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I see Clive reported on a few QPR fans trying to get to the Millwall fans on the way to the ground, seen lots of videos from various places all over the country recently showing fights or attempted fights , there were middle aged blokes fighting teenagers at Plymouth v Pompey this week, Leeds and Forest the week before, not to mention that thick Chelsea fan getting knocked out at the weekend. So my question is, is the great English disease on the increase again?
Without saying too much about it, I work in this kind of line and I can confirm this type of behaviour is definitely on the rise - and it's certainly not just in the UK. Across Europe there's a lot more of this carry-on every match day than there was pre-Covid, without a doubt
I get the bit about kiddies wanting to act-up because they’re dopey youngsters, and I get the bit about fat old blokes being faces and enjoying the fact that they’re respected by their hoolie peers and youngsters for their tales of taking on 300 blokes single-handedly, but people who actually enjoy hurting other people as opposed to just mouthing-off and pavement dancing, aren’t they just mentally damaged?
Yeah I don’t disagree.
That’s only one element of the hooligan demographic though.
Please do not mistake any of what I’m saying as a defence of hooliganism. But equal societies rarely have a thriving hooligan culture and hooliganism always rises during periods of austerity or turbulence.
You'll always get lads fighting where there's rivalry, drink and drugs. Maybe cocaine use is on the increase, which will increase obnoxious behavior.? I do think fans are fed up with football atm though, maybe even a little bored of the whole greedy fiasco.
It does feel a very, very angry place at the moment. Lots of people just not giving a fck. The amount of fcking litter around the place too, drive down A roads now and it's basically like 30 miles of elongated council tip.
Interesting you should talk about litter. Outside a Halfords in Watford the other day. A bloke throw at empty cardboard box on the ground beside his car. The box had contained a 12 v hand held hoover. He was quite happy to keep his own car clean but didn’t give a flying f**k up about littering the area around him .It’s the “ I’m all right Jack “ attitude that pervades our society now. God I’m getting old!
I've got no problem with how they do it in some other countries (mainly Eastern Europe) - arranged fights in the woods. Numbers agreed beforehand, no weapons used etc. Keeps it all away from the normal football-going public and no-one gets mixed up in it that doesn't want to
If you go down to the woods today You're sure of a big surprise...
Interesting you should talk about litter. Outside a Halfords in Watford the other day. A bloke throw at empty cardboard box on the ground beside his car. The box had contained a 12 v hand held hoover. He was quite happy to keep his own car clean but didn’t give a flying f**k up about littering the area around him .It’s the “ I’m all right Jack “ attitude that pervades our society now. God I’m getting old!
Don’t want to tar every van driver with the same brush as am sure it’s not just delivery drivers but I have noticed when we get deliveries in our street they is nearly always empty kfc McDonald’s and Nando’s boxes left behind plus seems to be a thing with little bottles of tonic wine all strewn across the street. Yeah I sound old too! But it does get your nerves.
Don’t want to tar every van driver with the same brush as am sure it’s not just delivery drivers but I have noticed when we get deliveries in our street they is nearly always empty kfc McDonald’s and Nando’s boxes left behind plus seems to be a thing with little bottles of tonic wine all strewn across the street. Yeah I sound old too! But it does get your nerves.
You can always join your local litter picking group and do your bit to clean up after lazy sods who can’t do it for themselves. It’s normally us old gits with little else to do,but it gets me away from the tv for a couple of mornings a month,and it does get you fitter and cleans up your neighbourhood.What’s not to like?
Don’t want to tar every van driver with the same brush as am sure it’s not just delivery drivers but I have noticed when we get deliveries in our street they is nearly always empty kfc McDonald’s and Nando’s boxes left behind plus seems to be a thing with little bottles of tonic wine all strewn across the street. Yeah I sound old too! But it does get your nerves.
