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Post by Mr_DaftBurger on Oct 6, 2015 22:00:09 GMT
The only thing I remember was Denis Smith's last game! Was in Belize for the Holocaust season, was convinced the signallers were fucking about! Scotland and Cyprus for 3 years each. Was a decade for drinkers, that's for sure! Was the Norwich game the last game of the season? I rember one against them when there was a very small crowd, Norwich wankers (Derek and Clive!)!
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Post by Deleted on Oct 6, 2015 22:03:50 GMT
Luckily or unluckily that was probably the only Glebe trip I wasn't on. Brum, Luton (2) Pompey,Sheff U ,Everton ,Wolves, Villa spring immediately to mind. Probably unlucky, it was another epic adventure. I think the following year was when it morphed into train mobs on the service schedule. Then "rental mental" in the back of hire vans. For some reason my lot ended up with an allegiance to Blurton/Longton, so van roller shutter doors would open up, often on the motorway at speed, to reveal its horrible contents to any interested parties complete with beer bottles, crates, milk bottles and any assortment of useful tools.
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Post by mattintheprem on Oct 6, 2015 22:56:23 GMT
I was a young teen in the early 80's so it still seemed exciting to me, I didn't really take much notice of the trouble
Early 80's - Walking back after the game past the Boothen Stand slowly because the big Police Black Maria Van always blocked the road Old guy selling Sentinel's after the game shouting - 'nilllllllllll' "We want football" protests after the games, lads chucking coins at the windows of the directors lounge The joy of that win against Wolves on the last day Mark Chamberlain being on a different level to anything i'd seen before, shame about the rest of the team, losing 3-0 at home to West Brom and he got a standing ovation Only thing two things I can remember about the holocaust season (& I had my first ever season ticket!) was the last home game against Chelsea and seeing away fans in strange bright coloured jumpers when following their escort to the railway station & the boxing day win against the Shit, the rest of that season seems to have been wiped from the memory banks Singing "Harry Roberts is our friend" but didn't have a clue why, staring at big blokes wearing NCB jackets going wild eyed when the police came to front of the Boothen with about 5 minutes to go as they hurled insults at them, "Maggies Boot Boys" was one of the more pleasant offerings!
Mid 80's - An FA Cup run!!!!!!!! Thrashing Leeds every season Mick Mills just needed more time Standing at the back of the Boothen End and feeling cool
Late 80's - Climbing onto the fence in the Boothen Paddock to celebrate with Keith Bertschin Away days to every corner of the country to every poxy ground that existed and losing at most of them Bradford fire & playing them at Elland Road at the start of the next season Hillsborough & Scott Barrett tying a Liverpool scarf to the goal net at the next home game Growing older & realising that there was more to life than football, particularly if you were a Stoke fan (fortunately re-kindled the love within a few years later thanks to Lou)
All in all the 80's was pretty exciting for a young Stokie but I didn't know any better!
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Post by outspaced on Oct 6, 2015 23:19:48 GMT
This thread is just the best thing.
The holocaust season. FA Cup replay against Luton. We lost 3-2 but pelting Les Sealey with snowballs when they came out for the second half.
Mickey Thomas and his howitzer against Liverpool.
Beating West Ham 5-2 with scintillating football.
Celebrating David Moss missing that penalty in the 4-4 with Luton like we'd won the game.
Beating Arsenal 2-0 in 85. Big daft Dyson nodding one in with 7,000 there.
Dyson nutting Lee Chapman against Sheffield Wednesday.
Returning from Blackburn by train and being chased from Victoria to Piccadilly by Man City fans and watching the station bar getting trashed whilst I cowered in the corner!!!
I wasn't at the Norwich game.
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Post by redwhitebloodcells on Oct 7, 2015 0:12:33 GMT
staring at big blokes wearing NCB jackets going wild eyed when the police came to front of the Boothen with about 5 minutes to go as they hurled insults at them, "Maggies Boot Boys" was one of the more pleasant offerings! Cheers Matt. Stirring image that. Would you say there was a lot of fans wearing their politics on their sleeve (literally as in the above example) in and around the ground/city?
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 0:37:00 GMT
Would you say there was a lot of fans wearing their politics on their sleeve (literally as in the above example) in and around the ground/city? There were some NF magazine sellers at one point in the early/mid 80's who didn't last long, one I remember had a sort of squished nose, skinhead sort. But the NF scene never really took off, Stoke was never a racist club. RC, O, the brothers from Shelton, and a few more were visible minorities of the time and were treated as "our own", not marginalised. Part of the SCFC tight knit family.
