Caoimhin O’Muraile ⚽ Last Saturday I listened to the FA Community Shield match at Wembley between League Champions, Manchester City and their FA Cup conquerors and trophy winners Manchester United.
United went a goal up after 81 minuet’s courtesy of Alejandro Garnacho,only to have the goal wiped out by a De Silva equaliser, a fluke goal. City went on to win 7-6 on sudden death penalty shoot-out. Again, United threw away an advantage after keeper, Andre Onana, saved City’s first penalty.
The game I would have attended under normal circumstances as it was away from Old Trafford and would not have been lining Glazers pockets, a matter of principle (I also checked FC United’s score away at Morpeth we won 1-0). For a few seconds I was in a by gone age, an age when football was football and not big business. The first FA Charity Shield, as it was then called, I can remember was the 1967 contest at Old Trafford, though I was not there – too young – between Man Utd, league Champions in 67 and Tottenham Hotspur who had lifted the FA Cup in 1967. The game was drawn 3-3 and is perhaps best remembered for Pat Jennings goal with the Spurs Keeper kicking the ball out from the Stretford End towards the Scoreboard End and the ball bounced over Man Utd Keeper, Alex Stepney's head and into the net. The teams drew 3-3 and shared the trophy, six months each, as was the custom in those eternal days of football. Today the powers that be have yet again fucked things up by making the teams take penalties in the event of a draw.
I have been to many Charity Shield games and a memorable match was Manchester United v Liverpool in 1983. United won with a brace of goals from Brian Robson against the league Champions from Merseyside. The surprising aspect about the day was Liverpool failed to sell all their tickets resulting in much of their end being occupied by United fans. However, I am deviating, and back to the early days at old Trafford.
I had supported United since as far back as I can remember, there has never been any other team, just Man Utd. That night at Wembley in 1968 when we destroyed Eusebio and Benfica by ‘four goals to one’ with goals from Bobby Charlton, George Best, Brian Kidd on his 19th birthday and Bobby Charlton again was probably the year I became dedicated, even obsessed as was the trend back then. I had to wait until 12th September 1970 to make my Old Trafford debut, aged nine years. I recall vividly it was raining as my parents and me admired the Munich plaque under the main Stand, Railway Side, as the rain poured. We had just visited the souvenir shop behand the Scoreboard End. A small family- welcoming building belonging to Matt Busby I acquired my first scarf which I still have and wear to this day fifty-four years later.
I had supported United since as far back as I can remember, there has never been any other team, just Man Utd. That night at Wembley in 1968 when we destroyed Eusebio and Benfica by ‘four goals to one’ with goals from Bobby Charlton, George Best, Brian Kidd on his 19th birthday and Bobby Charlton again was probably the year I became dedicated, even obsessed as was the trend back then. I had to wait until 12th September 1970 to make my Old Trafford debut, aged nine years. I recall vividly it was raining as my parents and me admired the Munich plaque under the main Stand, Railway Side, as the rain poured. We had just visited the souvenir shop behand the Scoreboard End. A small family- welcoming building belonging to Matt Busby I acquired my first scarf which I still have and wear to this day fifty-four years later.
I remember a gang of Skinheads getting off the shuttle train and walking towards the Stretford End, all the ‘Skins’ and ‘Boot Boys’ gathered on the terraces of the ‘Stretford’ as it was known. They came from the huge gangs of Salford, Collyhurst Estate where Nobby Stiles and Brian Kidd came from, Wythenshawe and other ‘Red’ areas of Manchester. In those days around 85% of United fans attending Old Trafford hailed from Greater Manchester with around 10% from outside, London (the Cockney Reds a force within a force), Yorkshire and around England and Scotland. Around 5% came from other countries - Ireland in particular sent a couple of hundred diehards every week as did Norway and were welcome as ‘Reds’, the same as anybody from Manchester.
That day as the leaden sky thickened and the downpour increased, I met Matt Busby, God as it felt to a nine-year old, and George Best, Nobby Stiles and Alan Gowling. Our opponents were Coventry City and our new signing, Ian Ure, the ‘Iron Man of Arsenal’ was playing. I remember Ure because I sent off to Typhoo Tea with ten pack tops as proof of purchase, for his photo, I had the rest of the team, and they sent me Ian Ure in a fucking Arsenal shirt in front of their North Bank terrace.
Goals from Bobby Charlton and George Best, two of the Holy Trinity consisting of Best, Charlton and Law, secured a victory for United in one of Wilf McGuinness’s early victories as manager against a strong Coventry side. Matt had stepped down as Team Manager but it was still essentially his team. Wilf, alas, did not make it as a manager and Busby had to come out of semi-retirement to shaw things up. The dull rain filled sky did not deter my glee as I began remembering some songs I had picked up from the fans:
kick em all
kick em all
come on you reds
kick em all
if you see any blue shit
then fucking well boot it
come on you reds
kick em all
It was to the air of bless em all a Second World War song. The song my parents having allowed once then banned it!
