I would go to bed early and be woken for the match, often against City. Bell, Lee and Summerbee played back then for City while we had the ‘Holy Trinity’ of Best, Charlton and Law. Great days. As I reached my teens, about thirteen, we would travel by train to Manchester. Running up the hill on a wet Saturday morning, nicking fags and jibbing the bus was all part of the day out. The girls who worked in the newsagents would often chuck us five Park Drive just to rob the shop owner who paid shit wages. But these days were for the seventies as can be seen below.
The nineteen sixties, on a positive note, also saw many overdue changes on the pitch regards the player terms and conditions. The PFA (Professional Footballers Association) was headed in those days by a certain Jimmy Hill. Many may remember Jimmy as the presenter of the BBC Match of the Day. He campaigned and succeeded in getting rid of the £20 maximum wage and, in 1961, made Johnny Haynes of Fulham the first £100 per week player, Haynes is still considered by Fulham fans their best all-time player. This was achieved without the parasite so-called Agents who live off todays very well-paid players, certainly at the top level, and todays stars have the PFA, not the agents, to thank for paving the way for their high salaries.
Are players paid too much? No, not in my view, they are workers selling their labour power for a short working life and will sell that labour, like any other worker, for the best monetary wage. Agents, on the other hand, taking huge percentages of any transfer fee ‘their player’ receives are a different matter. To me they are an unnecessary burden, similar to the pimp taking a high percentage of a woman’s earnings, except the agents are legal! Alex Ferguson did his best to bypass agents but, alas, these creeps have become too powerful. I it is another symptom of money, greed and corruption in modern football.
Another progressive introduction of the sixties was the substitute. In 1965 Keith Peacock of Charlton Athletic became the first substitute to come on to replace an injured player. Charlton’s Goalkeeper, Mick Rose, got injured after eleven minutes at an away game at Bolton Wanderers and even though Keith was an outfield player he could cover in goal. This rule later changed, partly to stop Leeds manager, Don Revie, cheating by making one of his players fane injury so he could change the game if it was not going Leeds way, and bring on his substitute. The change in the rules allowed a substitution whether a player was injured or not.
In 1987 the rule changed again and two substitutes were allowed, which then went to three and now in the so-called Premier League, it is up to five subs. Once again, they have gone overboard with the substitutions, almost allowing two different teams on each side. Two subs were sufficient, to be named before the game, not two from three or five, two and one could be a keeper if the manager wished. That was sensible and keeping with the spirit of the game. In the 1968 European Cup Final Manchester United Manager, Matt Busby, named Jimmy Rimmer as United’s substitute was a goalkeeper in case Alex Stepney got injured. United crushed Benfica that night 4-1 becoming the “first English team to win the European Cup” and a song was made up accordingly.
A typical day at Old Trafford, in the mid-seventies, eighties and into the nineties or anywhere else for that matter, would begin about 7am, sometimes much earlier or even the night before if we were playing away at say Southampton, as my mam bawled me out of my cot; “are you going to see Man Utd today”? Silly question, “its seven o’clock get your arse out of your pit.” Time to shine the DMs (Doc Martens) up using Oxblood boot polish, often listening to Tina Charles singing ‘Dance Little Lady Dance’ or Abba treating us to ‘Mama Mia’ on the Tranny (transiter Radio). Polish the boots then off to the game, after a quick remark to the lasses working in the newsagent where we would buy ten number six cigarettes. The girls working in the shop would often toss us a packet behind the shop owner's back. Raid the buffet on the train, the good old British Rail Buffet for Youngers, Tartan Bitter, for the short journey to Victoria Station. Then to the pub and off to the match, buying a Hotdog from “our kid's” (all hotdog sellers were called “our kid in those days) stall.
Midweek games we would often jump on a supporters club coach which dropped us off in the old then still in partial use Trafford Park industrial Estate and the Trafford Park Hotel pub. The shunters were still running back in the seventies moving goods from the sheds, those still in use, so there was a constant hazard of these trains. Back in its time the Trafford Park Industrial Estate was the largest in Europe but by the seventies it was a shadow of its former self.