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Post by CalgaryPotter on Oct 7, 2015 1:43:26 GMT
staring at big blokes wearing NCB jackets going wild eyed when the police came to front of the Boothen with about 5 minutes to go as they hurled insults at them, "Maggies Boot Boys" was one of the more pleasant offerings! Cheers Matt. Stirring image that. Would you say there was a lot of fans wearing their politics on their sleeve (literally as in the above example) in and around the ground/city? Went to Barnsley on the train with one of the older lads & within five minutes of arriving at some dodgy watering hole we were surrounded by six lads asking what 'STWA' stood for on the back of his donkey jacket. He replies in a broad potteries accent "Standing There With Ale". Of course, no-one believed him & so it began.……
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Post by StatesideStokie on Oct 7, 2015 3:07:31 GMT
Football was a dark time. After the holocaust season, it was a mix of anger and apathy. Anger and frustration, apathy at what we knew was coming. Years of mid table mediocrity, journeyman, the odd fading talent, but not much to shout about. Being a crowd of mostly younger males, more so for away games, that anger resulted in a lot of unpleasantness. The mindset was of an invading army. Opposing fans weren't shy of obliging. Looking at a few crowd photos of the era will demonstrate the difference in demographics. Football fans weren't really ostracised, it was more like apathy for the sport, from the public unless they were the Daily Mail "outraged" type. Because of the lack of money and media hype, nobody would care if the authorities threatened closure or ID cards or banning away fans. You think you have it bad now, when people complain about the large screen TV or a bit of a cold wind sweeping in from the south. The Johnny Come Lately's and Soccer AM crowd, taking photos of the game with their iPads and gleefully texting when a goal is scored, rooted to their spot, too cold and unemotional to even celebrate and hug a complete stranger. Grounds were cold, barren, windswept places where you'd have to be fairly robust in nature just to put up with the poor infrastructure. Everything seemed to be about fear, oppression, overcoming everything in your path. Northern towns were sinister, dark, unwelcoming places, where a brick on your head or aimed at your coach or van windows was the normal greeting. Southern towns and London were strange unfamiliar territory, surely the home to rascals and enemies on every corner? Not to be trusted, they weren't "us" so anyone was the enemy. This mindset carried us through the 80's into the 90's when huge followings on the back of a taste of success actually became invading armies and destroyed everything in their path. Against the odds of badly controlled police dogs, lines of badly equipped coppers fearful for their safety and more than willing to bash you with a standard sized truncheon that was no more useful than a rotten cucumber and smash you to pieces in the back of a police van. It was often a choice, go to court with charges or take a beating in the van. Easy choice for most lads. No complaining, no lawsuits, just tell the boys in the pub after, have a round bought for you, as much ale as you could drink, and onto the next game with another story to tell. Going to Oldham, with the only refreshments on offer a cold pie and a bovril, was about as good as it got as far as supporter catering was concerned. Maybe a hot dog or burger outside if you were lucky. The only TV in the ground was probably in the Chairman's office. Communication was at a minimum. Walked from the ground checking the results on Ceefax in the TV shop window on London Road. Final results coming in as you grab your first pint after running around the streets for a few minutes harassing the opposition and causing mayhem and fear. More pubs were open and thriving back then, it wasn't unusual to spend the rest of a matchday wandering the pubs seeing the various faces and mingling with an array of scoundrels, hearing their war stories. It seemed like "men were men" back then, a tougher hardened working class, whereas now everyone is an emotional hipster with sensitivities, issues, and "needs". Where have all the real (young) men gone? Walking into a pub was a sea of 6' beer monsters, big men with big appetites and big thirsts, raucous, bawdy, independent, huge shovel-like hands and carrying themselves with an air of menace and intimidation, but friendly and welcoming towards their own. Not fathers at the time, but the fathers of the future. Violence was an ever present at the game, and also socially in a broad sense. You watched your back at all times, senses were switched on to detect threats that could come from any direction at any time at the game or away from it. It seemed like it was the norm to go into town afterwards and maybe hit a nightclub, to witness mobs and groups fighting, throwing bottles, the occasional bottling/glassing was just expected more than shocking. Newcastle in particular used to get visits from stag groups and groups of "lads" coming from surrounding towns and counties. That was guaranteed a good rumble with the locals, and they usually repelled invaders with great satisfaction and with little encouragement required. There seemed to be an overriding sense of insularity, protecting our own, our towns/our city and each other. Nobody on the outside was to be trusted. It seemed to be driven by pride and protection of self and each other. An unfamiliar accent would provoke the thought of what are they after, am I going to get robbed, who do they support, is everything locked up, and is my wallet safe at hand? Are there more of them hanging around? It seemed like society was still on the edge of the industrial era, lots of lads worked in the pots, factories, a few at the mines that were closing by the year as it seemed at the time. Lots of industrial and entry level jobs still available. I don't remember unemployment being a really big thing, it seemed like anyone who wanted work of any sort could find it. Lads usually had money for the football, and beer. In the demographic that went to football, up until 1988 it didn't seem that drugs was socially much of a problem. That started in 87-88 and got worse over time. Prior to that, there wasn't much of a sense of needing to get wrecked at the game, apart from ale and spirits to be consumed at great amount to nullify the effects of the poor product on show at the ground. After 1988 it seemed that it became the norm to get as wrecked as possible on as wide an array of chemicals and concoctions as possible, everything became excess. Being high at the club became getting high at the pub and that translated into a 24/7 mode of being on your game at the match in as bad a state as you could handle. Some of the worst excesses of early 90's violence was fuelled by hard drugs consumed in vast quantities along with gallons of ale to the soundtrack of indie house and acid tracks. Nobody ever captured the feel of that era properly, and if a combination of Trainspotting, Human Traffic, Fear and Loathing in Trent Vegas, and The Firm could be pulled of with a genuine feel and authenticity, it would capture things perfectly. Apart from a minority of psychopaths, of which there were some who excelled in their field, people were attracted to football at that time by the camaraderie, the sense of adventure, overcoming adversary, a good drink, and forming a social connection that didn't exist in any meaningful way anywhere else. There was no glamour in the game, no hype or really measurable way of saying that football was an attractive sport and worth spending your hard earned money to go to watch. A better investment of funds would have been to burn it in a heap. Not to glamourise any of the above, it was what it was. It is part of our history and heritage, whether you agree or disagree with what happened, the fact is that it happened. Argue as much as you like about the good and bad aspects of it, but if you weren't there, you'd find it hard to understand. OS One of the 4,597 V Norwich. Bang on the money, OS. Good times.
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Post by NassauDave on Oct 7, 2015 3:51:07 GMT
Trouble nearly every week, home and away.