The second appearance I made at Old Trafford was 24th April 1971 against Ipswich Town and again it was raining. I sat in the ‘Railway Side’ seats, again listening to the Stretford Enders chanting their songs, some consisting of swear words which everybody accepted. In those days the supporters were almost as big as the game and result itself, and the pre-match entertainment supplied by our vocalists was second to none. It was a working-class game then and cursing was part and parcel of the afternoon, even in the seats it was cultural, a word I was still too young to understand. We won the game 3-0 with goals from Bobby Charlton, George Best and Brian Kidd sending me home a delighted camper. I could not wait for Monday and school to boast of my exploits.
The second appearance I made at Old Trafford was 24th April 1971 against Ipswich Town and again it was raining. I sat in the ‘Railway Side’ seats, again listening to the Stretford Enders chanting their songs, some consisting of swear words which everybody accepted. In those days the supporters were almost as big as the game and result itself, and the pre-match entertainment supplied by our vocalists was second to none. It was a working-class game then and cursing was part and parcel of the afternoon, even in the seats it was cultural, a word I was still too young to understand. We won the game 3-0 with goals from Bobby Charlton, George Best and Brian Kidd sending me home a delighted camper. I could not wait for Monday and school to boast of my exploits.
Games in those days were events, particularly if fans had to travel as the East-West motorway linking the Humber and the Mersey, the M62, was not yet built. Snake pass, the only other route, after November was usually unpassable due to snow. Before the game we walked round the ground to the feared Stretford End where the smell of urine and alcohol was in evidence with chants of ‘we’ll support you evermore’ resounding from the ques of fans waiting to gain entrance. I remember a girl up against the stands wall laughing and giggling with a Doc Marten shod skinhead pumping away at her. Mam and Dad dragged me away, Great days.
Our main hate back then was Man City, a legacy from the sixties. The rivalry with Liverpool later developed into all-out war as the decade progressed. In 1973 we played Leeds United, Revie's cheats, on a Wednesday night at Elland Road. United were expected to get hammered but, surprisingly, a goal from Trevor Anderson sealed a 1-0 victory for us. I remember the game well as Man Utd fans rioted before the game through Leeds. My red and white scarf saved my dad’s car from being vandalised! I still had not seen the ‘Holy Trinity’ score as Denis had yet to oblige me. The next time I saw him he did just that for fucking Man City in 1974. Law made no celebrations as the erstwhile King of the Stretford End left the pitch almost in tears. The pitch was invaded that day hoping to get the match abandoned and replayed. After all, it had worked for Newcastle United against Nottingham Forrest a few weeks previous in an FA Cup quarter final tie. Unfortunately for us the officials were having none of it. The Referee blew for time, according to us eight minutes early, as police struggled to clear the pitch.
United were now in the Second Division and still commanded the highest attendances. That season, 1974-75 we averaged 48,000+ at Old Trafford with two crowds over 60,000. Not even League Champions Liverpool could match us for crowds. The ‘Red Army’ invaded everywhere during our brief stay in the second flight, gaining a reputation of the worst ‘hooligans’ in Britain as the Daily Mirror started a league table of ‘hooligans’. Who said the media were innocent reporters? This reputation stayed with us until the late seventies when other gangs had caught up and a generation gap came about. This was when the older lads were getting married and settling down a bit and the next generation were not yet ready to fill the void. Caught up maybe, but other gangs were still numerically inferior to the Red Army even in a transitional stage.
United were now in the Second Division and still commanded the highest attendances. That season, 1974-75 we averaged 48,000+ at Old Trafford with two crowds over 60,000. Not even League Champions Liverpool could match us for crowds. The ‘Red Army’ invaded everywhere during our brief stay in the second flight, gaining a reputation of the worst ‘hooligans’ in Britain as the Daily Mirror started a league table of ‘hooligans’. Who said the media were innocent reporters? This reputation stayed with us until the late seventies when other gangs had caught up and a generation gap came about. This was when the older lads were getting married and settling down a bit and the next generation were not yet ready to fill the void. Caught up maybe, but other gangs were still numerically inferior to the Red Army even in a transitional stage.
That season, 1974-75, I remember the game against Aston Villa at Old Trafford, a crowd of over 55,000 were in attendance, with United winning 2-1 in a close top of the table clash. It was a warm day, surprising for early November 1974, and the M62 was now available if the weather was bad. A truly great and useful motorway the M62, built by Irish labour, as was the Manchester Ship Canal near Old Trafford.
