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OLD TRAFFORD APRIL 1997
Well hello and welcome along. Nice to have you! And this week I will be telling you all about Old Trafford in April 1997 when the Boro took on Chesterfield for a place in the FA Cup Final.
So I am sure you all remember the season in question. We were having a real gung-ho time with fast attacking football and lots of goals. But the only snag was we also let in lots of goals. Like a Kevin Keegan team...
We had just reached the League Cup Final and when this draw was announced, we were well happy. Easy draw, sail through... oh and a weekend on the lash in Madchester as well!
So the Saturday afternoon, we set off, all confident like and up for the Cup big time. I personally was really looking forward to seeing the Boro reach our first ever FA Cup final and I hit the booze hard in a no holds bared session of drinking and depraved behaviour, since never bettered although often equalled.
We hit Manchester in good time via a hired coach with the drink really flowing. A few party lines flowed as well but certain chaps shall remain nameless.
On the journey, a major card school had caused several of our touring party to lose every penny they had. I had dropped out early when I realised I was in shit street money wise. Some lads had even gambled their ticket for the match away.
We got there and the plan was simple - a curry and a club on top of some dirty Lancashire hotpot to feast on.
Curry no problem. We found an empty little place near our digs. Only a few quiet couples here and there... but that soon changed as we dived in and ordered everything off the menu and lots of lager. And we soon got into the swing of things by taking the piss out of the waiters and throwing onion bhajias everywhere.
It was getting messy and when one of our members decided to paddle his feet in the restaurant fish tank, it all got too much and the management called the police. We had to sit tight while the Old Bill took our names and warned us to behave. They said that they had heard many Boro fans were on the town that night and they (the police) were up for it as well.
So after that slap on the wrist you would think we would retire early and head on to bed. No sir, we made our way into a student type nightclub and we caused utter chaos. I was charming the ladies in one corner with my undoubted wit and sensual magnetism, when I thought a massive brawl had erupted. So not being one to turn and run, I charged over to find all the lads in a circle, cheering while two young student lesbian types got it on in full view of the lads. Well the lads where thrilled, bless 'em.
And they were very disappointed when the bouncers called time on the sordid lesbo fun but we soon found ways to entertain ourselves what with naked dancing on the dance floor, sexual suggestiveness towards the all female clientele, threatening behaviour to the placebo look-a-like student types, urinating into peoples drinks, minesweeping peoples drinks (my fave)... we brought the house down in a performance of such elegance and style that we hoped the Boro would repeat the next day.
So after all that I did actually pull! She was no oil painting and smelt a bit but at least I got on the score board... and early next day I got back to the digs in time to change and head off to the game.
One slight problem though- my room mate had been looking after the match tickets and for whatever reason, he had decided to tear mine at the tear off bit, leaving me the stub bit. He then buggered off to the game after trashing the room and leaving me to explain the mess to the chamber maid.
I couldn’t believe it they surley wouldn’t let me into the ground on that excuse? Well the very kind or very stupid stewards at old Trafford did let me in on that excuse and I made my way to the top tier of that massive stand to join everyone else.
I had a bone to pick with the ticket tearing wanker but I wasn’t feeling too well. Must have had a bad pint or somat. And those bloody flag waving kids made me feel a lot worse. I had some hangover I tell ya.
The game was great when I watch it on video now, but at the time I was rough as fuck. We went 2-0 down and looked dead and buried. Our players looked like they had been drinking what I had been and didn’t seem interested.
Anyway some time during the game I threw up in the bogs and came out to find most of my mates leaving, saying they where gonna have a pint instead of staying to watch that shite.
As we walked to a local pub we heard someone score by the roar of the crowd and as we arrived into the pub Boro scored again. 2-2. Amazing!
We scored again. 3-2. I started drinking again, perking up with all the excitement and that was soon quashed when the no hopers scored in the last minute of extra time.
It was a bizarre game made even more so by the fact that my mate the ticket vandal had disappeared and was not seen for weeks afterward sparking rumours of alien abduction and homosexual flings, all of which I wouldn’t put past him, the dirty bastard.
So a sombre party of revellers made our way back eastward. We had had victory snatched away and speaking of snatch, I am sure I caught a dose of that bird in Manchester as well. Had to visit the VD clinic at the General shortly after. Still, might have caught it off a toilet seat. You can never sure can you?
Anyway have fun and be good
Yours, Jack
Up the Boro
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