Some good tales and chuckles. Beats people posting about how they hate our players, the price of a pint, free away travel, ticket office woes, and replica strips.
Millwall away 1987 was one of the best. 70 hand picked lads. Some were sent home because they didn't have the minerals. Some decided to lose their way on route. I suppose the odds were against them? 70 of our finest. Facing the unknown in deepest darkest sarf London. One of the days that made us as a group.
Pompey away 2003 before the membership scheme. 12 of us tearing the doors of their pubs right by the ground. Landlord says "too late lads they've fucked off to the game but thanks for coming". A Soton lad I was talking to said it was the nastiest looking mob he's seen for a long time. Grimps away, first day of the membership scheme. We landed before they'd even had their breakfast and we couldn't contain the excitement. Kicked off and we were sent home with letters stating we were banned from the City of Cleethorpes and County of Lincolnshire. Ended up on the piss in Castle all day and late into the night. We were a tight bunch, not just the football but everyone stayed out on the ale and had a chuckle about the day. Calls were made and people came from all corners of the empire to have a drink and a laugh.
Hull brought a van to us, late 80's, parked it on the street outside the away end. It was surrounded by a mob banging on the sides trying to tip it over. Lads inside looked terrified. Inside the ground we ran them ragged up through the stairwell at half time then back down the other side. It was like the Keystone cops.
Cardiff at home in the cup, they brought a handful. Bear in mind they were a tiny club then with gates of about 4,000. Not the big mobs they had around the turn of the century. A Taff lad in a Burberry check shirts says "you've got no form, Stoke". Next second my mate knocks him out straight cold. "Have that you cheeky cunt" he says. Then we rag them down the street. Comedy gold.
Liverpool at home in the stairwell when they were losing their trainers in the melee. Chucking stuff down from above in the Boothen seats til we got the doors open and taught them a lesson. same game, afterwards getting to the station before their escort, an angry mob waiting on the corner in the darkness bricks and bottles in hand. They turned the corner, maybe 5 or 6 thousand of them. Raining missiles down on them, the coppers having to push them around the corner to get them to move. backed them right off, they wouldn't cross the road to us. Blood down the front of my pristine white ST top but I didn't care. We went hand to hand into them, backing them off every time. First time I saw blades flashed and it incensed me, made me lick more bricks off the road and next time I aimed for heads. Enraged that anyone could threaten my fellow Stokies with metal.
Grimsby ay home, so many lads on the pitch and on the streets after, it was unbelievable.
Wigan away, a mob 600 strong the likes of which would have taken anyone on. Absolutely horrible horrible lads. Every single face you'd ever imagine.
Late 80's, I was sitting with my Derby mate (we were playing them) in the Stoke End seats. An uncomfortable silence at first as each mob was sat close together. Then it went off, and we were experts in seat warfare. It went full mental. They were up against the wall with nowhere to go and we ran them ragged. Same season, same routine against Bradford, Oldham, Sheff, Pompey, Barnsley.
Brizzle away, 2003 a nice tight little 30 of us evaded the escort on the bridge by the park after the game. Brizz couldn't touch us and got ragged. Bricks and gas and they still couldn't budge this little group. Numbers mean nothing when you're up against the best. Brizzle were a shitty third rate little firm.
My little brigade was all Castle lads. Well dressed psychopaths. Some of the best dressed casuals at Stoke. Still are. Hard for onlookers and JCL's to comprehend. Times were different. Put on your best Diadora Borg Elite, Hardcore jeans, Sergio Tacchini tennis shirt, Cerruti 1881 wool jumper and stroll around the streets looking for foes. Dodge the back alleys, watch for minivans, scan for unfamiliar faces. Always the uncomfortable scent of violence. Always the opportunity to defend your kingdom from rampaging enemies. Always the chance to put another page in the historical records of those times.
The clothes. The mates. The beer. The laughs. The camaraderie. The memories.