Getting beaten up it's part of growing up (the Piranha's)

Getting beaten up its part of growing up (the Piranhas)

I had started to go to watch Tottenham play in 1978 with a friend from school. Over the course of a few seasons I got to know more and more people. It was in the early 80’s that the causal fashion really started to come into its own. And so what you wore at football became more and more important.

Myself and my friends got caught up in the fashion stakes with Benetton’s crazily loud clothes becoming part of the football uniform.

Because of the increase in fashion and the regularity of my time at matches we got to know anyone who was anyone at football.

Around 1982 I was regularly hanging around with a group of mates, we was from all different ethnic backgrounds but we were all connected through football.

On this particular night half a dozen of us had been out for a drink together, it wasn’t late and we had ended up at the parents’ house of a guy named Pat.

Pat was a massive black guy. He was well over 6 feet tall and fairly well built. He had been doing a bit of boxing and looked like he could handle himself.

The thing was he had a heart of gold! He wasn’t really a fighter he was a bit soft the typical gentle giant.

I don’t want this to read like I am running him down because I am not, Pat was and probably still is a great guy. Pat’s brother on the other hand was a well-known football hooligan of the time part of the West Ham ICF and he was a proper hard fucker.

Pat knew everyone because if it.

Pat’s parents’ house was behind Chapel street market near the Angel in Islington. This is a well know Arsenal area and Pat knew not only the West Ham firm but the guys from Arsenal as well.

At the time if it was outside of match day there were very little problems between fans, despite what the media of the time would have us believe.

Everyone knew everyone or at least knew of them (by name).If there was any rivalry it tended to be more east/north London against South London, or the wrong side of the river as we refered to it as.

After a night on the beer there always becomes a point where one of the group will want to eat, and so on this night Bob said “let’s get something to eat at the Kentucky”

6 guys together pissed up! Of course it sounded like a good idea.

So off we went round to the Angel.

Whilst hanging about eating our food a few skinheads came along all done up in their Crombie’s and doc Martens, as it turned out a couple of us had met these particular guys on the train back from the Everton game the week before. So we got to chatting about the footy as you do.

Everything seemed very amicable and we began to part company, one of us Scotty I believe suggested we go on down to the next available pub.

I turned to start to walk away, I had only managed to walk a few yards when Bob who was facing me shouted “Pat’s been jumped”.

I turned only to find that the group of three skinheads had turned into a group of about twenty.

Where the fuck did they all come from I thought to myself. As I looked on I could see that Pat had a guy on his back and punches had started to be thrown.

Scotty and John ran past me towards the fight followed closely by Bob.

I threw my Kentucky to the floor and followed.

I ran directly towards the guys that were on Pat but out of nowhere I felt the hardest punch hit me right on the side of the face.

I stumbled and fell straight into the window shutters of one of the shops. Wallop next punch that came knocked me spark out!

Apparently on this night when we decided to spend our time in the Angel a National Front (right wing extremist group of the time) rally was taking place in one of the local pubs (the blue coat boy I believe it was called). And we happened to be with the only black guy on the street that night!

I was later told that I was spark out laying on the pavement, my friends were one side of me the skinheads the other. Pat had managed to get away by this point.

Every time my friends tried to approach me on the floor these skinheads would pounce on me again. Kicking me and stamping on me!

Fortunately for me the guy who hit me at the start did me a massive favour, I couldn’t feel a thing!

The next part of the night came to me in bits and pieces. I recall coming around in the ambulance, very briefly mind you. Sat next to me was one of the original skins. He had tried to help me and the main group had turned on him as well and hit him over the head with a bit of wood. He had a massive cut with blood covering his face. He actually lived close to the estate I lived in and because of this night had to change his whole circle of friends and his fashion choice!

I next came to in the corridor of a hospital, my mum and my dad was there by this time.To be honest I didn’t have a clue where I was at that point, I just kept drifting in and out. My mates was there as well they had made their way to the club my parents worked in to let them know what had happened. Mum was in a bit of a state, I must have looked pretty bad especially as I kept drifting off.

The funniest part of the situation came in the middle of the night. I awoke again from my unconsciousness lying flat on my back, it was pitch black and I could not see anything in the room.

Up above me was a bright light whizzing around me it stopped and just shone down directly onto me. So I could see myself but the rest of the room was in complete darkness.

I sat up and swung my legs to the side.

I could feel that I was sitting on something but could not see the floor! The scene reminds me of an alien abduction. The room was pitch black and silent and I was lying on a bed waiting to be anal probed! I think I was a little pissed still.

Luckily someone entered the room and reassured me that I was still in the hospital, I was actually having a brain scan and had come too mid way through it.

The thing is what woke me up was the need to have a big piss.

The nurse was very understanding she went off and got me a bottle which I nearly filled to the top.

Apparently the pee was taken away and sampled as they was concerned about the amount of blood within it. I do recall it being blood red at the time and I remember saying to here "that don't loom right" the nurse was shocked when she took it from me.

I got a right royal kicking that night. There was concern that I would lose my right eye and there was some bladder damage. I was extremely lucky that day the situation could have been a lot worse. Especially when you consider the problems kids of that age face now.

It took me a couple of days to actually come round properly, When I got to look in the mirror I had a proper Doctor  Marten boot print going across my face, you could see the tread marks as clear as day.

During my in and out conscious state the police did come and see me but without any knowledge of who was who there was very little that could be done.

To be fair I wasn’t really bothered about that side of it, you don’t think like that when your sixteen seventeen. I had loads of visitors and attention from my mates at football.

I even got a hero’s welcome on the Saturday when I went to the next game!

I looked a mess but for some reason that increased my notoriety and I ended up knowing more people, in those days “standing” was more important than the outcome.
You think your invincible and your pride makes you do things that your brain would advise against.

I look back now and consider myself fortunate to be able to laugh about it but even now when I hear the song “getting beaten up” by the piranha’s (B side to Tom Hark) it reminds me of that night!

You tube it if you’re not familiar with it and you will see what I mean.