This is an excellent book. I was never a football hooligan myself, spending the entire 80’s and most of the late 70’s and early 90’s out of the country gave me little chance to follow a club. But during that time I was a carefree scamp, had mates who had each other’s backs and got myself into more than a few scrapes. I might not have been a football hooligan but I had the look and was more than up for it, so I totally appreciated the humour in the anecdotes.
To find humour in violence takes a special mentality, so easily misunderstood by those who fail to accept that people who some would regard as being at the lower end of the social scale are actually the most decent human beings. Strange how the perspective changes with the point of view, isn’t it? Quite often those who don’t possess a coarse streak very often possess a cruel one.
So what is a football hooligan? He’s a scoundrel. If you saw him in the street you’d cross the road to avoid him. Yet he can be one of the most decent blokes you’ll meet, totally honest about who he is. Wouldn’t think so to look at him, though, would you?
So yes, I enjoyed the personal anecdotes, but what I really like about this book – unlike every other book on football violence – is that Dougie Brimson doesn’t attempt to glamorise the hooligan. He offers intelligent insight into not only their mindset but also a lot of what is wrong with football today. His writing is honest, transparent and he writes with his heart on his sleeve.
He detests the use of weapons in football scraps. That’s not what it’s about. Nobody really wants to see anybody hurt. They just want – need perhaps – to have a little excitement on a Saturday afternoon, just to let off a little bit of steam. I heard a story of two sets of supporters having a bit of a tear-up on the pavement outside a club. There were about sixty lads battling away in quite a ferocious manner. Suddenly in the middle of them appeared a mother with pram and baby. They all stopped fighting to let her walk through, and then carried on again once she’d moved on.
They would, you see.
I’ve also heard of rival supporters phoning each other up on a Sunday to say they enjoyed the scrap, hoping that one particular bloke who seemed in a bad way wasn’t hurt too badly and promising to meet again for another little scuffle next year.
I’m not trying to say football hooligans are all saints. I’m just saying that in ‘Everywhere We Go’ Dougie Brimson shows us the wider picture.
I also concur with the author’s words concerning the England squad; “I have not seen an England game live since 1988 … the team were already out of the competition and, it seemed, could not have cared less about the match. The players apparently did not give a jot about the thousands of supporters who had endured having everything thrown at them by other fans, the FA representatives and the media, but who had continued to support the team regardless. It was a pathetic display to watch, with no sign of pride or honour, and the side let down the country and us in the biggest possible way because they did not even seem to try. I swore on the way home from that game that I would never watch another England game until that attitude changed, and things have yet to improve enough for me even to consider it.”
Well, after watching England’s humiliating exit from the 2014 World Cup and listening to Stephen Gerrard’s ‘torment’ I felt the same way; "I'm hurting very badly and broken from what's gone on in the last couple of weeks. I need to get away on holiday,"
I didn’t realise Gerrard was hurting that badly. I now feel incredibly sorry for him and guilty for judging him so harshly. There was me thinking he’s an overpaid sh*thead who failed to inspire a team or perform himself. There was me thinking he lacked integrity, when all along it seems those two games of football had brought him to the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I’m no psychologist, but perhaps if he were to take a look at his bank balance it might help his therapy and get him back on the road to recovery.
A holiday was, of course, the correct therapy he needed back then to get over the stress and trauma of playing two games of football.
There was, however, a niggling little thought in the back of my mind that soldiers serving months or even years in war zones like Afghanistan, soldiers who’ve lost mates or witnessed others lose limbs, soldiers who’ve wondered if they’ll ever see their families again, soldiers who’ve carried coffins of blokes they’ve served with and socialised with, soldiers who themselves could probably do with a holiday …..
….. Sorry, I was getting carried away there. Steven Gerrard is a man of true principles and demonstrated true British Bulldog spirit. Its plain his torment and agony from those two games of football were far greater than any soldier has ever had to endure.