved, I was gutted. I could hear the mayhem going on behind the Kippax, and there I was protecting Scouse casualties from lads who should have had the same mayhem as their first priority. Some lads justified it saying that if they hadn’t been Scouser’s, they’d have left them.

The police finally made an appearance, with ambulances close behind. Exit, stage left and down to the Kippax to catch up with events. Picture a scene of total carnage. The whole of the car park was in uproar with police horses charging about. United had chased Liverpool and backed them off across the car park. Where had they backed into? The other half of the Kippax, full of United. They weren’t the firm, but with plenty of game barmies and handy lads stood around put a few hundred Mickey’s in front of them and they soon knew what to do. Liverpool had gone from a reasonably tight defensive situation to being surrounded and cut to pieces in a few seconds. This then was the scene when I turned the corner. You looked at a situation like that, and thought ‘well I’ll make the most of this, I’ll be very unlucky to get nicked in a situation like this’. People were charging about everywhere. It all spilled into the streets and alleys surrounding the ground. It’s a proper maze of terraced streets round there and chaos reigned. Mickey’s were getting pinned down, picked off, and split up. You got to a stage of wondering who was who. You’d find yourself in a small island of calm and the next minute you’d realise the lads walking parallel were Scouse and off it would go again. And again, and again. Some Scouse teams made attempts to regain the car park and had a token go, only to get blitzed for their troubles. The half hour preceding kick off was non-stop mayhem. The police finally regained some order with a little ultraviolence of their own as the numbers tinned. So it was split up to avoid grief and back to the ground. Liverpool had had decent numbers, but in the main it had been another poor performance from them.
 
Walking back to the Kippax perhaps thirty strong, twenty lads came out of a side street. They looked the part, but none of us knew them. We walked across the road towards them and when we came within five yards or so they stepped back with that stance. Obviously they were Liverpool. One of us said “Right, this will be the best one of the day.” Some of the lads I was with were amongst those who’d been right at the front in the alley, but this would be even better. Fair play, they stood initially and traded blows, but then they made the mistake of legging it up one of the terraced streets instead of back towards the stadium. We chased them but they were hard to catch, it must be something in the genes. The back half dozen or so got tripped up and as anyone who’s been in that unfortunate situation; you couldn’t help feeling for them. Still, they were game and they were Scouser’s, so they got a bit of a kicking. Their mates were stood at the top of the road, shouting for us to leave them but they refused all invitations to come and rescue them.

Then an old boy in a vest opened his front door and went “what’s going on here then?” “Its just a few Scouser’s who’ve pushed their luck and now it’s all gone wrong on them.” “Oh, well there’s nothing wrong with that, I just thought it was the other way found and those were United fans getting bashed around. I’m a red me, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he shut his front door. Crazy.

Into the match then, and I happened to be right near the segregation in the main stand. We went behind to a Paul McGrath own goal and we were all gutted at half time. I’d had nothing but beer all day, so I walked back to the seats with a pie in one hand and a pint in the other (oh remember the days). The segregation was merely a couple of lines of tape with stewards sat down the middle. I’d not even reached my seat when Bryan Robson (oh remember the days) was sent on a run. The next minute I just watched a 25 yarder fly into the top corner. Our half erupted, the Scouser’s were gutted. One level with me jumped up and came out with Munich so I tossed my pint in his face and followed it up with a meat and potato. It’s pathetic really, but I did it. Verbals followed and a few of us went on a charge. The police were having none of it, and it all calmed down, we retook our seats in much better mood. With perhaps ten minutes left Sparky made it 2-1. Utterly mental, our half of the ground exploded. Yet again were doing them in a semi. It helped to make up for the Milk Cup in 83. At the final whistle the contrast couldn’t have been greater. The Scouser’s were slinking off into the night whilst we dived on the pitch en masse for an impromptu celebration. Robson was carried off on the shoulders of the crowd; it was a glorious United moment.

It was inevitable that someone would suggest a wander towards the Platt Lane end where a fair few Scousers’ were stood on their seats giving it the big come on behind the protection of a 15 foot fence. They were clambering up as if to come over it, so we all stepped back to say come on down here and we’ll have it.

