
Originally Posted by
Organ Morgan.
That Bristol Rovers game all those years ago I had resolved to swerve any trouble as I had tired of being twisted up by HM constabulary. Anyone and everyone hoping to indulge in some recreational violence made it to that game as the crush to enter the ground confirmed. I was stood near the back of the open terrace when I heard a familiar voice close behind start a chant. It was someone called Frankie (Humphreys?) who I didn't know to talk to but he must have been the club's most active hooligan as he always seemed to be near or usually at the centre of every dust-up home and away.
We moved much lower down the terracing waiting for the teams to appear when from nowhere a group of half a dozen real handy looking lumps appeared at the bottom of the stand before us screaming anti-Welsh stuff and inviting any of the thousands to fight them. They were ignored initially as everyone else must also have assumed they were pissed-up or drugged-up Cardiff fans as no sane people would invite being stretchered away by St John's Ambulance people. They were Rovers fans though and it was a horrible sight seeing a swarm surround and mercilessly boot them senseless in an ugly feeding frenzy. I was one amongst several who coppers chose at random to bundle out of the ground.
After the game making our way through the streets it was one incident after another, and sure enough it wasn't long before I spotted the remarkably energetic Frankie getting stuck in.