Running down Rycroft Way, just off Tottenham High Road, the plan was to turn off down Somerset Road and get back onto the High Street. It’d been better to be their from the start by the coppers hadn’t given you that choice had they?
Thoughts rolled back to earlier in the year and that kicking Chelsea had got coming down Green Street. Giving it large, West Ham had descended on them like a pack of wild animals. Lots of the old boys from Mile End were involved, probably why it had gotten so gruesome.
As the dust settled there seemed to be more bodies than normal laid out on the pavement. Loads of blood everywhere as well. Seemed as though the animosity had been only getting worse as time went on.
No wonder this Chelsea lot had taken exception to the blazer. Now here you were, running around Tottenham with a bleedin’ West Ham badge on it. If Chelsea didn’t get ya there was every chance some of the Yids would fancy a pop given the odds.
Time to slow down to a normal paced walk. The gash on your head wasn’t bleeding as badly as it might have done, but you certainly could only stick out even more running down the street in full kit, bleeding, with that blazer on.
Luckily the Old Bill seemed to have lost track of you. Thank fuck. Rycroft was coming up fast, and after that it’d be a quick hop onto Tottenham High Road. Thinks weren’t likely to kick off there with the Bill about looking for everyone.
Then you heard it. Just as you came ’round the corner “We are the famous CFC” going up with gusto. Down the end of the road is Chelsea and they have Viv up against a wall. Chanting right in his face.
This would probably be a tough choice for the average person. Sneak off and not risk a hiding, and leave your mate behind, or get stuck in and in all likelihood get a kicking. But you aren’t every other person, and Viv had picked up the black bombers hadn’t he?
Looking round there was a discarded brick to your right. Probably a result of another bit of fun in North London last weekend. Quietly picking it up, it’s time to move towards Chelsea. Hopefully they don’t spot you coming up.
Too late, fifteen yards away and some chubby prick at back of the pack spoils the plot. You’ve ran towards him and smashed the brick in his face before the rest of them realize what’s going on. Felt like his cheekbone must have went on his way down to the pavement.
That was Viv’s cue to start swinging wildly at his tormentors. One of them was spark out on the first wild swing. All of the sudden the odds were coming back in your favor and quickly.
With you and Viv doing your best Henry Cooper impression you were barely hanging on. Six of them were still standing and fighting for their lives. A shout came from down the road: the rest of your lot had found you. Had this been the full Chelsea lot you’d still be out of luck. Some of them must have been lost in the excitement in the club.
Your lot came rushing in, a ten foot radius probably looking like some sort of cartoon with the punches flying. Keith was a big lad but was on the ground, taking a kicking from two Chelsea lads. As you went over to back them off the sirens came up again.
Chelsea ran off. Your lot had been too tired to run. Chelsea had tried their best, but you all had stood your ground. This was a story for the terraces tomorrow.