What a lad he must have been, only one of them did it. Typical Scouse. Hundreds of them threatened to come over the top; one did and I'm in two minds as to whether he just fell off. He hit the advertising hoardings and he may as well have been thrown into the wolf pit. I’m sure the lads nearest him drew straws as to who’d leather him. We made a determined effort to get over the fence and they backed up the stand but the police were straight in and had it split up before it had really begun. The coppers moved us back up the pitch, so the word was Rusholme High St, 15 minutes.

Outside it seemed that the majority of the Scouser’s did a cover up job and vanished into the night as everywhere you looked were grinning United faces. Everyone expected Liverpool to at least make an attempt to burst through and walk back into Town, but they went back to the fleet of buses to Victoria like meek little children.

A report came through that some Scouser’s in the police cordon for those buses had smashed up cars and put through windows in the streets behind Platt Lane. Quite why the police let that go on as long as they did I’m not sure but I do know that the Mickey’s were quite happy to hide behind the dibble. Compare and contrast our performance in their city the previous weekend. Their approach showed Liverpool’s pretence as self proclaimed progenitors of casual culture for what it is.

All the Scouser’s left in Manchester were at or heading for Victoria, so by bus, cab and foot, United followed. Half an hour later we were plotted up near the Arndale occupying roughly the same positions as at lunchtime. The mob was huge, upwards of 900 lads across a dozen bars. The usual scouting parties have gone off to the station and it didn’t take them long to report back. The buses were coming in at the back on the North side of the station where the Arena is now. The police were bringing the buses in by the half dozen and trying to keep it all moving, but with the traffic it was a slow process. They didn’t have enough buses to do the job in one go, so once they’d unloaded it was back to Maine Road to do it all again.

Once we’d got a feel for the timing of it all, we made our move and the mob moved as one up to the Ducie Bridge pub opposite the back of Victoria. Sure enough six buses full of Mickey’s have appeared in no time. One look and we charged straight at them. God knows what we thought we were going to do to them, they were on buses after all, I suppose we just wanted to stop them in the traffic and get it on. The looks on their faces as we surrounded them changed from abuse to sheer horror. Surprisingly, they didn’t want to get off and have a go so the buses got clunked quite severely, followed by a window or two going through. Just as it looked bleak for those on board, the traffic freed up a little and they moved off again.

We charged after the buses and in no time we were at the back of the station opposite the penned-in Liverpool fans. Without hesitation we made a mad charge straight for them, and it was mad in retrospect because the police had it all sorted and repelled us straight away. That was the attitude at the time, before video evidence made such actions senseless. Liverpool tried to make it look good and made a token charge that had no chance of breaking through. It merely served to rev up the atmosphere. In a move I still don’t believe to this day, the coppers chose that moment to toss the Scouser’s off the buses, outside the cordon. Big mistake. We charged them and some made the mistake of standing. They got leathered; there was chaos as the Mickey’s scrambled to get back on the buses. The dibble intervened and pushed United back past the Ducie Bridge and up the main road. Having the police in front of us was easily sorted though. About turn and head back round to the front of the station, the police now in pursuit. Picture it. Nigh on a thousand lads charging through the front of Victoria trying to get to the platforms hosting the specials. The Scouser’s have seen us trying to get at them from a different side yet again and they must have thought ‘this lot just aren’t going to give up’. We were giving it ‘War War War’ and the acoustics of the old station roof made it sound awesome. It proper thundered round.
 
The police who’d been chasing us caught up though, and more who hadn’t came flying in from the front of us and they pushed us back out of Victoria.

We made another charge to get round the back, but fate chose that moment for a few more buses to turn up from Maine Road. Unbelievably, 100-odd got off the buses and charged. What they were thinking I don’t know. Some of them looked like their lads, but others just looked like hangers-on. We flew at them and they were butchered. We chased them right round the back of the station. Those who’d stayed put on the buses we ignored as we concentrated on those who’d wanted it. Not everyone’s a fast runner, and you could see which ones weren’t up to the effort and were dropping off. I could here a Scouser whimpering in fear as he ran. A haymaker from the side wobbled him. Then he got tripped and you could feel the fear as he dropped as did a few others. They got trampled and kicked a bit, but it was nothing compared to what would have happened to Manc’s in the same position in Liverpool.

