Don’t know if true, but was told that after a match day police officer asked certain people about potential trouble if a well known east end Glasgow club played a pre season friendly at the Valley (early to mid 2000’s) that it was called off on police advice, could be BS, but I remember the police asking questions at the time
Flown paper aeroplanes onto the pitch, threw a club shop catalogue when Steve Brown was sent off for that hand ball. Threw the odd taxi/pig on the pitch when weak throws didn't get them all the way there from others.
I was in Sloane Sq on Sunday when the Liverpool coach (and the Liverpool corporate hospitality coach ffs) drove past. Liverpool won 2-0. My Liverpool-supporting mate nows wants me to be in a suitable position to see the coach for all subsequent away games so he must believe I influenced the game.
As the Play off away leg against Ipswich was on a sunday 1.0pm kick off me and a friend who shall remain nameless decided to head off to the bright lights of Ipswich for a pre match saturday night session. When booking into our hotel we noticed the sign above reception " The hotel management extend a warm welcome to the players and officials of Ipwich town football club, good luck tommorow !" it seems that as it was such a big game they were to treat it like an away game. We spotted a few of the players around the hotel and other than a few " your shite" comments behind their backs and the writing of TOWN, TOWN staying down on the pool table chalk board we completely forgot they were there. That was until 3.30am when after getting completely bladdered and failing miserably to pull any local talent we returned to the hotel, as a completely spur of the moment thing (not as if we had spent the last 5 hours planning the whole thing!) we set off the fire alarms and ran to our room. We then set off to the car park with all the other guests trying our hardest to look as if we had been woken up, messing our hair ( yes we had hair then) and pretending to yawn etc. after a 25 minute wait for the fire brigade the poor little Ipwich boys were not impressed and George Burley demanded that staff return inside to grab blankets for his poor little boys. I seem to remember standing next to him and Johnston commenting that " i can't understand what possesess some people to do things like this" We eventualy were allowed back to our rooms at about 5.0am and the rest is history.........
As sky sports reported, yobs had destroyed the teams preperations which lead to them losing 1-0 by an own goal !!!!
All the papers carried the same story but the best was reserved for the monday mornings Star, KIPSWICH, loutish yobs ruin Ipswich Towns play-off dreams !!!
On our return to bexleyheath that night we bumped inti Eddie Youds who after hearing the story bought us a bottle of champagne each.
PS
The Hotel refunded half of our money because of the disruption !!!!!!
I can't match the OP story. I was staying down in Hove watching a four-day County Championship between Sussex and Gloucestershire. Gloucestershire ended the third day needing about 80 on the final day with 8 (or, maybe, 9) wickets in hand. I happened to go to the same Thai restaurant as the Gloucestershire team. I congratulated them on their almost certain victory and told them they could have a good night out in Brighton celebrating. I remember encouraging Alex Gidman to have another beer. Next day, Gloucestershire fell apart and lost by a small margin on a decent batting wicket.
Have to say, that opening post is an absolute belter. Such a shame there wasn't a "like" button back then (2007!), but I've gone back and added one now. Credit where it's due.
Not sure I even influenced a Sunday league game I played in...
In my final season of 11 a-side I influenced the game in good and bad ways.
We were playing a side that were pretty cack, but we were the support players, five of the better players had been on a night out the night before and the manager refused to play them. They all sulked and went home before kick off.
We conceded an early goal, then on about half an hour I scored from a cross. It wasn't clean or tidy but it flew in through the keepers flailing hands. Half time it was 1-1. Second seemed to be going better, then around 70 minutes they scored a beautiful goal. Worked out from defence, switched sides a couple of times, then a perfect cross.
Straight from the kick off myself and the other forward played a couple of obvous 1-2's and I played him in, he struck a shot and the keeper saved well. It fell to me on the edge of the 18 and I belted it. All power I had no idea if it would be on target as I hit it. It went low and bounced up off a bobble into the top corner. Clearly not what I intended, but a goal is a goal.
On the next kick off they tried to lob our keeper, he drop kicked it clear after an easy catch, the other forward played a 1-2 with the winger and the whole defence shifted over to them. I ran into space as the forward shot, the defender blocked well and the ball dropped to me in acres of space keeper wrong footed and I thought "side foot, easy tap in" nope... miskicked it straight at the post. It went out to the defender who lumped it forward and they scored their third. We didn't come back into it and I never forgot it, I never scored another 11-aside goal after that.