Traveling on buses, a kick in the balls ;-)
Someone at ten to three always said " time for another pint", followed by running to the Boothen End full,of beer. Massive piss, sometimes in the toilets, the WORST BEER FARTS EVER thronging around the crowd, The Boothen invading the Boothen Paddock, running the gauntlet on the way home and planning the next away day.
Happy daze.
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Post by CalgaryPotter on Oct 7, 2015 3:59:59 GMT
Trouble nearly every week, home and away. Traveling on buses, a kick in the balls ;-) Someone at ten to three always said " time for another pint", followed by running to the Boothen End full,of beer. Massive piss, sometimes in the toilets, the WORST BEER FARTS EVER thronging around the crowd, The Boothen invading the Boothen Paddock, running the gauntlet on the way home and planning the next away day. Happy daze. Did a full season one year without making kick off. It started off as grabbing a last pint then we realized if we went up to the turnstile at 3.05pm we could drop the lad a fiver and jump into the paddock. On a YTS it was well worth it.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 4:34:25 GMT
I sold Sentinels at the Victoria Ground. I was a kid, about 13. Sellers wore blue overalls. You would have several "choirs" of papers in your bag (25 in a choir if I remember rightly). We were free to roam the ground selling and stop for a few minutes and watch the match. I remember jumping to celebrate once when stoke scored and half my takings departing my pockets, clattering down the steps, much to the amusement of people around me.
After the match we would go back to the Sentinel offices and have the takings weighed in. All inky stained wood and concrete surroundings with the smell of fresh print giving you a heady buzz in your nostrils. Then on to The Roman Candle for a pint.
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Post by bathstoke on Oct 7, 2015 6:03:18 GMT
I sold Sentinels at the Victoria Ground. I was a kid, about 13. Sellers wore blue overalls. You would have several "choirs" of papers in your bag (25 in a choir if I remember rightly). We were free to roam the ground selling and stop for a few minutes and watch the match. I remember jumping to celebrate once when stoke scored and half my takings departing my pockets, clattering down the steps, much to the amusement of people around me. After the match we would go back to the Sentinel offices and have the takings weighed in. All inky stained wood and concrete surroundings with the smell of fresh print giving you a heady buzz in your nostrils. Then on to The Roman Candle for a pint. The Roman Candle. Wasn't that the one opposite the entrance to the Potteries Centre(as is) & had a downstairs drinking area. Never liked it down there. Was more of an upstairs at Ledbellys boy
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Post by dexta on Oct 7, 2015 6:23:08 GMT
Football was a dark time. After the holocaust season, it was a mix of anger and apathy. Anger and frustration, apathy at what we knew was coming. Years of mid table mediocrity, journeyman, the odd fading talent, but not much to shout about. Being a crowd of mostly younger males, more so for away games, that anger resulted in a lot of unpleasantness. The mindset was of an invading army. Opposing fans weren't shy of obliging. Looking at a few crowd photos of the era will demonstrate the difference in demographics. Football fans weren't really ostracised, it was more like apathy for the sport, from the public unless they were the Daily Mail "outraged" type. Because of the lack of money and media hype, nobody would care if the authorities threatened closure or ID cards or banning away fans. You think you have it bad now, when people complain about the large screen TV or a bit of a cold wind sweeping in from the south. The Johnny Come Lately's and Soccer AM crowd, taking photos of the game with their iPads and gleefully texting when a goal is scored, rooted to their spot, too cold and unemotional to even celebrate and hug a complete stranger. Grounds were cold, barren, windswept places where you'd have to be fairly robust in nature just to put up with the poor infrastructure. Everything seemed to be about fear, oppression, overcoming everything in your path. Northern towns were sinister, dark, unwelcoming places, where a brick on your head or aimed at your coach or van windows was the normal greeting. Southern towns and London were strange unfamiliar territory, surely the home to rascals and enemies on every corner? Not to be trusted, they weren't "us" so anyone was the enemy. This mindset carried us through the 80's into the 90's when huge followings on the back of a taste of success actually became invading armies and destroyed everything in their path. Against the odds of badly controlled police dogs, lines of badly equipped coppers fearful for their safety and more than willing to bash you with a standard sized truncheon that was no more useful than a rotten cucumber and smash you to pieces in the back of a police van. It was often a choice, go to court with charges or take a beating in the van. Easy choice for most lads. No complaining, no lawsuits, just tell the boys in the pub after, have a round bought for you, as much ale as you could drink, and onto the next game with another story to tell. Going to Oldham, with the only refreshments on offer a cold pie and a bovril, was about as good as it got as far as supporter catering was concerned. Maybe a hot dog or burger outside if you were lucky. The only TV in the ground was probably in the Chairman's office. Communication was at a minimum. Walked from the ground checking the results on Ceefax in the TV shop window on London Road. Final results coming in as you grab your first pint after running around the streets for a few minutes harassing the opposition and causing mayhem and fear. More pubs were open and thriving back then, it wasn't unusual to spend the rest of a matchday wandering the pubs seeing the various faces and mingling with an array of scoundrels, hearing their war stories. It seemed like "men were men" back then, a tougher hardened working class, whereas now everyone is an emotional hipster with sensitivities, issues, and "needs". Where have all the real (young) men gone? Walking into a pub was a sea of 6' beer monsters, big men with big appetites and big thirsts, raucous, bawdy, independent, huge shovel-like hands and carrying themselves with an air of menace and intimidation, but friendly and welcoming towards their own. Not fathers at the time, but the fathers of the future. Violence was an ever present at the game, and also socially in a broad sense. You watched your back at all times, senses were switched on to detect threats that could come from any direction at any time at the game or away from it. It seemed like it was the norm to go into town afterwards and maybe hit a nightclub, to witness mobs and groups