The police got things under control, and they pushed us all the way to the back of the Arndale. We were still revved up, but given the circumstances, a lot of lads threw the towel in and went for a late drink. There were now that many coppers that the Scouser’s would have to want it as much as us for anything to occur, and they patently didn’t. The chat turned to how pathetic they were. They came to Manchester on the specials no less, no service. The only time we’d seen them properly was at the station and at the ground. They’d not gone for a wander; they’d made no attempt whatsoever it was so totally at odds to our approach in their city the previous weekend. That might sound biased, but it’s the truth. At least in Liverpool they’d had a proper go. In ‘79 they’d been a lot gamer because Everton had been with them. The only thing they did of note this night was smashing up a few streets whilst protected by the police. They may as well been Geordies or Yorkies or such.

Before we settled down to another beer, someone proposed one last look round the station and around twenty of us went for a wander back up towards the Ducie Bridge. We did a left heading for the back of Victoria and what did we bump into but a similar number of Scouser’s. Some lads had to hang around for ages to get on a train so these had gone for a mooch. They knew who we were; we knew who they were so there was no need for any chat. No coppers in sight. One of the lads with us was straight into ‘em and the rest of us flew in. We had it toe to toe with them right there in the middle of the road, and I have to say they were game. We had even numbers, but in our favour we had a proper knockout merchant from Salford. They didn’t. He dropped three or four, which is always a wobbler because one of someone’s got to take him on, and none of them fancied it. They ran. We chased those still on their feet back into the station. They made the sanctuary of Victoria and we weren’t going to follow and take on half of GMP on our own.

On the way back we ran into these four who’ve picked themselves up. We could have been out of order and given them another slap, and they went to veer round. “You’ve had yours; you won’t be getting it again. You stood your ground so you’re getting left.” “We stood there to have a go, just to let you know some of us will. I’ll tell you straight it’s been a pisspoor show us not coming on the service or anything. Its looked shite. We’ve had a slap and we’ll take it, that’s fair enough.” With that we went our ways, them to the station, and us for a drink. One lad had it right though. “Wouldn’t you fecking know it? 11pm at night before you meet any Mickey’s who want a proper bash.”
 
Brings back some memories that pity he missed the kickoff inside the ground that day a few United fans in the stand to the left where the United fans were behind the goal stuck it out while half time then over the fence and back into the end with the United fans
After the game got thrown onto a bus by the dibble for the ride back to edge hill for the special bricked to feck think every window on every bus went through the highlight of the journey was the seats getting thrown of the back upstairs of the buses to knock the dibble of their motorbikes I wouldnt mind but I went by car that day and the tw@s would not let me get to where it was parked
Stood on the platform at edge hill then sudenly about 15 - 20 scousers came running down the tracks being ran by about 10 reds seen us lot stood on the platform then shit themselves running to the safety of the coppers
Got on the train then bricked to feck again A brick came bouncing through the window hit the table bounced off the the table onto the next table and then back out the other window if any of you have not been on a train with no windows in you will never believe how cold and noisy it is
Had to work the day of the replay so just made it to the ground just in time for the kick off but remember having to fight our way home along Yew Tree Road and Wilbraham road with scousers everywhere making their way back to the coaches at Hough End
 
thanks Shane, I read the first few paragraphs and then realised how big it was so have emailed it to myself at work and will read it on Monday morning,
please God
 
Shane Bluck said:
PM me your details, if there are big blobs of jam, marmalade or paticularly egg on there, I will require a discount! ;)
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26 will want extra for providing breakfast
 
Yeah, O'Neils book that. Class read Shane, suprised you have not paid your sheckles for a copy.

I'm hopefully going to Goodison for the match, anyone else. Theres going to be a riot that day. What the fook are the coppers thinking? A shit load of reds on the piss on Merseyside........ :D
 
GroundSide said:
Yeah, O'Neils book that. Class read Shane, suprised you have not paid your sheckles for a copy.

I'm hopefully going to Goodison for the match, anyone else. Theres going to be a riot that day. What the fook are the coppers thinking? A shit load of reds on the piss on Merseyside........ :D
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Merseyside Police must be screwing, this should have been a 12 noon on a Sunday, and they have been over ruled by Sky!
Thanks Sky for providing time for a whole days fuel for a game in Merseyside!!

dead.gif
RIP Scousers!
 