It was rare for me to score 1, let alone 2 and one kick ruined my confidence. I had kept us in the game and I had thrown the game away for us. That miss haunted me after and I shifted focus to hitting the target or playing in team mates and still do in my 8-aside that I play in now...
Charlton v Milton Keynes Dons at The Valley in February 2012.
As is customary, my lads (both grown men) identified a member of the opposition for their particular brand of 'analysis'. On this day, their target was lumbering centre-half Gary MacKenzie, and his shortcomings were explained to him, politely but clearly, on a number of occasions.
My boys were on top form that day. Their delivery from the North Stand (Lower) was of the highest quality and, with MacKenzie frequently in ear-shot, it was soon evident that he was becoming a little 'distracted' and somewhat peeved by the well-intentioned feedback. A turbulent character at the best of times, MacKenzie began to adopt the "I'll make them eat their words" approach ... an approach which is seldom conducive to controlled and effective football.
Just as a wrestler persistently works on a particular joint of his opponent, so my lads continued to offer their 'constructive comments' to the volatile Scot.
And then ... breaking point. Unable to stride into the crowd to offer his counter-argument, MacKenzie finally broke ... and head-butted Yann Kermorgant in the place where it hurts the most ... the MK Dons penalty area.
The rest is history. Oh yes, Johnnie Jackson may have scored the resultant penalty as we moved to a 2-1 win, but my lads got the assist.
Back in the 90s I used to really dislike John McGinlay of Bolton Wanderers, something that related back to an issue of Shoot! magazine that he appeared in (I really objected to him wearing a gold chain over a shellsuit).
One day, he was standing in the six yard box waiting for a corner in front of the North Stand, and as it was taken I shouted "I really hate you John McGinlay!" from a few rows back in a wobbly, not-quite-broken voice, which caught his attention. He glanced over to look at me, probably confused more than anything, and the corner sailed past him. I sat down, really pleased with myself.
I was in Sloane Sq on Sunday when the Liverpool coach (and the Liverpool corporate hospitality coach ffs) drove past. Liverpool won 2-0. My Liverpool-supporting mate nows wants me to be in a suitable position to see the coach for all subsequent away games so he must believe I influenced the game.
I saw it back in July/August when they played arsenal, on the city road, followed it to the hotel they stayed at, the old shoreditch police station.... near Browns 😀
I was in Sloane Sq on Sunday when the Liverpool coach (and the Liverpool corporate hospitality coach ffs) drove past. Liverpool won 2-0. My Liverpool-supporting mate nows wants me to be in a suitable position to see the coach for all subsequent away games so he must believe I influenced the game.
I saw it back in July/August when they played arsenal, on the city road, followed it to the hotel they stayed at, the old shoreditch police station.... near Browns 😀
I was in Scotland visiting the in-laws and was taken to Partick Thistle v Celtic. Apparently the Thistles keeper had defied a union walkout in his younger days. He were standing at the front and, in the pre match warm up he came over to retrieve a ball. My mate called out "Hey keeper where's your union card?". The keeper just looked at him and smiled. Happy days.
Not me directly, but I went to see Leyton Orient v Fulham years back with a fella from work who was an O's fan and his mates. We were in the old stand on the side that ran the length of the pitch.
Clive Walker was playing for Fulham on the wing on our side of the ground and when he went to pick the ball up to take a throw-in just in front of us after about 2 minutes one of the lads went right down the front and started shouting, "Clive. Clive. Clive ..... CLIVE". Walker turned around and he shouted "FLASHER!" and opened his coat! Apparently he had been done for some sort of indecent exposure or something a few years earlier. He didn't look happy.
This fella then proceeded to absolutely rip him to pieces for the whole of the first half. At one point Walker picked the ball up in the full back position and went on a run down the wing with this fella running along next to him in the stand shouting "Clive, Clive, Clive ....."
Every so often Walker would look over and this bloke would shout "FLASHER" and open his coat. Again and again. It was like a moth to the flame. He couldn't stop himself looking over. Never seen anything like it before or since.
Can't remember the score, but I know Walker had an absolute shocker.
Charlton v Milton Keynes Dons at The Valley in February 2012.
