Читать книгу Steel City Rivals - One City. Two Football Clubs, One Mutually Shared Hatred - Steve Cowens - Страница 19

Wednesday’s result after the Kenworthy game no doubt added a new enthusiasm into their firm. They thought they had stemmed the tide but it just proved to be a false dawn. Desperate to follow up the running of a Blades mob, they started doing a few naughty ones like turning up tooled up to attack a group of Blades who used to have a kickabout together. But revenge came the following Friday in the shape of an attack on a well-known Wednesday pub which resulted in two Wednesday lads being hospitalised. Things got very tetchy in Sheffield around this time.

Every now and again, South Yorkshire Police would let both Sheffield teams play on the same day, which, on one occasion, cost me a day in the cells.

Across the city, towards Barnsley, out in the sticks, is the home of Wednesday, whose home is Hillsborough or Swillsborough as we Blades prefer. Their visitors in February 1987 were West Ham and following their team were one of the most respected firms in the country, the ICF. Visiting Bramall Lane on the same day were Plymouth Argyle, a non-event on the football hooligan calendar. That must have been the police’s reasoning for letting both games go ahead on the same day. Our firm were a bit in limbo during the weeks leading up to the game but in the end no arrangements were made, as we saw West Ham as Wednesday’s problem. A big Wednesday turnout was expected so we decided to meet up in the Penny Black straight after our game, reasoning that we could get into town first and plot up and wait. Also, any West Ham firm would have to walk past the Penny, so it was ideal on both fronts. Wednesday must have had a firm’s meeting and I reckon it went like this:

‘We’ll meet in the Blue Bell and jump West Ham as they come into town.’

‘No, let’s go down London Road at 12 o’clock; there’ll be no Blades about so we can take the piss a bit and it’ll save us getting mashed in by West Ham. All those in favour of London Road, raise their hands. Carried unanimously, London Road it is!’

That morning, I knew a handful of our lot were meeting in the Dodgers pub near the train station. I drove down in my car, reasoning that I could have a look-see if the West Ham firm were around or Wednesday for that matter. When I entered the Dodgers, around a dozen United lads were playing pool.

I got restless and went for a drive around town to see if any firms were around. As I drove along Arundel Gate, I saw a good mob of 100-plus boys heading away from town towards Bramall Lane. On closer inspection, I realised that it was a Wednesday firm and the alarm bells told me that they were out on a Blade hunt. It was only midday and Wednesday knew full well that no Blades firm would be around in any numbers; it was a total cop out by Wednesday. They had a good mob out but chose to avoid any confrontation with a West Ham mob.

I tracked the OCS until they got near London Road, then sped around the back of the Lansdowne (our pub at the time) and ran inside. No one was in except my mate Badger. I grabbed him and told him to get out quick. Just as we got out the back door. Wednesday came in the front. Badger was 40 seconds from hospitalisation. We jumped in the car and headed back to the Dodgers.

Only a handful more of our lot were gathered inside. I hurriedly explained that Wednesday had a big team out and were on London Road. The odds against us were heavily stacked but we had to go and defend our patch. We parked up at the Sheaf on Bramall Lane and walked the short distance to London Road.

A quick body count showed 23, but a good 23. We started encouraging each other to stick together and not to leave anyone.

‘Start running and someone’s going to get battered by them,’ I reasoned.

As we approached from a side street, the landlord of the Pheasant gave us all the nod. His body language told us that Wednesday were just around the corner. We couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see us. This actually suited us and we ran on to the petrol-station forecourt and armed ourselves with whatever we could. For my part, I emptied the sand out of a steel bin, zipped up my hood and prepared for battle. Some of the lads got fire extinguishers. It was pretty obvious it was going to come on top but, if we could just take them by surprise, we might just get ourselves a result from the top drawer. And take them by surprise we did! I ran around the corner swinging the steel bin like a demented hammer thrower. Wednesday were shocked and, as everyone steamed in, they backed away. Our numbers didn’t really matter at this point, as Wednesday had no idea how many we had coming around that corner and you could see this in their faces.

A couple of our lot were bluffing by shouting more imaginary boys to join our plight from around the corner. Wednesday regrouped outside the Tramway and came pouring back at us, with bricks and bottles raining down. Reefer copped a brick straight in the face and staggered away from the frontline. I tried to stand my ground by swinging the bin in front of me. I remember thinking the cardinal sin for a hooligan: ‘Where’s the fuckin’ coppers when you want them?’ It was on top big time.

By now, I’d got them all around me and some had even gone past me in the brawl. I was in that bad situation where, if you run, you have a good chance of getting tripped and a certain beating but standing any longer was not an option. I threw the bucket to try to give myself a yard to do one. As I turned and ran, someone clipped the back of my legs causing me to stumble. One tried to grab me and I punched him in my panic to get away, my arse twitching like a rabbit’s nose.

Our little firm were being chased down London Road with the sound of ‘OCS, OCS’ ringing in our ears. We ran towards the Lansdowne and Pete the landlord was standing in the doorway issuing our lads with bats and pool cues as they hurtled inside. Howie and myself didn’t have the chance to get in the pub, as our lot crushed through the doors, so we ran around the back. The pub was totalled.

The two of us at the back of the pub loaded up with rocks and launched our attack as we ran back around and threw our ammo at the Wednesday masses that were attacking our pub. The OB screeched up and Wednesday started to walk away as the coppers got their shit together. Most of our lot came out of the pub and insults were exchanged.

I shouted over to a Wednesday lad I knew, ‘What was that about? West Ham too big for you?’

As Wednesday were escorted back into town, we put the word out that everyone should meet up at the Lanny straight after the game. Revenge time. After the game, around 70 Blades had met. To be honest, it wasn’t the best mob we’ve had and it reminded me much of the firm we had out for the Kenworthy debacle. We headed to the Penny Black in town. News soon came through that Wednesday were drinking in the Yorkshireman pub at the top end of town. Without further ado, we set off to war.

I walked to the pub with 15 others as the rest hid in the Peace Gardens. We wanted to get Wednesday out on the street; there was no result in just attacking the pub. The plan was to get them outside by backing away as far as the end of the road and the rest would then run up and join us. We went to the doors and Titch shouted inside, ‘Come on, Wednesday, we’re here.’

Wednesday threw glasses at the door and we backed away into the street. Our hidden crew had got restless and came charging around the corner – a good plan ruined. ‘BBC, BBC,’ echoed in the dark street and the pub was smashed to bits, even the big heavy double doors were ripped from their hinges. Wednesday defended the doors by launching whatever came to hand. It went on for ages and, by the time the plod turned up, a lot of our lot had walked away. Four Blades and one Wednesday were arrested at the scene. No result could be claimed by us as we hadn’t done anything other than attack a pub.

One week later, a coach full of United lads were pulled over by the police on the Sheffield Parkway. Four lads were arrested including myself. I was locked up for six hours, questioned twice and release without charge. I’d been grassed up by one of my own.