Bloody Manchester United fans here in Barcelona tonight, its not the fighting but the bloody littering that got me! Had the misfortune of walking through Plaza Real where they'd all been drinking and it was a mess. Does it really take that much effort just to show a tiny bit of respect for your environment and the people around? Its not a huge effort to put a beer can in the bin is it? Yeah I'm getting old
Yet again, QPR fail. When did we last produce a good, high-quality hooligan? They just get picked up by Chelsea these days at 12, and work their way from the Family Stand through the Matthew Harding Upper to the Matthew Harding lower and we never get a look in. Les has to answer for this. How many years now has he had to build a firm? And yet all we get are these lads who just won't put in a shift, don't know how to throw a punch. I don't blame Critchley for this. It's Hoos and Les and his mates. They should be looking at the lower league clubs to get cheap hooligans. Barrow style themselves "the Millwall of non-League". Why aren't we scouting the Barrow hooligans?
Agreed. Les has had 8 years to sort this out and this is the best he's come up with.
With the exception of a Forest casual who felt the need to tell me how many times him and his little mob had come unstuck, virtually every football violence anecdote is something along these lines:
Swindon away, Freight Rover trophy area quarter-final, must have been 86 or 87. Tuesday night game. Thirty of us got the first train out of Paddington, and plotted up in their main boozer when it opened. Caught them completely unawares. Ten minutes later one of their top boys comes in, says, “You’ve got 5 minutes to fu ck-off” then walks out.
We know what’s coming next, so everyone’s buzzing. Me, Micky T and Jay take up position in the doorway, whilst the rest of our mob grab anything they can get their hands on; glasses, those big old chunky glass ashtrays, pool cues, a 600 x 1500 radiator… and we’re fuc king buzzing cos we know it’s about to come on top.
A few minutes later, their mob turn up. Must have easily been five or six hundred of them. Probably more. All big lumps. They come steaming across the road, I grab a traffic cone, Micky T’s swinging a kid’s bike around, and we’re going toe-to-toe with Swindon’s top fuc king boys. After a few minutes they back off and regroup on the other side of the street.
All the pub windows have been put through, the carpet is covered in glass, and there’s claret everywhere, but everyone’s fu cking buzzing. No Old Bill anywhere cos they’re not expecting us this early.
There’s a bit of a stand-off, things being lobbed backwards and forwards across the street. Jay throws a sandwich board halfway across the street, one of their lads throws it halfway back. And then, out of nowhere, a load of off-duty fuc king paras and SAS from Salisbury Plains turn up and mob up with Swindon. Turns out they were on a stag-do and heard it had all gone off. Next thing, I hear this big fuc king explosion, look round and half the front of the pub’s missing! I look over the road and one of the paras has got a fu cking bazooka!
All our lot pile back into the boozer and barricade ourselves in with tables, chairs, big boxes of Quavers; everything we can get our hands on. Me and Micky T drag a fruit machine over to block the door, and slip on the safety chain. Swindon, the paras and SAS are trying to storm the pub, but we hold them off for what must have been 3 or 4 hours. Suddenly, it all quietens down, but then I hear an engine starting-up. It’s getting louder. Next thing I know, the whole fuc king roof of the pub is lifted off! There’s a building site opposite the pub and one of their mob has nicked a crane and used it to lift the fu cking roof off the pub! I swear to you! I swear on my boy’s life!
Anyway, Swindon’s mob and the SAS start abseiling into the boozer from the crane, the paras are fuc king parachuting in from Hercules transport planes from RAF Brize Norton, so the shout goes up to regroup in the snug. We battled our way into the snug and then, just as things were really coming on top, the Old Bill turned-up and Swindon were on their toes. One of our biggest results of the season, cos make no mistake, they were game as fu ck.
After the game, we came out the ground, and Swindon’s mob, the paras and SAS were all waiting outside the away end, and we were like, here we fu cking go, but then they all just started clapping and their main boy came up, saluted me,and pinned a medal on my jumper. He said, “We’ve never seen a mob as game as you lot. Do you wanna be friends at England games?”. Different world back then.
