City 1 Chelsea 1 1971
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 2 Aug 2012
- Messages
- 333
To put this game into context it was only eighteen months and Millwall’s biggest game since their infamous FA Cup riot at Luton in 1985. It was never going to be a day for the faint hearted and the word on the street was that City had the numbers.
After a night on the piss in the old Bamboo, we travelled on the main special train which meandered through the English countryside at about 35mph before stopping at New Cross.
I don’t remember any females on board, but somebody had brought some party games and I can still picture a bizarre image of me slipping in the aisle and destroying a tense game of Kerplunk on the opposite table.
A couple of lads were playing Monopoly and the Stewards were selling butties and sausage rolls through the grills of the mail carriage, which probably last saw a lick of paint en route to the 1934 FA Cup Final.
Upon arrival we were marched through a housing estate before arriving at the Den to the backdrop of circling helicopters. bloodthirsty police dogs and the obligatory whiff of horseshit and stale burgers.
Once in the ground the view was not dissimilar to that of the original standing area at the Hawthorns as we peered through the various obstructions and wire meshing, designed specifically to restrict our view.
Tony Adcock scored the winning goal just before half time with a chip at the opposite end of the ground that looked suspiciously like an unintentioned sliced cross.
The atmosphere grew fruity as the Police escort to New Cross was accompanied by City fans whistling the Bridge over the River Kwai, much to the obvious discomfort of the frustrated and foaming home support.
As we waited at the station, another gang, approximately two hundred strong, appeared on the adjacent platform. Never in the history of Planet Earth has there ever been such a frightening gang of knife wielding, battle scarred, nasty band of desperado mother fuckers, this side of Daniel Day Lewis and the Gangs of New York
“That’s our boys” said the Head Steward.
Happy Days!
After a night on the piss in the old Bamboo, we travelled on the main special train which meandered through the English countryside at about 35mph before stopping at New Cross.
I don’t remember any females on board, but somebody had brought some party games and I can still picture a bizarre image of me slipping in the aisle and destroying a tense game of Kerplunk on the opposite table.
A couple of lads were playing Monopoly and the Stewards were selling butties and sausage rolls through the grills of the mail carriage, which probably last saw a lick of paint en route to the 1934 FA Cup Final.
Upon arrival we were marched through a housing estate before arriving at the Den to the backdrop of circling helicopters. bloodthirsty police dogs and the obligatory whiff of horseshit and stale burgers.
Once in the ground the view was not dissimilar to that of the original standing area at the Hawthorns as we peered through the various obstructions and wire meshing, designed specifically to restrict our view.
Tony Adcock scored the winning goal just before half time with a chip at the opposite end of the ground that looked suspiciously like an unintentioned sliced cross.
The atmosphere grew fruity as the Police escort to New Cross was accompanied by City fans whistling the Bridge over the River Kwai, much to the obvious discomfort of the frustrated and foaming home support.
As we waited at the station, another gang, approximately two hundred strong, appeared on the adjacent platform. Never in the history of Planet Earth has there ever been such a frightening gang of knife wielding, battle scarred, nasty band of desperado mother fuckers, this side of Daniel Day Lewis and the Gangs of New York
“That’s our boys” said the Head Steward.
Happy Days!
