Anyone who followed my link to the Chelsea FC Blog will know Blues fans were already feeling demonised enough without Pete Sixsmith seeing the need to share cruel memories of encounters with nastier fringes of football support. Meanwhile in Abu Dhabi, Salut! Sunderland perhaps allowed itself to become so confident about the game that colleagues were invited for a meal at 7.30pm, a stupid oversight since it kicks off here at 7pm and can be seen live across town
It’s not exactly the hardest subject to write about, is it? Well about as difficult as explaining as why you don’t like Jeremy Clarkson or why George Dubya isn’t quite as good a President as FDR.
So where to start……
Let’s go back to 1967. I had been to see us at Stamford Bridge on a warm April day. As usual we had lost (1-0, I think it was) and I was heading for Brentford’s Griffin Park for an evening kick off against Workington.
As Don Coupland and I descended the escalator to the Tube, we were surrounded by a group of Chelsea bovver boys who demanded our scarves.
They grabbed Don’s, but they did not get mine. I would like to say that I fought them off and gave them a good hiding. But I didn’t. Being a coward from a very early age, I beat a hasty retreat to the bottom of the stairs while Don gave his trusty scarf over to some Steve Marriott lookalike from Surbiton.