With the exception of a Forest casual who felt the need to tell me how many times him and his little mob had come unstuck, virtually every football violence anecdote is something along these lines:
Swindon away, Freight Rover trophy area quarter-final, must have been 86 or 87. Tuesday night game. Thirty of us got the first train out of Paddington, and plotted up in their main boozer when it opened. Caught them completely unawares. Ten minutes later one of their top boys comes in, says, “You’ve got 5 minutes to fu ck-off” then walks out.
We know what’s coming next, so everyone’s buzzing. Me, Micky T and Jay take up position in the doorway, whilst the rest of our mob grab anything they can get their hands on; glasses, those big old chunky glass ashtrays, pool cues, a 600 x 1500 radiator… and we’re fuc king buzzing cos we know it’s about to come on top.
A few minutes later, their mob turn up. Must have easily been five or six hundred of them. Probably more. All big lumps. They come steaming across the road, I grab a traffic cone, Micky T’s swinging a kid’s bike around, and we’re going toe-to-toe with Swindon’s top fuc king boys. After a few minutes they back off and regroup on the other side of the street.
All the pub windows have been put through, the carpet is covered in glass, and there’s claret everywhere, but everyone’s fu cking buzzing. No Old Bill anywhere cos they’re not expecting us this early.
There’s a bit of a stand-off, things being lobbed backwards and forwards across the street. Jay throws a sandwich board halfway across the street, one of their lads throws it halfway back. And then, out of nowhere, a load of off-duty fuc king paras and SAS from Salisbury Plains turn up and mob up with Swindon. Turns out they were on a stag-do and heard it had all gone off. Next thing, I hear this big fuc king explosion, look round and half the front of the pub’s missing! I look over the road and one of the paras has got a fu cking bazooka!
All our lot pile back into the boozer and barricade ourselves in with tables, chairs, big boxes of Quavers; everything we can get our hands on. Me and Micky T drag a fruit machine over to block the door, and slip on the safety chain. Swindon, the paras and SAS are trying to storm the pub, but we hold them off for what must have been 3 or 4 hours. Suddenly, it all quietens down, but then I hear an engine starting-up. It’s getting louder. Next thing I know, the whole fuc king roof of the pub is lifted off! There’s a building site opposite the pub and one of their mob has nicked a crane and used it to lift the fu cking roof off the pub! I swear to you! I swear on my boy’s life!
Anyway, Swindon’s mob and the SAS start abseiling into the boozer from the crane, the paras are fuc king parachuting in from Hercules transport planes from RAF Brize Norton, so the shout goes up to regroup in the snug. We battled our way into the snug and then, just as things were really coming on top, the Old Bill turned-up and Swindon were on their toes. One of our biggest results of the season, cos make no mistake, they were game as fu ck.
After the game, we came out the ground, and Swindon’s mob, the paras and SAS were all waiting outside the away end, and we were like, here we fu cking go, but then they all just started clapping and their main boy came up, saluted me,and pinned a medal on my jumper. He said, “We’ve never seen a mob as game as you lot. Do you wanna be friends at England games?”. Different world back then.
Actually spat my coffee out inadvertently at 'big boxes of Quavers'!!
Actually spat my coffee out inadvertently at 'big boxes of Quavers'!!
Do you know what, other than the pub that got destroyed and the terrified bar staff, and the enormous waste of police resources when we’re all moaning about living in a lawless society, it was just like-minded lads going at it, basically just like a game of British bulldog that got a bit out of hand. The English have always been a fighting nation: Nelson, Napoleon, Big Daddy… Gripper Stebson off of Grange Hill. At Wookey Hole in Somerset, there are cave drawings of English cavemen attacking dinosaurs with patio furniture — it’s in our DNA.