I remember going to Villa for an FA Cup match a few years back on a coach with a load of lads from Failsworth. In the pub at 10.30am, In Birmingham for 1pm. Absolute slaughter all over the place. By the time everyone was in the ground for the 7pm KO, everyone was bladdered, I mean no wonder everyone was going on the pitch when Ruud scored. Can't believe the OB didnt overule Sky on this one.....nevermind mind though hey, Should be a good laugh with with a few thousand Reds present.
 
GroundSide said:
I remember going to Villa for an FA Cup match a few years back on a coach with a load of lads from Failsworth. In the pub at 10.30am, In Birmingham for 1pm. Absolute slaughter all over the place. By the time everyone was in the ground for the 7pm KO, everyone was bladdered, I mean no wonder everyone was going on the pitch when Ruud scored. Can't believe the OB didnt overule Sky on this one.....nevermind mind though hey, Should be a good laugh with with a few thousand Reds present.
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I think I am going to fecking miss this one, If I told you why, you wouldn't fecking believe me, I am gutted!
 
Mancs.

I fecking hate them, christ imagine it now. A bunch of Japenese tourists and Cockneys all fighting for the pride of Manchester, UNITED UNITED.

Yep, true Mancs indeed, your crap and you know it. He states that they "took" the Main Stand, woop de do, christ it's the posh seats at Goodison, where all the directors sit and have sat and where the most expensive seats are.

Hooligans are indeed that, they talk shite and act like gobshites and try to make out as if they're the bees friggin knees when in all honesty there as hard as my dick.

Get over yourselves you Wimpy loving bints.
 
efcrmagic said:
Mancs.

I fecking hate them, christ imagine it now. A bunch of Japenese tourists and Cockneys all fighting for the pride of Manchester, UNITED UNITED.
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feck off back to Rhyl/Chester or which ever Welsh town you come from.

If you read your book Scally you will notice that we have a full chapter about Man Uniteds lads, beat that Taffy.
 
Stoned.Rose said:
feck off back to Rhyl/Chester or which ever Welsh town you come from.

If you read your book Scally you will notice that we have a full chapter about Man Uniteds lads, beat that Taffy.
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"Your book", it's not my book at all, I'd be damned if it was. It's Andy Nicholls book not mine and not any other Evertonians.

I bet not one person on this forum was indeed a "hooligan" back in the good old days of the 80's when you where indeed shit. To me your all coming across as wannabe hooligans, have any of you ever seen a fight at a game? Bar Roy Keane intimadating the ref, your a sell out club with sell out fans who even on this board have a advertisment proving this, "Shareholders United", we won't sell out to Glazer, no because we're the mighty reds, bollocks, you've already sold out to people like him, look at the Magnier and McManus thing, didn't help Ferguson did it.

Went off it a bit there but what the hell anyway, you wouldn't have a clue what to do if you got stuck on County Road or Priory Road, you would indeed brick it, one word out of yers and your Cockney accent will come out and you'll probably have a long long night.

If I got stuck in Trafford or wherever the hell your ground is, then I'd feel quite welcome, I'd like to think a kind person would give me a lift back home on there way back to "dowwnnnnnn southhhhh" of course.

Feb 19th, I'll be there, will you?
 
efcrmagic said:
"Your book", it's not my book at all, I'd be damned if it was. It's Andy Nicholls book not mine and not any other Evertonians.

I bet not one person on this forum was indeed a "hooligan" back in the good old days of the 80's when you where indeed shit. To me your all coming across as wannabe hooligans, have any of you ever seen a fight at a game? Bar Roy Keane intimadating the ref, your a sell out club with sell out fans who even on this board have a advertisment proving this, "Shareholders United", we won't sell out to Glazer, no because we're the mighty reds, bollocks, you've already sold out to people like him, look at the Magnier and McManus thing, didn't help Ferguson did it.

Went off it a bit there but what the hell anyway, you wouldn't have a clue what to do if you got stuck on County Road or Priory Road, you would indeed brick it, one word out of yers and your Cockney accent will come out and you'll probably have a long long night.

