Читать книгу Wednesday Rucks and Rock 'n' Roll - Anthony Cronshaw - Страница 8

Tommy was now getting used to his football team playing second fiddle to those upstarts from across the city. They were playing the high and mighty football card – so fucking what – and were enjoying life in the First Division. Meanwhile Tommy’s team had just avoided relegation to the deepest depths of the third tier of English football. But this time it was going to be different.

The lads had to keep the faith; they had mulled over their prospects for the forthcoming season for four whole long months. It was first game of the season time again, and Tommy thought he looked a million dollars as he got himself ready. The baggy jeans, the denim jacket, bovver boots and the priceless star jumper, topped off with the legendary blue and white silk scarf. His hair was also getting longer by the day. Anyone would think he was going out on the pull instead of travelling over the Pennines to Oldham Athletic.

The boys were letting the train take the strain, and along with thousands of other football fans Tommy’s parents and his two brothers and sister were on the train as they had just spent a week in sunny Blackpool. They may have been sharing the rail network with those rampaging football fans, but Dad was quite handy with that legendary white family suitcase.

The lads had to change in Manchester, and it was reassuring that the Red Devils of Manchester United were away at Leyton Orient. West Ham United were travelling up to face Manchester City but Tommy didn’t think they would bump into any Hammers fans, and QPR were visiting the Lane so no problems in that department.

Wednesdayites were making the trip in their thousands and the boys felt sorry for the holidaymakers trying to board the train with screaming kids in tow and laden with a ton of luggage. The lads managed to bag a compartment and the cards were soon brought out, but Tommy declined to play as he was a bit short on the financial side and didn’t want to end up potless before the day had even started.

How good was this? Another away day with the lads – this is what they had waited all those months for. The kick-off to a brand new season and the prospect of glory.

A couple of pints were enjoyed in Manchester before the bus was commandeered to take them to Oldham. It was a long-winded way to enjoy their day out, but it was a damn sight better than travelling with the official supporters’ club. No fun in arriving just in time for the kick-off and then having you home before the players had got out of the bath.

The bar at the ground had been taken over for the day by the travellers from Sheffield. The beer was really flowing and it was relatively trouble-free; time was now moving on and with kick-off just around the corner it was time to enter the stadium. One or two plumped for the home end and indulge in a bit of the ultra-violence, but Tommy had come to cheer on the Owls.

Anyway his clobber was too nice for scrapping in, and they were staying out in town once they eventually got back. Wednesday again went and spoilt the day out, but never mind – it was only the first game and the club’s fortunes would quickly turn for the better.

The weary travellers were soon back in Manchester enjoying a couple of beers, while scanning the local football paper, the Pink-Un – a poofy version of the Green-Un in Sheffield. What was wrong with these Mancs? Surely they could choose a better colour than bloody pink, bunch of poofs the lot of them.

Tommy was scanning the results and saw that the heavy weights had all won their opening fixtures: Manchester United, Sunderland, Bolton, Norwich and Fulham. Wednesday would soon put that lot in their place; the Owls had Tommy Craig, Brian Joicey and Fred McIver and the backing of well over 12,000 supporters.

Now it was Bristol Rovers at home; this newly-promoted side had brought thousands and they were all banked on the Leppings Lane end. It was documented years later that the travelling Bristolians thought that because the big end, the Spion Kop at Hillsborough, had half emptied with five minutes to go that everyone was rushing home for their teas, when it fact it was traditional to rush round to the Lepp to seek out the opposition. They added that they were thankful that both teams shared the colours of God. And many just kept their mouths shut on that long walk back to the train station. Those that didn’t received a good kicking from the East Bank Republican Army.

The first month of the season saw the Owls become the strongest side in the division – yes, they were holding everyone else up. But the faithful kept coming and the supporters were rewarded with a great victory over at Bolton, after which it was another fight to get back to the station in one piece. But as always there was safety in numbers, and Wednesdayites travelled en masse and gave as good as they got.

The games were now coming thick and fast and Tommy had to budget to attend most of them. Sometimes, though, the kind people at Sheffield United Tours, the lovable SUT, let them have a free ride. There were always a few small kids on board who would hide under the seats when the driver did his customary head count. Then, once the bus was on the motorway, everyone would crawl from out of the woodwork.

League Cup exploits were again over for another season – after battling Scunthorpe United on and off the field, the game was lost but the battle on the terracing was eventually won. They were a tough nut to crack, those Scunny boys. Now came a chance for Bristol Rovers to seek revenge. Not that many travelled to the mid-week fixture as it was only three days after the Bolton game, but the good old SUT were operating their ‘buy one, get one free’ ticket policy. It was the same result on the pitch, but off it the bovver boot was on the other foot, and Tommy tried in vain to tell the time in a West Country accent. And there was a bit of a draught on the long journey home, with the coach being minus a couple of windows.

On the league front it was not looking good. Wednesday took a battering away at Sunderland and the lads thought that the home fans were only returning the compliment for the torrid time they had received at Hillsborough. When it was time to visit a windswept Blackpool the Owls were beaten 3-1 and they found themselves rock bottom again. Tommy was getting grief on the home front for his match day exploits – his Dad was none too pleased that the trouble was putting him off taking young David to the match. Tommy argued that it was safe enough to visit Hillsborough on a match day and that plenty of other kids attended. But he did advise his Dad not to take the youngster to the forthcoming match; it was those Mancunians and they really were trouble, with a capital T.

