of 40 United lads heading down to the Music Factory from town. Kav and myself were 100 yards in front of the rest when who did we bump into but Slimey. He was all suited and booted and out with his workmates. I challenged him and he pleaded that he was out with his workmates and didn’t want any trouble. I didn’t want any trouble when I was playing football, but I’d got it anyway, thanks to him and his cronies.
The rest of United’s lads came around the corner as me and Slimey were arguing.
‘I’m gonna get it here, aren’t I?’ Slimey said as he saw our lot approaching.
‘No, we’re not like you cunts, it’s me and you,’ I said.
The United lads saw Slimey and a few went for him; I mean, he really wasn’t liked at all. For some reason, I found myself holding my mates back and sticking up for Slimey. I must be mad! The thing was, I didn’t want us to lower ourselves to his level. I could just see it in the pub the following week: ‘Forty Berties did me in town while I was out with workmates, fuckin’ wankers.’
Anyhow, Tricky wanted Slimey bad and, as I tried to hold Tricky off, I knew deep down that I had to let him go or fall out with him and I wasn’t falling out with a mate over Slimey, he wasn’t worth it. Tricky bashed Slimey in a one-on-one, a situation that would never have happened if things had been the other way around.
Around two months after the attack at the Sunday-morning football, I was invited out on a Wednesday lad’s birthday. Tinny was friends with a lot of United’s lads. They had grown up together as friends on the tough Woodthorpe Estate. Tinny would often travel to United’s away games, and I’d stuck up for him at Man City once when a few United lads wanted to do him in. The lads who were a few years older than me were petty criminals and were always on the lookout for an earner; while the rest of us just wanted a fight, they would often rob sports shops and pubs. Tinny also liked an earner and came along with our sticky-fingered brigade. In 1983, in Doncaster, two United lads robbed 10 grand from the upstairs of a pub, and both got lifted a week later. One of the lads arrested was actually a professional with Rotherham United and a good mate of mine. The then manager of the Millers (George Kerr) had to go to court to put in a good word for our lad.
Tinny’s birthday left me with a problem. I was bang at it with Wednesday at the time and I’d still got the attack at the Sunday football bouncing about in my head. What didn’t help was the fact that the names of my attackers had been given to me by another Wednesday lad who I put a bit of pressure on. I knew that the same lads would be out on Tinny’s birthday. Anyhow, I turned up but was convinced I was going to get it sooner or later that night or I’d bring trouble on to myself through not being able to get the football attack out of my head. I’d put a small United pin badge on to show my colours and walked in the Blue Bell on High Street as large as life. Around 30 Wednesday were inside, and it was like one of those westerns when a stranger walks into the town saloon. I uneasily made my way to the bar. Tinny was leaning against it and shook my hand.
‘Listen, Tinny, what do you want to drink, as I’ve just popped in to show my face, mate,’ I said, checking out the mumblings of the Wednesday lads over Tinny’s shoulder.
‘Look, Steve, it’s my birthday, and if any of these start with you they can have some of this,’ he told me, pulling a lock knife from his pocket.
Titch and Migs, two of Tinny’s Blades hooligan mates, came over to me. I felt a bit more at ease with two United lads who I knew would stand by me. The night went all right but I still had the nagging doubt that, as the beer flowed, a few Wednesday would get some Dutch courage. Fair play, though, I had no trouble and actually got on well with a lot of them, and one even grassed one of the others up as one of my attackers at football.
I pulled him and he was papping it; he bought me a drink and explained that Slimey had said that it would be a one-on-one with me that day and that he only wanted a bit of back-up in case the rest of my team started.
Later that evening, I took two Wednesday lads called Shen and Dinga into the Music Factory. The Factory had a lot of United lads in who weren’t happy to see the two Wednesday lads and they wanted to do them in. I argued that it would look really bad on us that I had been out all night with them and they’d looked after me, so I had to look after them and I didn’t want to fall out with mates but that’s how it had to be. The two Wednesday went after about an hour, which, to be honest, was a relief for me, as I felt like I was babysitting and couldn’t even go for a piss without worrying what would happen.
The following week on London Road, the usual 30 or 40 of us were out. Luey told me that Pud had been slagging me by calling me a pig lover. In truth, he had a bit of a point, because most of our lot wanted nothing to do with anything blue and white. I pulled Pud and ended up chinning him, as he called me it to my face. This really upset me, as falling out with my own firm and mates was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that I had had more grief with Wednesday than most, yet I was being slagged. I lost it for a while and vowed that I was done with all the bollocks.
A few weeks on, Pud and me made up. Pud later got arrested in Bournemouth, and who was the first one trying to get him off? Me. I managed to talk the plod out of nicking him and our friendship was thankfully back on track.
Just as we thought we had put Wednesday in their rightful place, we got a nasty shock when Wednesday ran us after the Tony Kenworthy Testimonial in 1987. Maybe we had adopted the same disregard for Wednesday that they had had for us a few years earlier. One thing is for sure, that night we got caught out by a Wednesday firm that were desperate for a result against us.
That night was by far the worst I have felt after being run at football. Such is the hatred and rivalry in our city, even Testimonials were an excuse for both firms to have a dig. In the previous couple of years, we’d had Wednesday off quite a few times, so, on the night of Kenworthy’s Testimonial, we didn’t expect to be going home with our tails firmly between our legs. It’s no good trying to gloss over the events with excuses: we got done, simple as.
Everyone gets turned over from time to time but it’s a bitter pill to swallow when it’s your fiercest rivals that have had you on your toes.
Neither firm had gone to the game, although I went and was well pleased with myself, as I acquired Kenworthy’s shirt on the pitch at the final whistle. Kenworthy had been a United centre-half for 12 years after coming through the youth system. I liked how he played; he took no shit, was physical and played with his heart on his sleeve. He and another tough character, Scotsman John McPhail, forged a successful no-nonsense centre-half pairing.
The few years leading up to this game had seen us leg Wednesday’s firm on numerous occasions, so we were pretty confident that we had now got the upper hand. It never entered our heads that we would end up on the back foot that night.
After the match, we’d arranged to meet up at the Lansdowne at the bottom of London Road. It was quite a mixed United mob that stood outside when I arrived. There were a lot of passengers and lads who didn’t really want to fight but felt it was their duty to show their face as, after all, this was Wednesday. In all, around 70 lads set off into town via the back-walks to avoid the police’s attention.
Of that number, around 35 of the crew were our regular lads, enough to take care of business, I thought. Once in town, we emerged at the side of Henry’s wine bar. We caught sight of Wednesday who were further down the road at the side of the not-so-aptly named Peace Gardens. The pre-brawl roar went up and we ran towards the Wednesday firm. Wednesday had around the same numbers as us and we traded punches in the road. They backed off a little as a distress flare dissected them; a leading Wednesday lad was bouncing about in the road holding a knife out in front of him. United’s firm surged and Wednesday started to wobble; at this point, I thought we had them on the go but, fair play, they held it together.
I had ended up at the side of the brawl and it was at this point that I realised that the 30 or so passengers we had with us were stood 20 yards behind the actual fighting