It is hard to imagine in today’s boring environment at what passes for the modern game, but on the Stretford End when packed, which was usual, urinating was often done on the terraces and it was not unknown to strike lucky with a quick shag with an equally enthusiastic girl. The authorities did not like this control of the terraces by the fans, as well as the pitch invasions at the last game of the season. Everything was outside their control which they needed a reason to stop.
About eight minutes before the end of our last home game in 1974 against Man City the United fans invaded the pitch. This was an effort to get the game abandoned. It had, after all, worked for Newcastle United fans when they invaded the field of play a few weeks earlier in their FA Cup tie against Nottingham Forrest. It did not work for us and the Blues finished 1-0 winners. There were no celebrations as no City fans worthy of note turned up.
Everybody in Manchester knew something would go down if United lost, it was another nail in the coffin of relegation. We did get relegated that year. The chant; “we’ll support you evermore” rang out of Old Trafford on and off the pitch. United were in the Second Division and this launched a rebirth. Tommy Docherty brought in some exiting new players, perhaps most notably was our signing from Hull City, Stuart Pearson (we’d walk a million miles, for one of your goals, oh Stuart). As Man Utd shot to the top of the league our attendances were the highest average of all four divisions beating Liverpool who actually won the First Division that year, 1974/75 season.
Crowds of 55-60,000 were regular at Old Trafford that season and continued the following seasons. United were on the march again playing fast attacking and entertaining football. We gained promotion back to the First Division at our first attempt. The Doc then bought Jimmy Greenhoff from Stoke City, a snip at £120,000, to add to our attack. playing just behind Pearson. With Steve Coppell and Gordon Hill on the wings, we were playing some of the finest football in the league.
After the pitch invasion against Man City the authorities, Football League, FA, and Government’s answer was to erect nine-foot fences to keep fans off the field of play and created a disaster waiting to happen. It took fifteen years for this to happen and in 1989 in an FA Cup Semi-Final involving Liverpool and Nottingham Forest at Sheffield Wednesdays Hillsborough stadium 97 Liverpool fans were, arguably, murdered by the authorities and their police force. The history of the Hillsborough Disaster is well documented. The net result of this terrible incident is the soulless all seater stadia we have today. Even though the Taylor Report into Hillsborough virtually exonerated standing of any blame - the police were culpable not the terraces for the crush - the authorities still went ahead with the cultureless all-seaters. This was a way of increasing profits, charging four times as much for a seat as the old terracing, getting rid of many working-class supporters who could no longer afford the entry price, and jibbing in was no longer an option. Oor many fans would not attend out of political principle. The entire culture of the game is now fucked, a culture which had lasted over 100 years just so these greedy bastards can amass even greater profits.
Late in the nineteen-seventies came the idea of crowd segregation for big games. Manchester United, the hooligan supporters of the decade according to the media. Away games from home were made all ticket affairs. This was an attempt by the authorities to keep the rival fans apart as United supporters had the habit of going on the home team's fans end; for example the Kop at Anfield a couple of times.
To counter this many Man Utd fans began traveling to the home team’s ground, weeks in advance, to purchase tickets for the home fans section of the ground. In London. For the “Cockney Reds” this was not hard. They all had London accents so those selling tickets at, say Arsenal, had no idea those who were purchasing the tickets were not Arsenal fans, but Manchester United supporters. This ploy worked for a few seasons till the authorities caught themselves on and the home clubs, in many instances, wanted proof of the supporter’s identity.
All that said it was a culture which has now gone, murdered by high finance and the money trick. It is unlikely those days will ever return as many of today’s younger supporters will not remember terracing. I feel sorry for them, they, through no fault of their own have missed out on great days irrespective of who your team was. I am speaking from a Man Utd view but I am sure the supporters of Liverpool, Newcastle, Sunderland, Spurs and many other clubs have their tales to tell. It made the world revolve on its axis.
Today I look at games and see greedy owners like the Glazers followed by daft rule changes like VAR. FA Cup ties decided on the day by penalties whereas previously a replay on a neutral ground was played. The game is a shadow of its former self, all seater stadia, fake scenes before the game and phoney atmospheres in many instances. The genuine article, football, has gone for ever and I consider myself lucky to have experienced those electric days.
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| Caoimhin O’Muraile is Independent Socialist Republican and Marxist. |
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