As is customary, my lads (both grown men) identified a member of the opposition for their particular brand of 'analysis'. On this day, their target was lumbering centre-half Gary MacKenzie, and his shortcomings were explained to him, politely but clearly, on a number of occasions.
My boys were on top form that day. Their delivery from the North Stand (Lower) was of the highest quality and, with MacKenzie frequently in ear-shot, it was soon evident that he was becoming a little 'distracted' and somewhat peeved by the well-intentioned feedback. A turbulent character at the best of times, MacKenzie began to adopt the "I'll make them eat their words" approach ... an approach which is seldom conducive to controlled and effective football.
Just as a wrestler persistently works on a particular joint of his opponent, so my lads continued to offer their 'constructive comments' to the volatile Scot.
And then ... breaking point. Unable to stride into the crowd to offer his counter-argument, MacKenzie finally broke ... and head-butted Yann Kermorgant in the place where it hurts the most ... the MK Dons penalty area.
The rest is history. Oh yes, Johnnie Jackson may have scored the resultant penalty as we moved to a 2-1 win, but my lads got the assist.
Not sure I even influenced a Sunday league game I played in...
In my final season of 11 a-side I influenced the game in good and bad ways.
We were playing a side that were pretty cack, but we were the support players, five of the better players had been on a night out the night before and the manager refused to play them. They all sulked and went home before kick off.
We conceded an early goal, then on about half an hour I scored from a cross. It wasn't clean or tidy but it flew in through the keepers flailing hands. Half time it was 1-1. Second seemed to be going better, then around 70 minutes they scored a beautiful goal. Worked out from defence, switched sides a couple of times, then a perfect cross.
Straight from the kick off myself and the other forward played a couple of obvous 1-2's and I played him in, he struck a shot and the keeper saved well. It fell to me on the edge of the 18 and I belted it. All power I had no idea if it would be on target as I hit it. It went low and bounced up off a bobble into the top corner. Clearly not what I intended, but a goal is a goal.
On the next kick off they tried to lob our keeper, he drop kicked it clear after an easy catch, the other forward played a 1-2 with the winger and the whole defence shifted over to them. I ran into space as the forward shot, the defender blocked well and the ball dropped to me in acres of space keeper wrong footed and I thought "side foot, easy tap in" nope... miskicked it straight at the post. It went out to the defender who lumped it forward and they scored their third. We didn't come back into it and I never forgot it, I never scored another 11-aside goal after that.
It was rare for me to score 1, let alone 2 and one kick ruined my confidence. I had kept us in the game and I had thrown the game away for us. That miss haunted me after and I shifted focus to hitting the target or playing in team mates and still do in my 8-aside that I play in now...
Charlton away at Oxford's old (Manor?) ground, possibly the 98 promotion season. Joey Beauchamp had single handedly controlled the game and a lacklustre Charlton side looked like a 1 nil defeat was the limit of their capabilities that afternoon. We were sat in Oxford's poky "stand" which barely extended half way up the pitch and was seemingly some old scaffolding with seats bolted on and a makeshift roof, in short a deathtrap. The ball sailed out of play over the heads of the half dozen or so rows in front of me right into my lap, for a Charlton throw. I stood up to throw it back and spotted John Robinson jogging up the near (right) wing into acres of space. I hurled the ball at the approaching red shirt (possibly Steve Brown) and shouted "give it to Robbo!!" pointing towards the unmarked winger. The thrower promptly obliged (from about 10 yards forward of the where the ball went out), Robbo wins us a corner, quickly taken by Kins to Robbo who picked out Super Clive - bingo - equaliser! From that moment on there was only one team in it and Johnny Johnny Robinson completed the turnaround himself shortly after.
