Joined this forum mainly to tell my story in this thread from another perspective.
25 Aug 1984. Plough lane AFC Wimbledon vs Manchester City
As a (then) very passionate Chelsea fan (from Sweden) I traveled to London 2-3 times a season mainly to watch Chelsea.
However all English matches, around London, I could see during a visit I would go to.
That day Chelsea played Arsenal at Highbury and I went to that game. Kick off at 11:30. I considered myself pretty streetwise after all my travels and sure enough I had no problems getting to and from Highbury without any fuss. Knowing what to look out for and how to blend in.
I had a small bag with me that I filled with Chelsea Souvenirs on sale and after the game made may way to South London. Took ages to get there and once at the ground the only stand still open was the away end. I was just about the last person in before the shut the turnstiles.
I was about to have my first close encounter with Mancunians...
The crumbling terrace was packed and devoid of any "safe space". It was a combination of many things in the stand. Frustration with the game, Wimbledon 2-0 up early on, a "somewhat" drunken crowd, Chelsea fans turning up and pelting missiles from the road outside the ground and various scuffles with the police. Although I speak decent English I could not understand random comments, because of the heavy accents, from people nearby and decided to just keep quiet and watch the game no matter what happens. Once City scored I made a point of doing my own very visible celebration.
Trying to sell the image of "He might be a weird recluse but at least he's a city fan"
But that bag full of Chelsea gear didn't seem like such a good idea any longer...
I didn't move an inch for 105 minutes I think. And once the away end was informed that we would be kept in for our own security until further notice the tempers flared again. I just thought; this is not going to end well.
As we finally were allowed out a copper kept saying there are plenty Chelsea fans still in the area so take care.
So there was another level of anxiety. Escape this mob only to get whacked by the Headhunters.
However. At 21 I was a pretty good runner... My plan was crystal clear. Once outside I'll set off like a bullet and I'll keep going full pelt for 10 minutes in my chosen direction no matter what. No one is going to catch me. Then a cab.
I've been in plenty of tight situations in my life but never felt as vulnerable as then...
But as all good stories it has a happy ending. I love the city of Manchester now and have done for quite some time.
