My late father always used to say “wait till they win that Championship son, the crowd will go wild because there is no better feeling”. We had a few false dawns in my United supporting lifetime and one that often gets overlooked is the 1975/6 season. Fresh out of Division Two we actually could have won the double which would have been remarkable as very few teams had ever done it. The F A Cup was so big those days that getting to the final and being favourites seemed to almost end our season. So many people tend to focus on losing the final to Second Division underdogs Southampton that last month’s league form often gets overlooked. Tommy Doc’s United famously made amends for the Wembley heartache by beating hot favourites Liverpool twelve months later in my first visit to Wembley and many people still think that would have been the springboard to finally bringing the title back to Old Trafford after what was then ten long years. His well documented sacking soon after Cup Final glory of course means we will never know.
Although Dave Sexton’s team in 79/80 ran Liverpool as close as any United team over the decade it was only that season they looked capable and surely Big Ron and his more attractive brand of football would bring the Holy Grail home. We played some great football during his reign at times and often got the better of the mighty Liverpool but alas would then lose next game to say Norwich or Boro and that’s not a title winning team. Even after winning the first ten games of the 85/86 season we eventually fell away again as Liverpool won their one and only double when in truth they should have three or four.
By the time Big Ron had gone and Fergie had arrived a big part of me had almost given up on United ever winning the league. I like many didn’t see what he was doing re: the youth system and whilst not actively saying ‘Fergie out’ like some I must say on days like leaving Maine Road in September 1989 the dream of winning the biggest prize (to me still today) looked as far away as ever in my lifetime. When I finally thought it was our year, I was to be heartbroken yet again. At the start of the 1991-92 season I had dreamt of winning that first title in twenty five years at the enemies ground, yes at Anfield. That week it went wrong with all those games. There was of course Easter Monday and Neil Webb, Upton Park on my birthday and then Anfield on the Sunday. I sung “we’ll never die” on my own in the Liverpool main stand and a WPC advised me to stop for my own safety. “What can happen? I get smacked?” I asked “It couldn’t be any worse”. I never stopped nor got smacked but I was at rock bottom in my United following life. Liverpool fans wearing Leeds tops all over (they’d never admit it but there were a couple of hundred believe me) dancing in the streets like they had won the league not Leeds.
I went home to bed after a horrible train journey with the hangover from hell already in full force. The next weekend in Corbierres with some of the regular Saturday night crew I proclaimed if United ever win the title in my life I will ‘show my arse’. The words may not have registered to most against the background vocals of Lloyd Cole, Morrissey or Robert Smith but they would come back to their memory twelve months later.
Any fears I may be asked to bare all at the end of season didn’t look likely at the start of the next season. Two defeats and a draw and we looked like we were suffering on and off the pitch from the nightmare from the previous season finale. We eventually clicked into gear and a certain out of blue signing gave us that extra belief and hunger as 1993 came into view. It wasn’t all plain sailing and a few times it looked like Big Ron, who couldn’t win it for us, may well win it and prevent us. Even unfancied Norwich were in the frame as the season reached the climax. More twist and turns and of course we finally landed our first title in twenty six long years. Great celebrations the day Villa lost to the goal scored by Nick Henry ,the scouse Oldham player. We partied by the ground Sunday and all the way into town all night. People often say ‘if we win this year it will be the best ever’ but people my age know that feeling in May ‘93 will never be bettered. The feeling when Bruce and Robbo lifted it will always be with me and even Keith Fane’s over use of that Queen song was ok for that one night.
We of course had one final league game and we could go to Wimbledon and relax because we were Champions, wow we could sing Champions. I and Reds from Stretford, Chorlton, Denton, Middleton and Didsbury headed down to South London in a minibus on the Saturday afternoon full of cheap lager and youthful exuberance. We stayed in a cheap B & B and I informed the lads that I would stick to my word and show my arse the following day at the game. We went for a curry late on and I secretly thought I had best be careful tomorrow for obvious reasons.
Next day on route to the Prince George pub for our sing song and beers and I think the lads thought last night it had been the ale talking. ‘I said I’ll do it you know lads’; they all laughed and then stopped. “He’s serious isn’t he?” one said, they all nodded straight faced. Into the ground we made our way as close to the front as possible. I didn’t really want to disrupt the game and get booed so I decided during the first half I’d do it at half time. The beer was wearing off but I thought ‘I said I would, so I will.’
Sure enough at half time I casually started taking my things off as people nearby stared open mouth at how brazen I was. When all my belongings were in the carrier bag John Earley was begrudgingly holding I sauntered down the few steps to the front. The one copper was looking the other way so I seized the moment and ran onto the pitch. I was carrying a bit of timber as photos show but people were surprised how fast I actually could move. Cheers went up from the Reds as a couple of stewards gave chase. As I neared the halfway line I think they thought they were going to nab me but suddenly I accelerated into a higher speed and next thing I was in the opposing six yard box. More stewards and coppers were now giving chase as I headed back toward the centre circle. I then stopped because I didn’t fancy being rugby tackled whilst wearing ‘diddly squat’.
I got led away and into a little portacabin and told to put on a paper suit which was far too small. Soon I was in the local police station and in a cell. The police were absolutely fantastic with me and kept referring to me as ‘the stripper’. I kept correcting them saying I was a ‘Streaker’ but they were sound and found it very amusing. When asked why I did it I first said I was tired and my clothes fell off and then somebody pushed me onto the pitch, and feeling scared I just started running. Then I explained it was a ‘one off’, I had made a vow if ever we won the title I would do it and I’m a man of my word. Once I told them I wouldn’t do it again they got me to sign the forms and released me. Good old John Earley was in the reception with the carrier bag minus my underwear which he said he binned. When I came out I was asked to sign a couple of autographs for some Far Eastern Reds. I suppose I was as famous for showing my bum cheeks as my songs that day at least. A fan ran onto the pitch for the Chelsea vs Luton Semi Final the following season and got a £1000 fine so I was fortunate the Selhurst Park Police were so lenient. All in all it was just another day in following our great club.
Bare (Two) Faced Cheek,
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