Great fun that season. Went to all home and nearly all away games. Stand out memories were this game against B Rovers, a wonder goal from Hoddle in the FA cup home game against Bolton (sadly not televised) and oddly enough Luton away.
The Luton away game was scheduled for a Sat but was a late postponement due to weather. Found out at when I arrived at Kings X station along with a large Spurs contingent already there. As our game was off, someone in the mob decided it would be a good idea to go to Woolwich, who were at home to Walsall in the FA cup, and have some fun in the North Bank. What possessed me, I don’t know, but along I went anyway. I was 17, not known as a fighter but admitted at the time to enjoying it happening all around me.
Just before kick off we were in, the Spurs shouts went out and I just remember a charge through the North Bank. The element of surprise cut a swathe through the goons and the next thing I remember is being escorted out by the police and left in the street, along with plenty of others. What happened to those at the front of the charge I never found out (I was very much at the back). But outside everyone was laughing and thought it a hoot so don’t think there was much in the way of injuries despite being so outnumbered.
The postponed Luton away game played the following Wednesday night I think. It was absolutely pissing down. Got into the ground and escorted by police to a little makeshift storage area where they were filtering out everyone wearing Doc Martens boots. This used to happen if your boots were steel toe caps (mine weren’t) but not ordinary DMs. Luton Police, however, thought differently. The choice was you handed your boots in, they were put in empty shoe boxes, then they gave you a ticket for them and you stood on the terracing in the piss rain in your socks, or you left the ground. A copper felt sorry for some of us and gave us cardboard shoe boxes to stand in and we were allowed to keep our laces and tie the boxes to our feet. I still tell this to people occasionally and I can see the disbelief in their eyes but honestly, I am not making this up. My abiding memory at the final whistle— we won 4-1– was looking around me and seeing dozens of fans, like me, standing in the rain on disintegrating sopping wet cardboard boxes in our soaking wet socks and bootlaces tied around our feet. Happy days.
Apologies for the essay but once I get reminiscing.