fighting, throwing bottles, the occasional bottling/glassing was just expected more than shocking. Newcastle in particular used to get visits from stag groups and groups of "lads" coming from surrounding towns and counties. That was guaranteed a good rumble with the locals, and they usually repelled invaders with great satisfaction and with little encouragement required. There seemed to be an overriding sense of insularity, protecting our own, our towns/our city and each other. Nobody on the outside was to be trusted. It seemed to be driven by pride and protection of self and each other. An unfamiliar accent would provoke the thought of what are they after, am I going to get robbed, who do they support, is everything locked up, and is my wallet safe at hand? Are there more of them hanging around? It seemed like society was still on the edge of the industrial era, lots of lads worked in the pots, factories, a few at the mines that were closing by the year as it seemed at the time. Lots of industrial and entry level jobs still available. I don't remember unemployment being a really big thing, it seemed like anyone who wanted work of any sort could find it. Lads usually had money for the football, and beer. In the demographic that went to football, up until 1988 it didn't seem that drugs was socially much of a problem. That started in 87-88 and got worse over time. Prior to that, there wasn't much of a sense of needing to get wrecked at the game, apart from ale and spirits to be consumed at great amount to nullify the effects of the poor product on show at the ground. After 1988 it seemed that it became the norm to get as wrecked as possible on as wide an array of chemicals and concoctions as possible, everything became excess. Being high at the club became getting high at the pub and that translated into a 24/7 mode of being on your game at the match in as bad a state as you could handle. Some of the worst excesses of early 90's violence was fuelled by hard drugs consumed in vast quantities along with gallons of ale to the soundtrack of indie house and acid tracks. Nobody ever captured the feel of that era properly, and if a combination of Trainspotting, Human Traffic, Fear and Loathing in Trent Vegas, and The Firm could be pulled of with a genuine feel and authenticity, it would capture things perfectly. Apart from a minority of psychopaths, of which there were some who excelled in their field, people were attracted to football at that time by the camaraderie, the sense of adventure, overcoming adversary, a good drink, and forming a social connection that didn't exist in any meaningful way anywhere else. There was no glamour in the game, no hype or really measurable way of saying that football was an attractive sport and worth spending your hard earned money to go to watch. A better investment of funds would have been to burn it in a heap. Not to glamourise any of the above, it was what it was. It is part of our history and heritage, whether you agree or disagree with what happened, the fact is that it happened. Argue as much as you like about the good and bad aspects of it, but if you weren't there, you'd find it hard to understand. OS One of the 4,597 V Norwich. one of the best honest posts I've read on here fella
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Post by elystokie on Oct 7, 2015 6:30:28 GMT
I sold Sentinels at the Victoria Ground. I was a kid, about 13. Sellers wore blue overalls. You would have several "choirs" of papers in your bag (25 in a choir if I remember rightly). We were free to roam the ground selling and stop for a few minutes and watch the match. I remember jumping to celebrate once when stoke scored and half my takings departing my pockets, clattering down the steps, much to the amusement of people around me. After the match we would go back to the Sentinel offices and have the takings weighed in. All inky stained wood and concrete surroundings with the smell of fresh print giving you a heady buzz in your nostrils. Then on to The Roman Candle for a pint. The Roman Candle. Wasn't that the one opposite the entrance to the Potteries Centre(as is) & had a downstairs drinking area. Never liked it down there. Was more of an upstairs at Ledbellys boy That's the one, became Flares after it was the RC, friend of my family ran it in the '80s, loved it in there and we used a very handy parking spot around the back :)
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Post by staffsvilla on Oct 7, 2015 8:22:36 GMT
Football was a dark time. After the holocaust season, it was a mix of anger and apathy. Anger and frustration, apathy at what we knew was coming. Years of mid table mediocrity, journeyman, the odd fading talent, but not much to shout about. Being a crowd of mostly younger males, more so for away games, that anger resulted in a lot of unpleasantness. The mindset was of an invading army. Opposing fans weren't shy of obliging. Looking at a few crowd photos of the era will demonstrate the difference in demographics. Football fans weren't really ostracised, it was more like apathy for the sport, from the public unless they were the Daily Mail "outraged" type. Because of the lack of money and media hype, nobody would care if the authorities threatened closure or ID cards or banning away fans. You think you have it bad now, when people complain about the large screen TV or a bit of a cold wind sweeping in from the south. The Johnny Come Lately's and Soccer AM crowd, taking photos of the game with their iPads and gleefully texting when a goal is scored, rooted to their spot, too cold and unemotional to even celebrate and hug a complete stranger. Grounds were cold, barren, windswept places where you'd have to be fairly robust in nature just to put up with the poor infrastructure. Everything seemed to be about fear, oppression, overcoming everything in your path. Northern towns were sinister, dark, unwelcoming places, where a brick on your head or aimed at your coach or van windows was the normal greeting. Southern towns and London were strange unfamiliar territory, surely the home to rascals and enemies on every corner? Not to be trusted, they weren't "us" so anyone was the enemy. This mindset carried us through the 80's into the 90's when huge followings on the back of a taste of success actually became invading armies and destroyed everything in their path. Against the odds of badly controlled police dogs, lines of badly equipped coppers fearful for their safety and more than willing to bash you with a standard sized truncheon that was no more useful than a rotten cucumber and smash you to pieces in the back of a police van. It was often a choice, go to court with charges or take a beating in the van. Easy choice for most lads. No complaining, no lawsuits, just tell the boys in the pub after, have a round bought for you, as much ale as you could drink, and onto the next game with another story to tell. Going to Oldham, with the only refreshments on offer a