I once went to Watford five times in one season because they served really good burgers, well that's the local legend around Langley anyway.
I did go there five times during the 1985/86 season, twice with City in the league and the FA cup, once each with Rochdale and Bury in the League cup and again with United in the league on the last day of the season.
The Bury and Rochdale games were both midweek and I was on the dole, so it was just a laugh really. Sure the burgers were good, but not that fucking good.
Situated at the back of the away end was this massive grill where they made the damn things, along with fried onions. It beat the fuck out of a pie and cup of bovril anyway.
The second trip was an FA cup replay game with City on a Tuesday night.
I hitch hiked down there in the snow, setting off from Birch Services. A truck driver from Yorkshire was the first one to give me a lift, he was a bit quiet and didn't say much, he dropped me off half way there much to my relief that he wasn't a Peter Sutcliffe wannabe.
I was then picked up by an Irish Priest, he was pretty sound and even went as far as dropping me off outside the ticket office outside Vicarage Road.
Such was his concern for a good hitch hiking Catholic boy like me that he gave me a couple of nips of whisky to ward off the cold.
At the ticket office I bought the cheapest ticket available but was sussed out as a Manc by a steward the second I walked into the stand.
"You're a Man City fan aren't you?" he bellowed from the bottom of the seats.
"How the fuck did he know that?" I thought.
Then I looked around and realised that I had paid into the stand reserved exclusively for kids under the age of 12 and nobody else in there even came up to my chest.
It was pretty embarrassing to be honest.
Luckily he saw the funny side of it and instead of chucking me out of the ground walked me around to the City end.
That was a good thing really as being on the dole I didn't have much cash and if I had to pay in twice it would have severely eaten into my limited burger budget.
Just to back track a bit, the first City visit was for a league game and one of the Yelloways lot Benny had recently acquired two broken legs in a motorbike accident and was on crutches.
Anyone who visited Vicarage Road in the 80's might remember that in order to get to the away end you had to take a long walk up a really steep hill.
Benny obviously couldn't manage it so he flagged down a police van.
"I can't make it up the hill with two broken legs, can you give us a lift?" he asked the rozzers.
"Sure" they said, and he got on board.
We tried to follow.
"Where do you think you lot are going?" one of them asked.
"With our mate"
"Fuck off, you can walk"
"Alright" we moaned, "we'll see you at the ground at the back of the stand Benny"
"Okay lads" he sniggered, "enjoy your walk"
10 minutes later we arrived at the ground, obviously knackered at this point.
No sign of Benny, so we paid in.
Watched the first half, went for a burger (Obviously), still no sign of Benny.
Watched the second half, City were trounced as usual, no sign of Benny.
Hung around the back of the ground outside until the police moved us on, still no sign of Benny.
We finally got back to the coach and there's Benny sitting on the front seat arms folded with a face like a smacked arse, he clearly had the hump.
"What's up Benny?"
"Well those coppers gave me a lift, I thanked them, but that wasn't good enough for them. "Oh no" they say, "we'll take you in there and make sure you're alright". But they are pissing themselves and I soon found out why. They marched me into the dugout in front of the away end. That fucking thing is reserved for handicapped supporters. The thing was full of proper mongs, I had some bloke next to me with no arms and no legs. Those fuckers were bumping into me every fucking time Watford scored, I was showered with mong spit. The place stunk of piss, stunk of shit and not a fucking chance of a pie or a pint. It was the worst fucking experience I have ever had at a football match, ever" he cried.
And that was quite a claim for a Man City fan to make as well.
Needless to say Benny didn't go to the match again until he was off his crutches.
I did go there five times during the 1985/86 season, twice with City in the league and the FA cup, once each with Rochdale and Bury in the League cup and again with United in the league on the last day of the season.
The Bury and Rochdale games were both midweek and I was on the dole, so it was just a laugh really. Sure the burgers were good, but not that fucking good.
Situated at the back of the away end was this massive grill where they made the damn things, along with fried onions. It beat the fuck out of a pie and cup of bovril anyway.
The second trip was an FA cup replay game with City on a Tuesday night.
I hitch hiked down there in the snow, setting off from Birch Services. A truck driver from Yorkshire was the first one to give me a lift, he was a bit quiet and didn't say much, he dropped me off half way there much to my relief that he wasn't a Peter Sutcliffe wannabe.
I was then picked up by an Irish Priest, he was pretty sound and even went as far as dropping me off outside the ticket office outside Vicarage Road.
Such was his concern for a good hitch hiking Catholic boy like me that he gave me a couple of nips of whisky to ward off the cold.
At the ticket office I bought the cheapest ticket available but was sussed out as a Manc by a steward the second I walked into the stand.
"You're a Man City fan aren't you?" he bellowed from the bottom of the seats.
"How the fuck did he know that?" I thought.
Then I looked around and realised that I had paid into the stand reserved exclusively for kids under the age of 12 and nobody else in there even came up to my chest.
It was pretty embarrassing to be honest.
Luckily he saw the funny side of it and instead of chucking me out of the ground walked me around to the City end.
That was a good thing really as being on the dole I didn't have much cash and if I had to pay in twice it would have severely eaten into my limited burger budget.
Just to back track a bit, the first City visit was for a league game and one of the Yelloways lot Benny had recently acquired two broken legs in a motorbike accident and was on crutches.
Anyone who visited Vicarage Road in the 80's might remember that in order to get to the away end you had to take a long walk up a really steep hill.
Benny obviously couldn't manage it so he flagged down a police van.
"I can't make it up the hill with two broken legs, can you give us a lift?" he asked the rozzers.
"Sure" they said, and he got on board.
We tried to follow.
"Where do you think you lot are going?" one of them asked.
"With our mate"
"Fuck off, you can walk"
"Alright" we moaned, "we'll see you at the ground at the back of the stand Benny"
"Okay lads" he sniggered, "enjoy your walk"
10 minutes later we arrived at the ground, obviously knackered at this point.
No sign of Benny, so we paid in.
Watched the first half, went for a burger (Obviously), still no sign of Benny.
Watched the second half, City were trounced as usual, no sign of Benny.
Hung around the back of the ground outside until the police moved us on, still no sign of Benny.
We finally got back to the coach and there's Benny sitting on the front seat arms folded with a face like a smacked arse, he clearly had the hump.
"What's up Benny?"
"Well those coppers gave me a lift, I thanked them, but that wasn't good enough for them. "Oh no" they say, "we'll take you in there and make sure you're alright". But they are pissing themselves and I soon found out why. They marched me into the dugout in front of the away end. That fucking thing is reserved for handicapped supporters. The thing was full of proper mongs, I had some bloke next to me with no arms and no legs. Those fuckers were bumping into me every fucking time Watford scored, I was showered with mong spit. The place stunk of piss, stunk of shit and not a fucking chance of a pie or a pint. It was the worst fucking experience I have ever had at a football match, ever" he cried.
And that was quite a claim for a Man City fan to make as well.
Needless to say Benny didn't go to the match again until he was off his crutches.
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