Motherwell: Saturday is Service Day

manscript extract two:

The next round of the League Cup saw us paired with Dundee United, a Premier League team, again over two legs. The first game was at home and we won a great game 2-1, wearing United’s away strip for some reason, heard ours were lost in a fire or something. Two weeks later it was off to Dundee with hopes high. We arrived at their ground, Tannadice, and took up position under cover behind a goal. This was traditionally the home end but we were early and no-one was inside the ground yet. Along the steep terrace to our left a fence separated rival supporters and most of the ‘Well fans would be over there, but around 50 of us were intent on taking their end. I was there solely because the guys I went with were there, I had no desire to take their end but I didn’t want to let the others know I was scared. I suspect many of them felt the same. So there we all were, waiting. The United fans coming from all sides but none challenged us. A couple were told to move by some of our older lads and quietly they obeyed. As kick-off drew closer and the end filled up, older, bigger United fans came in and just looked at us. They stood to our left. We were lined up against the back wall with a gap of around 10-12 feet all around us. Some United were getting closer simply because the end was nearly full apart from our space. They didn’t seem too keen being at the front, but one or two were growing visibly indignant at our presence. All eyes were on us, very few turned to acknowledge their team taking the field. Motherwell trooped onto the park, we cheered and burst into song. Still United did nothing. One lad caught my eye, he was standing on a barrier, pointing at us. I noticed activity in the crowd in front of me. Some large boys had appeared through the throng, gesturing at us to go for it. I looked around at our boys, no-one was talking, everybody was looking at United, watching for them to make a move. This guy from our bus, wee John, appeared in front of me, "Are you ready?", he hissed through his teeth. I nodded. I was shaking, part fear, part excitement. John went round every one of us, asking the same question. He walked past me again towards the United fans on my left who were inching forward. Suddenly he darted forward screaming "Let’s go Motherwell." He ran head first into two big United lads, wrapping his arms round them, forcing them back into the crowd. One of them connected with a barrier and let out a painful yell. The Motherwell on my left followed, swinging punches and kicks. The rest of us piled forward down the steps into the big lads in front of us. They didn’t expect this. Within seconds they were on the pitch. We backed off regrouping. I saw one of my mates, Danny, scuffling on the ground with two United fans. I stepped forward and booted one in the kidneys. He rolled down the steps into the crowd. Danny got up and kicked his victim a couple of times. One guy ran forward at him, I swung my boot and caught him in the stomach. No-one else tried anything. We stood and waited for a counter attack which didn’t come. The Old Bill (I had stopped calling them police lately) were strangely absent through all this, but they suddenly appeared and pushed us towards the exit on our right. Once out of the Shed we went right, following a path which took us round the back of the terracing towards our own end. The path also led to the back entrance of the place we’d just vacated. The guys at the front piled through the gap to continue the assault, an action which saw a few being arrested. We continued on our way to the other side where more United were gathered. We surged forward again, fighting our way through to the side terrace. The Old Bill had left us, seemingly content in stopping the initial fracas. When we got onto the side terrace, we realised the game had been stopped while United fans were re-housed behind the goal again. We joined the main bulk of the Motherwell support on the other side of the fence where much back slapping ensued. I was quite bewildered. The adrenaline was still pumping through my body after my first real voluntary involvement in football violence. Danny appeared and thanked me for helping him out then went on to enthuse about the chaos we had caused. I was just happy to get out of there in one piece, but during all the self congratulations I felt I belonged, I was one of the lads and that felt good. What’s more, rather than like at Ayr where they had embarrassed us, we had our pride back as we had gone to a bigger club’s ground and embarrassed them on their own patch.

It wasn’t quite over though. They were hurt and wanted revenge and had about 80 minutes to do it. I noticed their end looked rather empty, then I realised they were gathering behind us and to the left. This looked ominous, some of our lads weren’t quite so cocky now. They were worried, I was worried, again!! We only had one busload of idiots up there, they were at home with a good few hundred angry young men. Just then some well-known faces appeared behind the goal to our left. I had wondered why there were so few of us at the start of it all. It turned out one of the buses had been delayed and here they were, like the Cavalry. They quickly made their way round beside us and almost immediately I saw a bottle flying into the United fans who stood in the way. Everyone turned and flew at them from our end forcing them back up the terracing and out the back exit. We had triumphed again. Some more back slapping but I was still uneasy. We lost 2-1, meaning extra-time. In the first period we scored to go ahead on aggregate. We gathered behind the goal for the rest of the game. Again United came round but were headed off by the screws who threw a cordon between us. We eventually lost 5-4 on aggregate but the talk on the way home was not of the match, but our victory on the terraces.