cold pie and a bovril, was about as good as it got as far as supporter catering was concerned. Maybe a hot dog or burger outside if you were lucky. The only TV in the ground was probably in the Chairman's office. Communication was at a minimum. Walked from the ground checking the results on Ceefax in the TV shop window on London Road. Final results coming in as you grab your first pint after running around the streets for a few minutes harassing the opposition and causing mayhem and fear. More pubs were open and thriving back then, it wasn't unusual to spend the rest of a matchday wandering the pubs seeing the various faces and mingling with an array of scoundrels, hearing their war stories. It seemed like "men were men" back then, a tougher hardened working class, whereas now everyone is an emotional hipster with sensitivities, issues, and "needs". Where have all the real (young) men gone? Walking into a pub was a sea of 6' beer monsters, big men with big appetites and big thirsts, raucous, bawdy, independent, huge shovel-like hands and carrying themselves with an air of menace and intimidation, but friendly and welcoming towards their own. Not fathers at the time, but the fathers of the future. Violence was an ever present at the game, and also socially in a broad sense. You watched your back at all times, senses were switched on to detect threats that could come from any direction at any time at the game or away from it. It seemed like it was the norm to go into town afterwards and maybe hit a nightclub, to witness mobs and groups fighting, throwing bottles, the occasional bottling/glassing was just expected more than shocking. Newcastle in particular used to get visits from stag groups and groups of "lads" coming from surrounding towns and counties. That was guaranteed a good rumble with the locals, and they usually repelled invaders with great satisfaction and with little encouragement required. There seemed to be an overriding sense of insularity, protecting our own, our towns/our city and each other. Nobody on the outside was to be trusted. It seemed to be driven by pride and protection of self and each other. An unfamiliar accent would provoke the thought of what are they after, am I going to get robbed, who do they support, is everything locked up, and is my wallet safe at hand? Are there more of them hanging around? It seemed like society was still on the edge of the industrial era, lots of lads worked in the pots, factories, a few at the mines that were closing by the year as it seemed at the time. Lots of industrial and entry level jobs still available. I don't remember unemployment being a really big thing, it seemed like anyone who wanted work of any sort could find it. Lads usually had money for the football, and beer. In the demographic that went to football, up until 1988 it didn't seem that drugs was socially much of a problem. That started in 87-88 and got worse over time. Prior to that, there wasn't much of a sense of needing to get wrecked at the game, apart from ale and spirits to be consumed at great amount to nullify the effects of the poor product on show at the ground. After 1988 it seemed that it became the norm to get as wrecked as possible on as wide an array of chemicals and concoctions as possible, everything became excess. Being high at the club became getting high at the pub and that translated into a 24/7 mode of being on your game at the match in as bad a state as you could handle. Some of the worst excesses of early 90's violence was fuelled by hard drugs consumed in vast quantities along with gallons of ale to the soundtrack of indie house and acid tracks. Nobody ever captured the feel of that era properly, and if a combination of Trainspotting, Human Traffic, Fear and Loathing in Trent Vegas, and The Firm could be pulled of with a genuine feel and authenticity, it would capture things perfectly. Apart from a minority of psychopaths, of which there were some who excelled in their field, people were attracted to football at that time by the camaraderie, the sense of adventure, overcoming adversary, a good drink, and forming a social connection that didn't exist in any meaningful way anywhere else. There was no glamour in the game, no hype or really measurable way of saying that football was an attractive sport and worth spending your hard earned money to go to watch. A better investment of funds would have been to burn it in a heap. Not to glamourise any of the above, it was what it was. It is part of our history and heritage, whether you agree or disagree with what happened, the fact is that it happened. Argue as much as you like about the good and bad aspects of it, but if you weren't there, you'd find it hard to understand. OS One of the 4,597 V Norwich. quite possibly one of the best, if not the best post i've read on here relating to times gone bye
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Post by kiwistokie on Oct 7, 2015 8:49:17 GMT
Ever come across lads with razor blades between their fingers , stayed away from those that slapped, Signal radio would stay on air later to have games on live, used to walk to the Vic from Bath st, then back to me Uncles for supper then drive back to Dresden still 1/2 aled up. Never worried about drink driving. Remember newspaper screwed up into balls and set on fire in the Boothen stand 1 mid week game, never happen now
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Post by Staying up for Grandadstokey on Oct 7, 2015 9:24:55 GMT
Have you been on the cider Joe? I don't ever remember us cheering because Vale were winning! I certainly do. 82/83. Nobody admits it but it deffo happened. There was no nastiness between us until they got good! Sorry but I beg to differ, there as always been a rivalry amongst Stoke and Vale fans, not maybe as intense as when we were playing at the same level, by there none the less, as for cheering when Vale were winning!! Surely not.
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Post by JoeinOz on Oct 7, 2015 9:51:33 GMT
I certainly do. 82/83. Nobody admits it but it deffo happened. There was no nastiness between us until they got good! Sorry but I beg to differ, there as always been a rivalry amongst Stoke and Vale fans, not maybe as intense as when we were playing at the same level, by there none the less, as for cheering when Vale were winning!! Surely not. Mate, I heard it with my own ears.
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Post by elystokie on Oct 7, 2015 10:17:43 GMT
Sorry but I beg to differ, there as always been a rivalry amongst Stoke and Vale fans, not maybe as intense as when we were playing at the same level, by there none the less, as for cheering when Vale were winning!! Surely not. Mate, I heard it with my own ears. You're right joe, I think there was something of a 'hope they do ok' attitude when it came to the Vale amongst most Stokies at the time, they were never likely to be anywhere near an equal footing with us after all...
