Back in the days before Sky came along and everything smelt of roses and looked all polished, Football was coming out of its darkest hour to date.....with English clubs banned from Europe in the aftermath of Heysel, a competition was devised to give the teams who would have qualified extra revenue and to replace the fixtures that would have been there on european nights..............The Screen Sport Super Cup was devised...Groups of three with the top two going through to the semi finals....wierdly the final was put off until the following season where we battered Everton over two legs, with Stevie Nicol scoring with a header from just inside the box in the 1st leg, to the back drop of proper fighting on the Kop with the blues (freindly derby my a***)
That season I was 16 / 17....and vowed to go to every game...I had started going to aways regularly throughout the 80's but for one reason or another (mostly school and far off night games on school days, coupled with Euro aways which my dad wouldnt let me go to alone........I pleaded with him to let me go alone to Dynam Bucharest away in 84, he said no...you can see his point really!) i had never done a full shift, and it was something I always wanted to do...my BIL always used to bang on about doing it in 77 and it did my head in...So I was sure that this season, was my time......I was in 6th form and bored s***less, so wagging school was no problem.....Money was, but my dad was a bit of a soft touch and I could get round that.....All I had to find was another soft get, preferably with a car, who would take me to whatever was put in our way midweek.............weekends were never a worry...My dad would go to most, and the rest I would get the coach from Anfield....No problems....But midweek was worry.....Cue Fat Dave (the original one), I was alot slimmer then!!!.....He was as stupid as I was, and he was a manager of some printing firm and could get off whenever we wanted..he used to drink in our boozer, and as we live in no mans land, surrounded by Mancs, us Liverpool fans got to know each other pretty quick...So it was done, one balmy August afternoon, over a few pints of guiness we agreed...every game, wherever it was, regardless of the competition...............It's called stupidity
Anyway, we had done ok...but this competition caused the most problems...Our group didnt help us.....Tottenham, Southampton and Norwich......Everton had drawn the Mancs ffs.............Who really wants to go to The Dell, or White Hart Lane on a cold wintery night...and Norwich...this was the worst one of the lot.................it took hours and hours to get there, it may as well be in f***ing Romania....But no, we had to do it...we had made our vow....To Carrow Road we go.....
I cant remember the exact date but it was near my birthday (February), and we had lost to Ipswich at Portman Road on the Saturday previous ( as I considered staying but being a poor student there was little chance).....We met at our usual rendez-vous which was the local boozer...A couple of pints for me, and a coke for Fat Dave, full fat obviously....we got as far as Sheffield when the fun started.....a rattling noise from the engine woke me from my Guiness induced slumber, and we were on the hard shoulder with Dave tinkering with the engine....Thats it, i assumed, we are doomed.....stuck nr Sheffield, miles away from our destination, with a leaking pipe or something all those hours getting to Spurs and The Dell for nowt......Dave with his Liverpool shirt on attracted the attention of a white van going past who pulled up in front and reversed back towards us...Super, help at last....."Need a hand lads" said the builder from the passenger side..."well actually, yes......our erm" was as far as I got before our Sheffield samaritan said "Well you can f*** off yer Scouse c****"...and off they drove into the distance...w*****s....not sure if they were blades or owls, but I have hated them both since, just in case....................Dave assures me its fixed...I aint so sure, mainly to do with the fluid pissing out onto the floor..but what do I know, I aint a mechanic.....so off we go......at 50 miles an hour......it was from then that things started getting worse, mainly to do with the weather.....a thick fog started to close in....by the time we reached Grantham you could see f*** all....there was no way that this game would take place if it was like this in Norwich........so we stop for a bite to eat to see if lifts, sat in a boozer in Lincolnshre with muggins here taking the odd scouting mission outside to see what the fog was doing....if anything it was getting foggier........We are doomed now...Nothing else for it, and before the days of mobiles....I would have to ring Norwich City to see if it was foggy there, and wether it was worth going all that way for f*** all...........to the phone box, in with the 2p's and directory enquiries.......i ring Norwich City ticket office, assuming I have the right number...I was freezing my b****x off and could hardly hear the bird on the line, and was writing with one of those dodgy red ladbrokes pens on the back of my ticket....I was alway distracted by the fact that the phone box was obviously used as a second toilet at booting out time, and was trying to stop myself puking my chips and Guinness back..............
It rang for ages.......this is the wrong number I thought....then, as I was about to replace the reciever....
"'ello?"
"Hello..erm..is this Norwich City?"
"Yerp"
"Sorry?"
"Wart?"
"Is this Norwich City Football Club?"
"Yerp"
"Oh right erm..well I am a Liverpool fan stuck in Grantham cause of thick fog, and wanted to know if it was the same there, cause if it is its likely to be off and we dont want to go any further"
"Righto"
"Well is it?"
"Wart?"
"is it foggy in Norwich"
"Nope"
"Are you sure cause its f***ing foggy in Grantham"
"It moight be fargy in Graanthaam, but there aint no fog in Naarrrrcchh" (or something)
"erm thanks" I think.....click
I am still not sure wether I have rang Frank the Farmer in Kings Lynn or the football club, but hey we'll take our chances....it takes us hours and hours to get down to Norfolk, and sure enough Frank the Farmer was correct, and it was a crisp clear night........The game was unremarkable....I think we were losing one nil, and King Kenny equalised late on....The one thing in those days you could rely on was a full team.....you maye have had a Mark Seagraves on the bench or something, but nothing like now....The likes of Dalglish and Rush would play every game if fit..in every competition...........
When we got back to the car, Dave decides that we should have a night cap in the Mustard Pot, (nr the ground)......it was his one and only pint so who was I to refuse....I only had English Lit the next morning....We downed our pints and left...followed by 6 or 7 young lads....i wasnt nervous at all, but I could feel Dave quicken his step....I looked behind and sure enough, some of the lads were starting to run towards us.....Thats all I need, I thought, 6 hours to this dump to be battered by the local young farmers club.....and there was no chance that Dave was running anywhere fast..the car was about half a mile, up hill away....we had two options...stop and fight or run and either Dave has a heart attack and I have to get the train home.........so we stop.....to my surprise the young farmers were not sure at all by our actions and stood still....i think they thought they would chase us and give us a bit if abuse....but no...Dave, who is a big lad...starts to walk towards them....Nooo, I thought, we have startled them...dont egg them on.....but the site of someone built like a brick out house walking towards them sharpens there minds, and off they trot...shouting the odd obscenity as they get to safety........close f***ing shave!!!!
So happy we have avoided a scrap, with a couple of beers inside us, we set off for our long trip back north......we get as far as Sheffield.....can you see the symmetry? f***ed the engine is...water pissing everywhere, steam, dust and crap....its 02.00 and we are freezing by the side of the road....it takes another hour for the AA to get there, they take 30 minutes deciding the engine was f***ed ( could have told them that at 2pm that afternoon!)......so we get towed back home......at around 5am I get to bed, knackered, cold with my ears bleeding from the yapping ot the AA guy who was a Cardiff fan..."I f***ing hate Swansea I do, Jack b******s..blah blah"
no wonder I failed my English Lit
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