The lads met in the Frecheville early doors. Soon they were off into Pond Street where they were met by a marauding mob of Mancs; Ronnie nearly had his scarf ripped from his neck but managed to hang onto it. The usual soccer special trains were full of the bastards, so it was a long walk to Hillsborough. Once they reached the ground they discovered that the East Bank had been overrun, so Tommy and the lads congregated in the bottom corner near to the South Stand and were soon joined by other Wednesdayites.

It was not a place for the fainthearted and the fighting was constant – the police seemed to be fighting a losing battle but eventually they gained control and it was game on. The match finally kicked off and the boys tried to keep one eye on the game and one on the opposition. Wednesday were soon one down, and all around the gloating bastards were giving it large. But the Owls soon wiped that smug smile off their faces as they raced into a 3-1 lead. The Mancs tried to invade the pitch from all sides but the police brought in horses to regain order. One stupid Reds fan jumped into the Kop and finished up at the feet of the Wednesdayites; the boots were working overtime on the bastard. It was payback time.

Half-time and there were loads of smiling faces with the Owls fans enjoying every minute. But yet again the party atmosphere was shattered as Manchester United drew level. The fighting was back on the menu. Wednesday caused more trouble again when they pushed into a 4-3 lead; again it was battle stations all around the ground. The weary Wednesdayites were on the back foot again; many were now retreating into the South Stand and who could blame them? It was like the Alamo and Rorke’s Drift all rolled into one.

Manchester United brought the curtain down on this particular epic when they levelled just near the end. The boys had done themselves justice, just like the players. When some of them limped into the Claymore, they were soon rewarded with a well-earned pint.

After that, the trip to Millwall was like a walk in the park. The Owls were really struggling though, and it was to be an uphill battle if relegation was to be avoided. Even a victory at Southampton couldn’t lift the Owls up the table and they remained firmly stuck in the bottom two. But there was a bit of respite from the league to come with a nice visit to Chelsea in the FA Cup, and the boys had never seen so many Wednesdayites. Well over 7,000 had made the journey and the Rising Sun public house was overrun with jubilant supporters of the Owls. Tommy remembered his other visit back in 1967 when his Granddad Bill had accompanied him to his first ever away game and they’d ended up on the Shed. Wednesday lost that game 1-0 to an injury-time goal, so Tommy was hoping for a better result this afternoon.

Owls fans congregated on the open end and even Chelsea tried to infiltrate the away support, but the Cockneys were no Manchester United and were quite easily repelled. Tommy watched as the Owls raced into a 2-0 advantage, but he had seen this all before. He remembered 1966, when Wednesday were two goals to the good against Everton and it all ended in tears. And so it was on this occasion, as the match ended with the Owls losing 3-2. Still, it had been an enjoyable experience. The boys finished off the evening with a good drink back in Sheffield, contemplating life in the third tier of the football hierarchy. It wasn’t getting any better – defeat followed defeat, and with games running out the visit to Nottingham Forest turned out to be the final nail in the Wednesday coffin. Even the Sheffield Star had tried to ‘Save the Owls’.

Tommy was none too pleased when the club transferred his namesake to Newcastle United. Tommy Craig was a legend but he had served the club well over the previous six seasons, so after the initial disappointment he went with the lads’ blessing. The Owls had not scored a goal for eight games, so the 7,444 went crazy when Brian Joicey scored in the 90th minute to earn Wednesday a point in the Forest game. The final home game of the season rolled around and the fans of Aston Villa took a right liberty, overwhelming the East Bank. But they too were not Manchester United and Wednesdayites pushed and fought their way into them. Why did they need to take the piss? The lads knew that Villa were there to celebrate but Hillsborough had plenty of space on the Leppings Lane. This led to a confrontational atmosphere for most of the game, and the boys loved it. They certainly loved it more than the players, anyway, because the Owls were getting thumped 4-0.

Now it was time for the Villa fans to get thumped. Wednesdayites gathered in their thousands on Penistone Road. Those brave or stupid enough to leave the Kop were getting battered and the police took an age to gain control of the situation. Tommy and the lads now had just one game left, and a few specially chartered trains were taking thousands to Hull City. It was to be the finale, the curtain call before the Owls bade farewell to the Second Division. The big side terrace was full of Wednesdayites and both ends behind each goal saw fighting between the rival supporters. Tommy was on the side terrace and the police were getting a little heavy-handed – he was pushed towards a line of officers and before he knew it their helmets were flying everywhere. Unfortunately he then had his collar felt and was dragged off to a holding cell where he received a caution and was told not to enter the ground again. Yes, he was going to miss the last game of the season.

Outside, the Wednesdayites were outnumbered because most of the Hull fans had been run out of the ground. Tommy was again fighting to stay on his feet after receiving one or two unwelcome kicks, but he had managed to reach the turnstiles. He paid again to enter the ground but stayed well clear of the police – well, he didn’t want to push his luck did he?

Wednesday again failed to hit the back of the net, and recorded their tenth 1-0 loss of the season. That was it – the lads drowned their sorrows at the demise of their great football club in time-honoured tradition, getting wasted in the Crazy Daizy. They needed to quickly erase that terrible season from their memories – but life in the third tier of English football was only a few months away.