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Post by JoeinOz on Oct 7, 2015 10:38:28 GMT
Mate, I heard it with my own ears. You're right joe, I think there was something of a 'hope they do ok' attitude when it came to the Vale amongst most Stokies at the time, they were never likely to be anywhere near an equal footing with us after all... No surprise really. When it got nasty I realised nobody would ever admit to it!
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 11:36:16 GMT
You're right joe, I think there was something of a 'hope they do ok' attitude when it came to the Vale amongst most Stokies at the time, they were never likely to be anywhere near an equal footing with us after all... No surprise really. When it got nasty I realised nobody would ever admit to it! There were more than a handful of Stokies at the Vale v Spurs match in 88 and I'd bet they were celebrating the Vale goals too. I know I was. There was always a big cheer whenever a Crewe victory was announced over the tannoy as well.
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Post by dutchpeter72 on Oct 7, 2015 11:45:10 GMT
The smell of blue stratos and cigar smoke on Boxing Day fixtures
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Post by JoeinOz on Oct 7, 2015 11:58:49 GMT
Younger people reading might find this hard to believe but there was a time when football wasn’t fashionable. In fact, football supporters were pariahs, regarded with disgust and contempt. Walking down a street wearing a football shirt could result in people crossing the road to avoid you and if fathers found out their teenage daughters were dating a football fan it could signal a sudden halt to blossoming love. I remember starting work in 1985 and telling one of my colleagues I was a Stoke fan and attended matches and she nearly dropped her sponge. She shook her head and told me she was surprised because I’d “Seemed such a nice lad”. In the mid 80s football was not something the nation could easily hold close to it’s heart.
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Post by Squeekster on Oct 7, 2015 12:05:47 GMT
Sorry but I beg to differ, there as always been a rivalry amongst Stoke and Vale fans, not maybe as intense as when we were playing at the same level, by there none the less, as for cheering when Vale were winning!! Surely not. Mate, I heard it with my own ears. Yes we definitely cheered if Vale and Crewe were winning after visiting both grounds with home fans and heard the hate both of them had for us i soon stopped. I always remember all the Kidsgrove stokies scrapping with the Alsager stokies on the train home and thought how weird we would fight one an other.
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Post by JoeinOz on Oct 7, 2015 12:09:13 GMT
Mate, I heard it with my own ears. Yes we definitely cheered if Vale and Crewe were winning after visiting both grounds with home fans and heard the hate both of them had for us i soon stopped. I always remember all the Kidsgrove stokies scrapping with the Alsager stokies on the train home and thought how weird we would fight one an other. I used to go watch Vale now and then for summat do. I didn't realise the people there were actually Vale fans,. I thought they were Stokies who had, like me, just gone to watch a game. I didn't meet a Vale fan until I was 19.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 12:16:44 GMT
Mate, I heard it with my own ears. Yes we definitely cheered if Vale and Crewe were winning after visiting both grounds with home fans and heard the hate both of them had for us i soon stopped. I always remember all the Kidsgrove stokies scrapping with the Alsager stokies on the train home and thought how weird we would fight one an other. The Crewe fans on Radio Stoke were a strange bunch. When we were in the same division, they'd ring up after a Crewe win but only wanted to talk about how shit Stoke were. They were revelling in it. Loathsome twats.
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Post by kustokie on Oct 7, 2015 12:59:55 GMT
Football was a dark time. After the holocaust season, it was a mix of anger and apathy. Anger and frustration, apathy at what we knew was coming. Years of mid table mediocrity, journeyman, the odd fading talent, but not much to shout about. Being a crowd of mostly younger males, more so for away games, that anger resulted in a lot of unpleasantness. The mindset was of an invading army. Opposing fans weren't shy of obliging. Looking at a few crowd photos of the era will demonstrate the difference in demographics. Football fans weren't really ostracised, it was more like apathy for the sport, from the public unless they were the Daily Mail "outraged" type. Because of the lack of money and media hype, nobody would care if the authorities threatened closure or ID cards or banning away fans. You think you have it bad now, when people complain about the large screen TV or a bit of a cold wind sweeping in from the south. The Johnny Come Lately's and Soccer AM crowd, taking photos of the game with their iPads and gleefully texting when a goal is scored, rooted to their spot, too cold and unemotional to even celebrate and hug a complete stranger. Grounds were cold, barren, windswept places where you'd have to be fairly robust in nature just to put up with the poor infrastructure. Everything seemed to be about fear, oppression, overcoming everything in your path. Northern towns were sinister, dark, unwelcoming places, where a brick on your head or aimed at your coach or van windows was the normal greeting. Southern towns and London were strange unfamiliar territory, surely the home to rascals and enemies on every corner? Not to be trusted, they weren't "us" so anyone was the enemy. This mindset carried us through the 80's into the 90's when huge followings on the back of a taste of success actually became invading armies and destroyed everything in their path. Against the odds of badly controlled police dogs, lines of badly equipped coppers fearful for their safety and more than willing to bash you with a standard sized truncheon that was no more useful than a rotten cucumber and smash you to pieces in the back of a police van. It was often a choice, go to court with charges or take a beating in the van. Easy choice for most lads. No complaining, no lawsuits, just tell the boys in the pub after, have a round bought for you, as much ale as you could drink, and onto the next game with another story to tell. Going to Oldham, with the only refreshments on offer a cold pie and a bovril, was about as good as it got as far as supporter catering was concerned. Maybe a hot dog or burger outside if you were lucky. The only TV in the ground was probably in the Chairman's office. Communication was at a minimum. Walked from the ground checking the results on Ceefax in the TV shop window on London Road. Final results coming in as you grab your first pint after running around the streets for a few minutes harassing the opposition and causing mayhem and fear. More pubs were open and thriving back then, it wasn't unusual to spend the rest of a matchday wandering