The Rock’n Roll Years

Cam Ogie ⚽Saturday 04th May – IFA Cup Final – Linfield v The Mighty Reds (Cliftonville for those ignoramuses among you!)

There are times in your life that the child / teenager returns to lap up the nervous excitement generated by an occasion such as Christmas for the child or the teenager’s first kiss.

This was no different. The atmosphere had been building for several days and all the talk was of the final. Even some Glen supporters were wishing Cliftonville well . . . sectarianism being the loser this time! Around 11.00am I managed my escape and landed at the infamous Solitude drinks emporium known as the ‘Social’ . . . a place where the floor takes on a wave format as the evening would wear on and washes the unsuspecting imbiber up against the bar time and time again. I met up with other more staunch supporters who regaled me and anyone else willing to listen with stories of yester years . . . some were actually there in ’79 when the Reds last lifted the cup.

Being a mostly blue-ribbon day supporter but still an avid follower in the sports pages and having only watched Cliftonville live once this season, Stangmore and the Swifts, where they lost 3-1 to the Swifts it was still an entertaining game but it didn’t bode well - especially when the blue-ribbon was the only one who stayed the distance and watched the whole game. The others retreating to the bar having watched similar defeats throughout the season and thought better to suffer in comfort than stand in misery.

Back at Solitude the talk was all about the game and as the plastic filled cups of beer were drained and refilled at an alarming rate but graciously accepted by all, the beer-filled wisdom switched from vigilance to outright disregard and winners we would be, 'You Reds' being the common anthem when new faces would arrive to join in the festivities. The time for departure drew closer and beers were quickly downed, and we departed over to Boucher Road.

Standing at the road entrance to the stadium while we waited on other friends arriving there was banter with the PSNI from groups of school children and adults . . . all innocent stuff until the ultras arrived. We could hear them coming from down Boucher Road with chants of SS RUC . . . the last time I heard that was at the marches during the Hunger Strikes. The PSNI formed up and moved quickly from community policeman role to anti-protestor mode. Luckily the ultras never threw anything and just marched on noisily as they tend to be, the children cheering and eating their ice lollies - innocent to the last!

Friends arrived and up we went. Through all the security searches and yet still the flares were smuggled in! Unlike the last time, there was plenty of beer for sale but still at extortionate prices which we paid irrespectively and the atmosphere down in the back channel of the stands was electric . . . familiar faces mingling with the not so familiar, all smiles and full of hope. Copious amounts of alcohol turning shrinking violets in to blackthorn hedges.

Game on. I took my seat away from my friends in the lower deck, the luck of the draw for tickets I suppose, but still surrounded by Reds, not complete strangers. God save the King given its usual rebuttal from the Red fans and once that was over and done with the game began. The Reds were off to a very shaky start and their midfield seemed to have disappeared and then the Blues scored. The roar from across the pitch was deafening as we fell silent. Well, I immediately thought, fuck, I hope this is not a rout. But as the game continued, a few visits to the toilets and customary stop offs at the beer counter for a swift one - just to steady the nerves of course - and the Reds towards half-time seemed to be settling down and getting their shape back and beginning to put a few attacks together I thought mmmmm, this could go either way.

Half-time and a meet up with the boys for a beer and a discussion as to what way it is going, everyone freely given their opinion. While standing in the beer queue and just reaching the counter the 2nd half had started and a humungous roar from our stand paused everyone in their tracks - the Reds scored!!!! In two minds, we stayed put, ordered the beers, downed them very quickly and headed back to our seats to hopefully view the goal being repeated on the big screen which it duly was. A goal not very much unlike that of the earlier goal scored by the Blues, both glancing headers. A draw it stayed until the end and added time and then extra time.

A quick exodus by many desperate men who had been holding on for dear life for the game to end to get to the loos, myself included. Once again queues out the door and then the extra time began and I missed the second goal!!!! Back to the large screen and it failed to show it!!!! At moments like this it is God bless Youtube!!!!! A fantastic strike by Hale: - 2-1 - To add insult to injury news had spread around the stands that the Celts had won 3-0 and that buoyed everyone for the double. The Gunners having secured another win and increased their goal tally was of no real significance to anyone else but my own self, Celtic being the main news headline.

The stand was now bouncing and the noise was fantastic. Finger nails were being shredded quicker than paper as the Reds held on and then the Gods of football smiled down upon Cliftonville – the Blues keeper headed up to the Cliftonville square in a last gasp hope of levelling the game and as the ball came in it was cleared to a Red who was fouled but just managed to knock it forward in to the path of Ronan Hale. Referee indicates play on and Hale dashed forward hands in the air waving at his unbelievable luck of an open net, slotted it home and bagged his brace. What he didn’t know was that we were all shouting just put it in the fuckin net!!!!!!

The whole stand exploded in relief and the realisation that we had done it. And that was that . . . history was made and we were all there to see it. A great day out that ended in a drinks emporium into the small hours where we ventured in an out of the twilight zone as the celebrations rolled on. No idea how I made it home, no memory or recollection of how the hell I did and no-one has said to me since, did you get home alright? We were all sailing in the same boat I suppose! A hoarse voice and a blinder of a hangover from hell and the realisation that I’m no longer a Rock’n Roll star anymore. I doubt I’ll see another or indulge so freely if one should arise, again but I can always say I was there.

⏩ Cam Ogie is a Gaelic games enthusiast.