I also share in a negative influence with a couple of hundred fellow Dartford supporters one freezing afternoon at Park View Road, possibly an FA Trophy match. The Darts were getting a lesson off the then higher ranked Wings and, from our viewpoint, the Wings benefitted from a twelfth colleague wearing black and relentlessly interrupting matters with his whistle and massive ego. Safe to say the ref was getting absolute pelters from the otherwise erudite and fair minded Darts supporters!! After a litany of hysterical and blatantly bent decisions from the narcissistic onanist he capped his homer performance by denying the most clear cut straight forward unarguable penalty for Dartford when our striker broke into the box and was scythed down from behind by a desperate swinging lunge from Wings's lumbering centre half. The corrupt clown awarded Dartford a corner as the ball went out of play - at least consistent with the notion the Wings clogger had made contact with the ball - he hadn't got near it natch. Darts striker required some minutes treatment before regaining his feet after the knee high swipe and on collecting his thoughts was understandably puzzled at the absence of a penalty and raised his concerns with the referee. Having his omniscience queried the massive bellend pulled the offending Dart to the byeline to presumably make up some bollocks to justify his offense. They were well within hearing of we now incandescent Darts behind the goal. Some wag piped up to the effect "oi ref you cheating effwit, how's that not a penalty? Red card all day long! He practically cut him in two, from behind, clean thru on goal, what the eff are you up to you naffing cheat, how much have they paid you? You're a disgrace. And anuvver fing if that weren't a foul then 'Jimmy' must have dived eh? What you gonna do now, book him as well, you bleedin nonce?" As if in slow motion, we could see the ref's cogs a-turning, with half a glance to we behind the goal, he produced his yellow card and flounced it towards our brave boy. Oops! Worse still, on consulting his notebook, the ridiculous corrupt prick noticed that 'Jimmy' had already been booked. Double oops! The red inevitably followed and Darts' hopes of progression were immediately snuffed out. We were unlikely ever to get anything out of that game but we behind the goal had helped drive in the final nail. As I recall the ref didn't get within 20 yards of the visitors' goal for what remained of the match, blew the final whistle bang on 90 minutes and legged it off smartly.
Comments
Nothing more sadly.
It’s a classic.😂🤣😂
He just replied “I will mate”
The rest is a matter of match stat history.
We were playing a side that were pretty cack, but we were the support players, five of the better players had been on a night out the night before and the manager refused to play them. They all sulked and went home before kick off.
We conceded an early goal, then on about half an hour I scored from a cross. It wasn't clean or tidy but it flew in through the keepers flailing hands. Half time it was 1-1. Second seemed to be going better, then around 70 minutes they scored a beautiful goal. Worked out from defence, switched sides a couple of times, then a perfect cross.
Straight from the kick off myself and the other forward played a couple of obvous 1-2's and I played him in, he struck a shot and the keeper saved well. It fell to me on the edge of the 18 and I belted it. All power I had no idea if it would be on target as I hit it. It went low and bounced up off a bobble into the top corner. Clearly not what I intended, but a goal is a goal.
On the next kick off they tried to lob our keeper, he drop kicked it clear after an easy catch, the other forward played a 1-2 with the winger and the whole defence shifted over to them. I ran into space as the forward shot, the defender blocked well and the ball dropped to me in acres of space keeper wrong footed and I thought "side foot, easy tap in" nope... miskicked it straight at the post. It went out to the defender who lumped it forward and they scored their third. We didn't come back into it and I never forgot it, I never scored another 11-aside goal after that.
It was rare for me to score 1, let alone 2 and one kick ruined my confidence. I had kept us in the game and I had thrown the game away for us. That miss haunted me after and I shifted focus to hitting the target or playing in team mates and still do in my 8-aside that I play in now...
As is customary, my lads (both grown men) identified a member of the opposition for their particular brand of 'analysis'. On this day, their target was lumbering centre-half Gary MacKenzie, and his shortcomings were explained to him, politely but clearly, on a number of occasions.
My boys were on top form that day. Their delivery from the North Stand (Lower) was of the highest quality and, with MacKenzie frequently in ear-shot, it was soon evident that he was becoming a little 'distracted' and somewhat peeved by the well-intentioned feedback. A turbulent character at the best of times, MacKenzie began to adopt the "I'll make them eat their words" approach ... an approach which is seldom conducive to controlled and effective football.
Just as a wrestler persistently works on a particular joint of his opponent, so my lads continued to offer their 'constructive comments' to the volatile Scot.
And then ... breaking point. Unable to stride into the crowd to offer his counter-argument, MacKenzie finally broke ... and head-butted Yann Kermorgant in the place where it hurts the most ... the MK Dons penalty area.
The rest is history. Oh yes, Johnnie Jackson may have scored the resultant penalty as we moved to a 2-1 win, but my lads got the assist.
One day, he was standing in the six yard box waiting for a corner in front of the North Stand, and as it was taken I shouted "I really hate you John McGinlay!" from a few rows back in a wobbly, not-quite-broken voice, which caught his attention. He glanced over to look at me, probably confused more than anything, and the corner sailed past him. I sat down, really pleased with myself.