the pubs seeing the various faces and mingling with an array of scoundrels, hearing their war stories. It seemed like "men were men" back then, a tougher hardened working class, whereas now everyone is an emotional hipster with sensitivities, issues, and "needs". Where have all the real (young) men gone? Walking into a pub was a sea of 6' beer monsters, big men with big appetites and big thirsts, raucous, bawdy, independent, huge shovel-like hands and carrying themselves with an air of menace and intimidation, but friendly and welcoming towards their own. Not fathers at the time, but the fathers of the future. Violence was an ever present at the game, and also socially in a broad sense. You watched your back at all times, senses were switched on to detect threats that could come from any direction at any time at the game or away from it. It seemed like it was the norm to go into town afterwards and maybe hit a nightclub, to witness mobs and groups fighting, throwing bottles, the occasional bottling/glassing was just expected more than shocking. Newcastle in particular used to get visits from stag groups and groups of "lads" coming from surrounding towns and counties. That was guaranteed a good rumble with the locals, and they usually repelled invaders with great satisfaction and with little encouragement required. There seemed to be an overriding sense of insularity, protecting our own, our towns/our city and each other. Nobody on the outside was to be trusted. It seemed to be driven by pride and protection of self and each other. An unfamiliar accent would provoke the thought of what are they after, am I going to get robbed, who do they support, is everything locked up, and is my wallet safe at hand? Are there more of them hanging around? It seemed like society was still on the edge of the industrial era, lots of lads worked in the pots, factories, a few at the mines that were closing by the year as it seemed at the time. Lots of industrial and entry level jobs still available. I don't remember unemployment being a really big thing, it seemed like anyone who wanted work of any sort could find it. Lads usually had money for the football, and beer. In the demographic that went to football, up until 1988 it didn't seem that drugs was socially much of a problem. That started in 87-88 and got worse over time. Prior to that, there wasn't much of a sense of needing to get wrecked at the game, apart from ale and spirits to be consumed at great amount to nullify the effects of the poor product on show at the ground. After 1988 it seemed that it became the norm to get as wrecked as possible on as wide an array of chemicals and concoctions as possible, everything became excess. Being high at the club became getting high at the pub and that translated into a 24/7 mode of being on your game at the match in as bad a state as you could handle. Some of the worst excesses of early 90's violence was fuelled by hard drugs consumed in vast quantities along with gallons of ale to the soundtrack of indie house and acid tracks. Nobody ever captured the feel of that era properly, and if a combination of Trainspotting, Human Traffic, Fear and Loathing in Trent Vegas, and The Firm could be pulled of with a genuine feel and authenticity, it would capture things perfectly. Apart from a minority of psychopaths, of which there were some who excelled in their field, people were attracted to football at that time by the camaraderie, the sense of adventure, overcoming adversary, a good drink, and forming a social connection that didn't exist in any meaningful way anywhere else. There was no glamour in the game, no hype or really measurable way of saying that football was an attractive sport and worth spending your hard earned money to go to watch. A better investment of funds would have been to burn it in a heap. Not to glamourise any of the above, it was what it was. It is part of our history and heritage, whether you agree or disagree with what happened, the fact is that it happened. Argue as much as you like about the good and bad aspects of it, but if you weren't there, you'd find it hard to understand. OS One of the 4,597 V Norwich. Wow. Now I know what I "missed"! I emmigrated to the States in 1981 and, at first, couldn't afford the trip home. Ironically ESPN was a little network then that could only afford to show fringe sports like Aussie Rules and English Soccer. So I was able to keep up. Then cable TV took off and ESPN dropped soccer for mainstream American sports. So there followed a dark age until the mid-90s when the only soccer on TV was the World Cup. The only other soccer I experienced was playing in leagues in Topeka, Kansas and Gainesville, Florida. The standard quite good because both places had a lot of foreign students and Mexican immigrants. The Topeka League had a team of Saudi Air Force pilots training at the local military base - they were unbeatable because they very fit, didn't smoke or drink. Our half-team tea was the iced variety, followed by a fag. Next came the Internet and I was able to reconnect. I also had more money and could afford trips home. My first game at the Brit was against Reading. Can't remember the year, all I remember it colder than a witch's tit. In the early 2000s, Fox purchased the contract for the Prem and I was able to watch the lads when they were promoted. Now I make 2 or 3 trips year to see family and friends and see the lads. I reconnected with my old mate, with whom I went to every home game and some away games and semi-finals. We text and email before and during the games. He also puts a tenner on for me because it's illegal here. LIfe is good, the only thing I miss apart from the family, it footie on a Satdee.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 15:58:55 GMT
Copied from the Villa thread for relevance to the subject matter. What I've never seen, ever,is two sets of fans/firms going 'toe to toe'. 25 badly dressed youths chasing/beating up 3 badly dressed youths seemed to be the norm. I'm not too interested in arguing the rest of your post. The perspective of a "normal" fan will always be different. However, you do sound like a proper fruit/mummy's boy. You would not have seen those numbers going at it because it was quite organised and only those in the middle of it were involved. Referencing what a lot of lads say from that era, most of us had no wish to harm passers by, innocent fans, normal fans. There was no interest in that. So fruits like yourself should have been kept well away from those scenes, and it sounds like you were. If you didn't see full on hand-to-hand battles on the streets of Bolton, Hull, Grimsby, Oldham, Barnsley, Bradford, Huddersfield, Leeds, and Sheffield, then the mission was accomplished and you were kept safe. So there's real proof that there was a reasonable intent, at least at SCFC, to avoid causing upset to everyday folk and normal fans. The concept of "even numbers" isn't something that was planned out, it wasn't scripted like "you bring 45 we'll bring 52 because you've got some monsters in your lot and we've got a few youth and nippers." If they had 150 and we had 100 we'd be more than willing to test our mettle and to be as honest as I can the amount of times Stoke were outnumbered was significant, 25 v 50, 100 v 150, the numbers are relative, and guesstimated. Stoke had some extremely handy lads who you would back up 100% and stand shoulder to shoulder, there was no budging them even against the best opposition. Many of us "second tier" lads, not the hardened frontline, would know when the odds were good. Because not everyone involved was a hardened fighter, or leader. I even stood 5 handed against a coach load and never got budged. Call me a liar all day long, I care not. 10 chased by 50, 15 take on 30 and hammer them, 3 chased by 30, 3 of us spat at and escorted out of town, untouched. 