With the exception of a Forest casual who felt the need to tell me how many times him and his little mob had come unstuck, virtually every football violence anecdote is something along these lines:
Swindon away, Freight Rover trophy area quarter-final, must have been 86 or 87. Tuesday night game. Thirty of us got the first train out of Paddington, and plotted up in their main boozer when it opened. Caught them completely unawares. Ten minutes later one of their top boys comes in, says, “You’ve got 5 minutes to fu ck-off” then walks out.
We know what’s coming next, so everyone’s buzzing. Me, Micky T and Jay take up position in the doorway, whilst the rest of our mob grab anything they can get their hands on; glasses, those big old chunky glass ashtrays, pool cues, a 600 x 1500 radiator… and we’re fuc king buzzing cos we know it’s about to come on top.
A few minutes later, their mob turn up. Must have easily been five or six hundred of them. Probably more. All big lumps. They come steaming across the road, I grab a traffic cone, Micky T’s swinging a kid’s bike around, and we’re going toe-to-toe with Swindon’s top fuc king boys. After a few minutes they back off and regroup on the other side of the street.
All the pub windows have been put through, the carpet is covered in glass, and there’s claret everywhere, but everyone’s fu cking buzzing. No Old Bill anywhere cos they’re not expecting us this early.
There’s a bit of a stand-off, things being lobbed backwards and forwards across the street. Jay throws a sandwich board halfway across the street, one of their lads throws it halfway back. And then, out of nowhere, a load of off-duty fuc king paras and SAS from Salisbury Plains turn up and mob up with Swindon. Turns out they were on a stag-do and heard it had all gone off. Next thing, I hear this big fuc king explosion, look round and half the front of the pub’s missing! I look over the road and one of the paras has got a fu cking bazooka!
All our lot pile back into the boozer and barricade ourselves in with tables, chairs, big boxes of Quavers; everything we can get our hands on. Me and Micky T drag a fruit machine over to block the door, and slip on the safety chain. Swindon, the paras and SAS are trying to storm the pub, but we hold them off for what must have been 3 or 4 hours. Suddenly, it all quietens down, but then I hear an engine starting-up. It’s getting louder. Next thing I know, the whole fuc king roof of the pub is lifted off! There’s a building site opposite the pub and one of their mob has nicked a crane and used it to lift the fu cking roof off the pub! I swear to you! I swear on my boy’s life!
Anyway, Swindon’s mob and the SAS start abseiling into the boozer from the crane, the paras are fuc king parachuting in from Hercules transport planes from RAF Brize Norton, so the shout goes up to regroup in the snug. We battled our way into the snug and then, just as things were really coming on top, the Old Bill turned-up and Swindon were on their toes. One of our biggest results of the season, cos make no mistake, they were game as fu ck.
After the game, we came out the ground, and Swindon’s mob, the paras and SAS were all waiting outside the away end, and we were like, here we fu cking go, but then they all just started clapping and their main boy came up, saluted me,and pinned a medal on my jumper. He said, “We’ve never seen a mob as game as you lot. Do you wanna be friends at England games?”. Different world back then.
I remember that game.
'What do we want? We don't know! When do we want it? Now!'
Loads of people remember it because of the bazooka, the off-duty SAS and 2 Para stag-do, and the crane lifting the pub roof and upstairs clean off. I think it got a mention in one of Cass Pennant’s books. Almost forty years ago now. Mad the things that stick in your memory.
Loads of people remember it because of the bazooka, the off-duty SAS and 2 Para stag-do, and the crane lifting the pub roof and upstairs clean off. I think it got a mention in one of Cass Pennant’s books. Almost forty years ago now. Mad the things that stick in your memory.
I understand the tension there mate, but it would have been decent of you to ask if the crane operative could have put the pub roof over the away end for a shifty £20.
there are street scuffles all over the uk, many a punch up at the weekend outside pubs, take aways , cab ranks but only soccer gets a mention. sadly people do whack each other , i have seen school kids in gang fights do some of the worst violence i have seen on the tube, and they put soccer fans to shame. oddly why do it at footy cos of the cctv and policing? rarely see police away from footy.
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