Apparently the Thistles keeper had defied a union walkout in his younger days.
He were standing at the front and, in the pre match warm up he came over to retrieve a ball.
My mate called out "Hey keeper where's your union card?". The keeper just looked at him and smiled.
Happy days.
Clive Walker was playing for Fulham on the wing on our side of the ground and when he went to pick the ball up to take a throw-in just in front of us after about 2 minutes one of the lads went right down the front and started shouting, "Clive. Clive. Clive ..... CLIVE". Walker turned around and he shouted "FLASHER!" and opened his coat! Apparently he had been done for some sort of indecent exposure or something a few years earlier. He didn't look happy.
This fella then proceeded to absolutely rip him to pieces for the whole of the first half. At one point Walker picked the ball up in the full back position and went on a run down the wing with this fella running along next to him in the stand shouting "Clive, Clive, Clive ....."
Every so often Walker would look over and this bloke would shout "FLASHER" and open his coat. Again and again. It was like a moth to the flame. He couldn't stop himself looking over. Never seen anything like it before or since.
Can't remember the score, but I know Walker had an absolute shocker.
You’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit you’re fucking shit
Joey Beauchamp had single handedly controlled the game and a lacklustre Charlton side looked like a 1 nil defeat was the limit of their capabilities that afternoon. We were sat in Oxford's poky "stand" which barely extended half way up the pitch and was seemingly some old scaffolding with seats bolted on and a makeshift roof, in short a deathtrap. The ball sailed out of play over the heads of the half dozen or so rows in front of me right into my lap, for a Charlton throw. I stood up to throw it back and spotted John Robinson jogging up the near (right) wing into acres of space. I hurled the ball at the approaching red shirt (possibly Steve Brown) and shouted "give it to Robbo!!" pointing towards the unmarked winger. The thrower promptly obliged (from about 10 yards forward of the where the ball went out), Robbo wins us a corner, quickly taken by Kins to Robbo who picked out Super Clive - bingo - equaliser!
From that moment on there was only one team in it and Johnny Johnny Robinson completed the turnaround himself shortly after.
I also share in a negative influence with a couple of hundred fellow Dartford supporters one freezing afternoon at Park View Road, possibly an FA Trophy match. The Darts were getting a lesson off the then higher ranked Wings and, from our viewpoint, the Wings benefitted from a twelfth colleague wearing black and relentlessly interrupting matters with his whistle and massive ego. Safe to say the ref was getting absolute pelters from the otherwise erudite and fair minded Darts supporters!!
After a litany of hysterical and blatantly bent decisions from the narcissistic onanist he capped his homer performance by denying the most clear cut straight forward unarguable penalty for Dartford when our striker broke into the box and was scythed down from behind by a desperate swinging lunge from Wings's lumbering centre half. The corrupt clown awarded Dartford a corner as the ball went out of play - at least consistent with the notion the Wings clogger had made contact with the ball - he hadn't got near it natch. Darts striker required some minutes treatment before regaining his feet after the knee high swipe and on collecting his thoughts was understandably puzzled at the absence of a penalty and raised his concerns with the referee. Having his omniscience queried the massive bellend pulled the offending Dart to the byeline to presumably make up some bollocks to justify his offense. They were well within hearing of we now incandescent Darts behind the goal. Some wag piped up to the effect "oi ref you cheating effwit, how's that not a penalty? Red card all day long! He practically cut him in two, from behind, clean thru on goal, what the eff are you up to you naffing cheat, how much have they paid you? You're a disgrace. And anuvver fing if that weren't a foul then 'Jimmy' must have dived eh? What you gonna do now, book him as well, you bleedin nonce?"
As if in slow motion, we could see the ref's cogs a-turning, with half a glance to we behind the goal, he produced his yellow card and flounced it towards our brave boy. Oops! Worse still, on consulting his notebook, the ridiculous corrupt prick noticed that 'Jimmy' had already been booked. Double oops! The red inevitably followed and Darts' hopes of progression were immediately snuffed out. We were unlikely ever to get anything out of that game but we behind the goal had helped drive in the final nail. As I recall the ref didn't get within 20 yards of the visitors' goal for what remained of the match, blew the final whistle bang on 90 minutes and legged it off smartly.