The next game was a 1-0 win over York City on 21st December 1974, another warm day, away at Bootham Cresent with Stuart Pearson - for manager Tommy Doc a great signing from Hull City - scoring our only goal. In the return game United beat York 2-1 as the minnows gave us a close game.
On the 1st February the game at home to Bristol City was my next visit and now the pub came into play. Once again it was raining in Manchester. Now aged fourteen and considered a veteran among my age group the stakes were now getting higher as the pub was accompanied by some violence. Bristol brought no supporters with them, as very few if any did in those days, Old Trafford was feared even by Liverpool and City. Bristol City, managed by Alan Dicks, beat us 0-1 that day, our only home defeat of the season in the league. They actually did the double over us which was supposedly not allowed!
United went up as champions that year with a final game against Blackpool attracting over 60,000 to Old Trafford. On April 26th 1975 we beat the ‘Tangies’ or ‘Seasiders’ as Blackpool were called 4-0 going back to Division One in style. The chant was ‘division two can kiss my arse, back in division one at last’. From now on and for the next two decades it was home, away and abroad with Man Utd as the chant Anfield, Anfield here we come, Anfield, here we come bellowed from the terraces.
School became less of an option if we played mid-week, I remember those games well as the airborne effluence drifted over from Trafford Park industrial estate. The docks were still in use back then albeit on a much smaller scale than previous decades and the Salford kids charged people ten bob to look after their cars. It was a foolish patron who refused this offer because often they would return to their vehicle which in all probability would be propped up by bricks instead of wheels! If the owner paid their car was as safe as houses, guaranteed.
I remember when the Premier League replaced the old First Division many of us were very, very sceptical. Our scepticism has been proved well founded as the money men have ruined our game turning it into big business on a transnational level. They have replaced our hallowed grounds with soulless all seater stadia and gentrified the game with morons from the bourgeoisie. These are not proper ‘Reds’ in the old tradition as neither are half of the same who attend Anfield or Goodison, Maine Road (as it were) or any of the former fortresses.
I remember when the Premier League replaced the old First Division many of us were very, very sceptical. Our scepticism has been proved well founded as the money men have ruined our game turning it into big business on a transnational level. They have replaced our hallowed grounds with soulless all seater stadia and gentrified the game with morons from the bourgeoisie. These are not proper ‘Reds’ in the old tradition as neither are half of the same who attend Anfield or Goodison, Maine Road (as it were) or any of the former fortresses.
For all our faults we could defend our end against all comers, in Man Utd fans case Glasgow Rangers in an unpublicised friendly in 1974. Though fewer, much fewer, in number than usual United defended successfully the Stretford End as the Rangers tried and failed to take it. Modern Liverpool fans could not defend the stand where the Kop once stood against Roma fans a few years ago resulting in one of Liverpool’s number being severely beaten and critically injured. This would not have happened back in the days of standing accommodation. Liverpool fans were well able to defend the Kop though United did try to get on it a few times! They succeeded for about five minutes in 1982 if my memory serves, an achievement in itself, before weight of numbers forced the unwelcome guests off the Kop terraces. The invaders were escorted to the Anfield Road End where we were all gathered to the chant of; we’re proud of you, we’re proud of you, we’re proud of you; we’re proud, we’re proud of you etc.
As I look at Old Trafford today, that soulless huge stadium which the present owners, the Glazers, have let fall into disrepair, my heart sinks. Since those days in the early seventies, beginning in 1969-1970 and 1971 much has happened. I and many others of the generation have travelled to many lands in different competitions and seen the inside of many different police cells – always innocent of course – my thoughts always think back to that first ever game for me at Old Trafford against Coventry. I remember surveying the ground, the Scoreboard End was an open terrace in those days before the Cantilever was extended from the United Road side. The club had redeveloped the United Road side for the 1966 World Cup as Old Trafford was one of the grounds to be used. Sitting there with my red and white beret and scarf along with compulsory rattle I listened in a state of semi-hypnosis to our fans on the famed Stretford End singing songs which today are long gone. The scattering of fans on the Scoreboard End were getting drenched with the exception of about fifty black umbrellas towards the rear of the terracing. These were the ‘Brolly Boys’ named such because they always carried long black umbrellas, rain or shine. They were a sub-culture of the ‘Skins’ and ‘Boot Boys’ and their little clutch on the open terrace that day was apparent by their Crombie overcoats and umbrellas forming a canopy. Red and white scarves accompanied their attire beneath the Crombie overcoats. Then the crowd erupted as Bobby Charlton led out the team, Jimmy Rimmer was in goal deputising for Alex Stepney the regular keeper. Rimmer’s name rang out in appreciation.