40 walk past a pub full of 100, OK good odds! So what let's just have it and see what gives. They have glasses, we have huge hardened lumps each of which can take out three of the enemy before they've even warmed up. Once their glasses and bottles are thrown and we've stood firm, their own bottle goes and most often they'd be run back inside followed by a free pub redecoration job, Stoke fashion. Mostly a laugh and a joke, another story to tell at the next game. Stoke were notorious and horrible in whatever number, there were many times one coach or a small train mob was hand picked, some days lads were sent home as "runners" or because they didn't look to be up to snuff. It happened. When it did, you knew we could handle much bigger numbers and it added 1" to your stance on the streets and widened your shoulders 2". So those smaller numbers, outnumbered very often, just went at it and came out on top many many times, That's where the reputation came from, and over a few seasons it intimidated other firms. We had 80 so they would need 150 to even think about trying anything, because of what happened in the previous couple of years home and away. So to your other points, yes bad things happened, no excuse for some of the more extreme and unpleasant things. I don't think anyone is interested in defending most of that. We may have slightly rose tinted glasses as to that era, but don't make us out to be idiots, just because you can reference a few of the things you saw. Apologies to anyone reading who thinks this is an attempt to glorify anything. Just aiming for a reasoned and accurate description of how things were in the 80's and 90's. We've moved on. Football is about brand, revenue, clicks and impressions, merchandise and marketing. It's no longer the tribal working class sport that aims to alleviate the frustration of the working class after a week in the pit, factory or workshop.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2015 18:56:34 GMT
Just about sums it nicely OS. Those that were involved know that this is exactly how it was. For us, that was football. It was the only way we knew. Nothing big or to be proud of but that football as I knew it.
During the week I endured a dreary job on a pot bank. I didn't like it but it paid very well and funded my match days aswell as keeping me in beer on a Thursday and Friday night as we plotted our Saturday excursion to wherever we were playing. In the workplace I knew I was nothing. Just a number on a clock card, a workhorse that helped my employers get richer, an expendable member of the workforce, just a face that my bosses could barely put a name to. I did my job and took the then weekly pay packet. That was it. I guess most of my mates were in the same situation.
Then came Saturday. Match day. That's when we came into our own. We were somebody, known throughout the country, everybody knew of us. Each of us had a mutual respect for each other. We may not have known each other well, Infact sometimes you didn't even know their names but you knew their face. You'd walk into a pub in the vicinity of your opponents ground and have a quick scan around to see who's in and you'd spot the faces. A quick nod of the head was all you needed. You knew instantly that those faces would be your allies for the day. If you were in trouble they'd wade in to help you and they knew you'd do the same for them.
It was never a conscious decision to go to games and behave that way. Thinking back, I probably adapted myself to cope. That was how football was for me and my mates. There was no other way of following our team. Hooliganism was part of football, they came hand in hand and as far as I knew you couldn't accept one without the other. Looking back I can see there were other ways to spend a match day but through my late teens and twenties, for us there were no other options.
Those that weren't involved will never understand the logic of that last paragraph but those that were will know only too well...
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Post by dexta on Oct 7, 2015 19:04:28 GMT
Just about sums it nicely OS. Those that were involved know that this is exactly how it was. For us, that was football. It was the only way we knew. Nothing big or to be proud of but that football as I knew it. During the week I endured a dreary job on a pot bank. I didn't like it but it paid very well and funded my match days aswell as keeping me in beer on a Thursday and Friday night as we plotted our Saturday excursion to wherever we were playing. In the workplace I knew I was nothing. Just a number on a clock card, a workhorse that helped my employers get richer, an expendable member of the workforce, just a face that my bosses could barely put a name to. I did my job and took the then weekly pay packet. That was it. I guess most of my mates were in the same situation. Then came Saturday. Match day. That's when we came into our own. We were somebody, known throughout the country, everybody knew of us. Each of us had a mutual respect for each other. We may not have known each other well, Infact sometimes you didn't even know their names but you knew their face. You'd walk into a pub in the vicinity of your opponents ground and have a quick scan around to see who's in and you'd spot the faces. A quick nod of the head was all you needed. You knew instantly that those faces would be your allies for the day. If you were in trouble they'd wade in to help you and they knew you'd do the same for them. It was never a conscious decision to go to games and behave that way. Thinking back, I probably adapted myself to cope. That was how football was for me and my mates. There was no other way of following our team. Hooliganism was part of football, they came hand in hand and as far as I knew you couldn't accept one without the other. Looking back I can see there were other ways to spend a match day but through my late teens and twenties, for us there were no other options. Those that weren't involved will never understand the logic of that last paragraph but those that were will know only too well... a lot what as been said by yourself and old stoke is wasted on here....only those who were around back then will understand how it was everyone was fair game...problem on here half of the Johnny come latleys only know the premier league...
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