Читать книгу For The Claret & Blue - Mickey Smith - Страница 12
ОглавлениеI never really had a choice in the matter, even if I had wanted one. Being born and raised in the Barking and Dagenham area, if you liked football you were West Ham – simple. I can’t remember anyone around me supporting anyone else. As a little kid I’d see the older local boys come home from Upton Park walking in gangs and singing, and I could feel the envy growing inside me and wish that I was old enough to go with them. That’s what it was about: belonging.
You don’t choose West Ham, it chooses you. If it were just about picking a winning football team you’d pick Manchester United, Liverpool or Arsenal instead of a team where you never knew whether or not they were going to be relegated or maybe get promotion. One year they’re playing out of their skins to get a draw from Chelsea or Spurs and the next season you have the delight of seeing them play Grimsby or Barnsley or even losing 5-2 against Tranmere Rovers in the cold and the rain. But you know you’ll be back to see it all over again. If nothing else, it gives you a great sense of humour – what other supporters would sing, ‘We’re going down, we’re going down, you’re not, you’re not’?
But everything would be forgotten at the sight of a Tony Cottee goal. The South Bank would erupt as one and surge forward. People would go over in the rush and someone they’d never seen before would pick them up and they’d jump up and down together. And who could forget such sights as Martin Allen scorching through the midfield and letting go with a thirty-yard screamer into the roof of the net, or Julian Dicks going into a crunching tackle and picking up the poor attacker by the throat. It would make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
Without a doubt we have the most vocal and loyal supporters in the country. Everyone remembers the FA Cup semi-final at Villa Park with the non-stop chanting of ‘Billy Bonds’ Claret and Blue Army’, but the atmosphere was similar at all games. If it started to go a bit quiet, a quick shot of ‘North Bank, North Bank, give us a song’ would get the ball rolling again. The feeling of getting off the tube at Upton Park and walking down Green Street (sometimes down the middle with the traffic forced to a standstill) towards the Boleyn for a quick pint or six would make you nervous with anticipation. Then, leaving the pub with only ten minutes to spare, the noise coming from the ground would grab you by the scruff of the neck and pull you towards the turnstiles, a lot quicker than you would normally walk, for a quick frisk by the local constabulary, and then you’re in and taking your place just before kick-off. The sheer noise of shouting and singing would give you such a buzz you knew why, win, lose or draw, you would be back to do it all over again.
The date is December 12, 1992. I had a date with an Australian girl and West Ham were at home to Southend United. The game was obviously going to be another ‘classic’ that I could not afford to miss, so I asked her if she’d like to come along. She generally hated all sports, but after I convinced her that there would be no trouble at the match she agreed to come. She couldn’t believe what was happening. The amount of people walking down Green Street, the singing and dancing on the pool tables in the Boleyn and then what was happening inside the ground. We stood in front of a crush barrier, so she wouldn’t get knocked about too much, and next to us was a bloke with a young kid of about three or four on his shoulders and they were both singing ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’. I think we won 2-0, or 2-1 – the score didn’t matter, it was magic on the South Bank that day and my date enjoyed the atmosphere so much she made several trips back. We later married and moved to Australia in 1994.
Not long after I emigrated, West Ham had a summer tour Down Under and were due to play at Lang Park, the home of Rugby League in Queensland, and just down the road from where we live. Of course, I had to go. When I got there I could not believe my eyes. The place was awash with claret and blue. I’ve no idea where they all came from, as normally the only football shirts you see around here are Man U or AC Milan. A rather large person walked by the section where I was and was greeted with a chorus of ‘Who ate all the pies’. And this was Brisbane, not London E13! When the West Ham side was announced I only knew about two of the players. I think most of the first team were pissing it up on the Gold Coast. I can’t remember who we played (I think it might have been the Australian Under-19 side or something), but I know that we lost. Same old West Ham.
So what about now? People are always asking me if I miss home and I say that the only things I miss are my family and friends, West Ham and decent pubs. Most people then say, ‘What are West Ham?’ Now I rely on TV and radio coverage, and keeping in touch over the phone and Internet. But I’m still a passionate supporter, and, in fact, probably spend more time on West Ham-related things now than when I was back in England. I’ll be over at the end of the year for a holiday, and of course a visit to Upton Park. Am I a glutton for punishment or what?