In the second division we adopted the US Civil Rights song, We Shall Overcome some day, a fitting song both on and off the pitch as fascism was trying to make inroads at football grounds. They got little success at Old Trafford as the papers sold there were; Newsline, the paper of the Workers Revolutionary Party, An Phoblacht/Republican News the paper of the Irish republican movement, and later Red Action the paper of an anti-fascist socialist organisation. All this aside my memories of those early games are sweet, and not only because we won my first two games.
As I look at Old Trafford today, that soulless huge stadium which the present owners, the Glazers, have let fall into disrepair, my heart sinks. Since those days in the early seventies, beginning in 1969-1970 and 1971 much has happened. I and many others of the generation have travelled to many lands in different competitions and seen the inside of many different police cells – always innocent of course – my thoughts always think back to that first ever game for me at Old Trafford against Coventry. I remember surveying the ground, the Scoreboard End was an open terrace in those days before the Cantilever was extended from the United Road side. The club had redeveloped the United Road side for the 1966 World Cup as Old Trafford was one of the grounds to be used. Sitting there with my red and white beret and scarf along with compulsory rattle I listened in a state of semi-hypnosis to our fans on the famed Stretford End singing songs which today are long gone. The scattering of fans on the Scoreboard End were getting drenched with the exception of about fifty black umbrellas towards the rear of the terracing. These were the ‘Brolly Boys’ named such because they always carried long black umbrellas, rain or shine. They were a sub-culture of the ‘Skins’ and ‘Boot Boys’ and their little clutch on the open terrace that day was apparent by their Crombie overcoats and umbrellas forming a canopy. Red and white scarves accompanied their attire beneath the Crombie overcoats. Then the crowd erupted as Bobby Charlton led out the team, Jimmy Rimmer was in goal deputising for Alex Stepney the regular keeper. Rimmer’s name rang out in appreciation.
In the second division we adopted the US Civil Rights song, We Shall Overcome some day, a fitting song both on and off the pitch as fascism was trying to make inroads at football grounds. They got little success at Old Trafford as the papers sold there were; Newsline, the paper of the Workers Revolutionary Party, An Phoblacht/Republican News the paper of the Irish republican movement, and later Red Action the paper of an anti-fascist socialist organisation. All this aside my memories of those early games are sweet, and not only because we won my first two games.
The seventies, despite relegation and some shit football early in the decade, 1972-73 and 73-74, were great days to be a ‘Red’. They were the days of camaraderie and solidarity as we travelled ‘far and wide’. My fondest memory of Old Trafford is of my mam grabbing hold of Matt Busby, the ‘great man,’ demanding he gave me an audience which he willingly did. Asked if we “were going to win today Mr Busby” he answered; “of course we are son” in his Glasgow brogue patting my head. For a nine-year old that was like been addressed by the Pope but better.
Today’s teenagers will never experience such games and atmospheres as back in those early days. For this I feel sorry for them as to have been around in those days was something never to be forgotten. For today’s teenagers this is as good as it gets. Some burke stage managing a non-existent atmosphere with his microphone. Flares on the pitch like an American Baseball game before the teams come out and girls dancing like brainless chickens in showbiz fashion. I couldn’t imagine the girl mentioned above enjoying herself up against the stand wall making an exhibition of herself like these short-skirted capitalist fodder were doing pre-match. Fucking ridiculous and that’s been kind. They will grow up knowing nothing better than VAR crap with referees demoted to a consultation role. All the pre-match entertainments are stage managed and are fake. The flags seen on TV are the property of either the clubs or the publicity companies employed by them. We made our own pre-match entertainment creating atmospheres which had to be experienced. A pre-match pass time was if the Stretford End was full, usually by about 2.45, then go in the Scoreboard End and run across the pitch without being captured by the police! As a nine-year old I experienced such atmospheres and was hypnotised by the experience.
Today’s teenagers will never experience such games and atmospheres as back in those early days. For this I feel sorry for them as to have been around in those days was something never to be forgotten. For today’s teenagers this is as good as it gets. Some burke stage managing a non-existent atmosphere with his microphone. Flares on the pitch like an American Baseball game before the teams come out and girls dancing like brainless chickens in showbiz fashion. I couldn’t imagine the girl mentioned above enjoying herself up against the stand wall making an exhibition of herself like these short-skirted capitalist fodder were doing pre-match. Fucking ridiculous and that’s been kind. They will grow up knowing nothing better than VAR crap with referees demoted to a consultation role. All the pre-match entertainments are stage managed and are fake. The flags seen on TV are the property of either the clubs or the publicity companies employed by them. We made our own pre-match entertainment creating atmospheres which had to be experienced. A pre-match pass time was if the Stretford End was full, usually by about 2.45, then go in the Scoreboard End and run across the pitch without being captured by the police! As a nine-year old I experienced such atmospheres and was hypnotised by the experience.
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| Caoimhin O’Muraile is Independent Socialist Republican and Marxist. |
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