If I got stuck in Trafford or wherever the hell your ground is, then I'd feel quite welcome, I'd like to think a kind person would give me a lift back home on there way back to "dowwnnnnnn southhhhh" of course.

Feb 19th, I'll be there, will you?
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You'd be fine in the Trafford its a pub full of muppets, as for Feb 19th i will be applying for a ticket and hoping i get one should be fun North Wales v England.

And why would you want a lift back home off somebody heading dowwnnnnn southhhh surely its another direction.
 
First time I went to your place we parked outside the Netly...

Stayed in for a few pints.

Stared amazed at old Scottish folk puking up and pissing all over the place.

I'm fifteen years old with my United dad his City mate and their everton mate

Out the pub and down the road to the Blue house on the corner of Goodison.

The place was jam packed with what I was telling me Dad was their lads.

Then it was my round.

Fifteen but my Dad would slip me the cash if it was my round.

I now know they were pissing themselves as i approached the bar.

I couldn't beleive my Dad was even speaking in there never mind sending me up to the bar with my accent.

Shit me self.

But went and did it.

It got worse in the ground but that's another story.
 
efcrmagic said:
"Your book", it's not my book at all, I'd be damned if it was. It's Andy Nicholls book not mine and not any other Evertonians.

I bet not one person on this forum was indeed a "hooligan" back in the good old days of the 80's when you where indeed shit. To me your all coming across as wannabe hooligans, have any of you ever seen a fight at a game? Bar Roy Keane intimadating the ref, your a sell out club with sell out fans who even on this board have a advertisment proving this, "Shareholders United", we won't sell out to Glazer, no because we're the mighty reds, bollocks, you've already sold out to people like him, look at the Magnier and McManus thing, didn't help Ferguson did it.

Went off it a bit there but what the hell anyway, you wouldn't have a clue what to do if you got stuck on County Road or Priory Road, you would indeed brick it, one word out of yers and your Cockney accent will come out and you'll probably have a long long night.

If I got stuck in Trafford or wherever the hell your ground is, then I'd feel quite welcome, I'd like to think a kind person would give me a lift back home on there way back to "dowwnnnnnn southhhhh" of course.

Feb 19th, I'll be there, will you?
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Prick.
 
Shane Bluck said:
I think the article was originally published in RI, it has been passed on to me, I thought it was brilliant, so have shared it.
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It was in there about 2 years ago

The young lad in the story ends up becoming a junkie and begging for money outside piccadilly station
 
efcrmagic said:
"Your book", it's not my book at all, I'd be damned if it was. It's Andy Nicholls book not mine and not any other Evertonians.

I bet not one person on this forum was indeed a "hooligan" back in the good old days of the 80's when you where indeed shit. To me your all coming across as wannabe hooligans, have any of you ever seen a fight at a game? Bar Roy Keane intimadating the ref, your a sell out club with sell out fans who even on this board have a advertisment proving this, "Shareholders United", we won't sell out to Glazer, no because we're the mighty reds, bollocks, you've already sold out to people like him, look at the Magnier and McManus thing, didn't help Ferguson did it.

Went off it a bit there but what the hell anyway, you wouldn't have a clue what to do if you got stuck on County Road or Priory Road, you would indeed brick it, one word out of yers and your Cockney accent will come out and you'll probably have a long long night.

If I got stuck in Trafford or wherever the hell your ground is, then I'd feel quite welcome, I'd like to think a kind person would give me a lift back home on there way back to "dowwnnnnnn southhhhh" of course.

Feb 19th, I'll be there, will you?
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:lol:

What a prick.

Dont read your children too many bed time stories, ladies and gents, this is the outcome.
 
efcrmagic said:
It's Andy Nicholls book
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And it is a good honest account, It makes for good reading.
efcrmagic said:
I bet not one person on this forum was indeed a "hooligan"
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I doubt many are, most are good shirt wearing fans, the kind that scousers randomly punch in the face, make sure you keep your eye out for them when we come to Merseyside, so you can claim a victory.
In the meantime a large firm of United will stroll through Loonypool completely unchallenged, why? Because you lot will be chasing shirts and thieving car stereos.
 
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