Sex, Drugs and Football Thugs

Mark Chester

Description

What does a football hooligan do outside football? In the case of Mark Chester, the answer was: live off his wits and burn the candle at both ends. Sex, Drugs And Football Thugs is part travelogue, part confessional, and by turns harrowing and hilarious.

Informations

• Publié par: Category C Publishing
• Date de parution: 06 septembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781908400529
• Langue: English

Extrait

Sex, Drugs and Football Thugs
Mark Chester
This book is dedicated to honesty, freedom of speech, and to those who have got the bollocks to use it.
It is for those who fell along the wayside, and those who came back fighting.
It is dedicated to a unique culture, and a way of life detested by many and loved by more.
This book is dedicated to us, and we all know who we are.
Table of Contents
Sex, Drugs and Football Thugs
Introduction
Chapter One: A Well-Deserved Break
Chapter Two: Dark Continent
Chapter Three: Two Pints of Benskins
Chapter Four: Ask The Stoke Lads
Chapter Five: Fancy Another One?
Chapter Six: Crazy Danny
Chapter Seven: The Lads Tales
Chapter Eight: Those German Bastards Shat in Me Flannel
Chapter Nine: Road Trip
Chapter Ten: The Doc
Chapter Eleven: I Love You Brother
The Last Word
Also from Mark Chester
More from Category C
Copyright Page
Category C Publishing
Introduction
NAUGHTY BUT WELL behaved, read the headline in the Sentinel. The North Staffordshire tabloid had been running stories for weeks after a poster featuring more than seventy-six known Stoke City hooligans appeared for sale on the Internet auction site eBay.
It was August 2003, several weeks before my intended launch of Naughty, my story of life with the Naughty Forty football firm. I d had the poster designed to coincide with the book launch, a celebration of terrace culture to be held at one of Stoke s oldest landmark buildings, the Kings Hall, the civic centre in the heart of our community. MPs and councillors were outraged not only by the slur that this book would bring once again on the city and football club, but the fact that it was being launched in their premises, under their noses. Some were sufficiently seething to demand the event s immediate cancellation.
The initial outrage over the poster auction turned to a full outcry of anger and disbelief when the authorities discovered my intended launch venue and so a media campaign against the book gained momentum. Despite once being a fiercely private person, I had spilt my guts on to the keypad of a laptop over the previous twelve months and I now found myself toe to toe with the media, the police and Stoke City Council.
I was already drained and mentally exhausted and I d lost more than a stone in weight during the final months of writing Naughty. Now I had to dig in on a new front and prepare myself for what might lie ahead. A cancellation would be a nightmare, as that launch had to take place, whether it be inside the Kings Hall or in a circus tent in the arse end of nowhere. The Naughty Forty had spent the best part of two decades pulling off what they did best and this was to be no exception. The firm was buzzing and, as always, it was one in, all in, as preparations for the biggest launch of a book of this kind went ahead with dogged determination.
Several media interviews later and more front-page propaganda left the authorities and the North Staffordshire public in no doubt of our intentions. The fact that I was one of those mindless thugs who could actually hold an intellectual conversation instead of frothing out abuse and foul-mouthed obscenities, meant the council raised no objection, so the final decision as to whether the event would take place was left in the hands of the police.
Staffordshire police played their hand very well indeed in giving the event the go ahead. They were prepared to rely on in-house respect to keep the day in order, despite the fact that known members from other notorious firms would be attending the bash. The truth of the matter was that they much preferred to know where we were at all times, making a softly-softly approach to the event work in their favour. That way they could keep some sort of an eye on the day s proceedings without upsetting the mood and creating a possible flashpoint. I m glad to say it worked, and all the I told you so types had nothing to get their teeth into and chew on in the following day s media reports.
The event was something a bit special even by our standards. The Kings Hall in its heyday was a concert venue, and that s exactly what we had, a rowdy concert. In excess of 1,300 people crammed into the venue from two in the afternoon until midnight. The UK Subs headed a line up of punk bands which included the Skeptix and Head the Ball. John Mac s up-and- coming The Casual Terraces came down from Leeds and hooli-rap band Acarine lent a more casual-culture approach to the afternoon. Between bands, DJs kept the mood moving with guest appearances from the author of Casuals, Phil Thornton, and Farm front man Peter Hooton. The whole place was enveloped in testosterone as ninety percent of the congregation was male and most full-on football hooligans of all ages and experience. The book had given us a reason for one of the biggest reunions we d ever had and lads travelled back home from Australia, Thailand and the States to be amongst their football family. Nobody wanted to miss out on this one.
The West Ham and Chelsea supremos, Cass Pennant and Martin King, travelled up from London with Rob Silvester of the Portsmouth 6.57 Crew. Steve Cowens from the Blades Business Crew stood chatting with Shaun Tordoff and a burly crew of five from Hull, while Neil and the Wrexham lads looked lively as usual. Other firms represented were Port Vale, which surprised me a bit. Well, if you want the truth a couple of their lads are quality geezers but well, I won t harp on about it. Huddersfield came across the Pennines, Wolves youth made the short trip up from the Black Country and a couple of Middlesbrough lads made the much longer trip from the northeast. As I sat behind my book-laden table observing a line of several hundred people queuing to purchase a copy for me to sign, I absorbed the intensity of the whole occasion. I was responsible for bringing this gathering together, and what might lie ahead was firmly on my toes. With so many volatile individuals under one roof with alcohol and whatever else was their preference in abundance, I could see where people s concerns had come from.
After seeing it first hand, my thoughts were as resolute as they had been in the weeks leading to it. Our lads are quality, I know that, and every guest that has taken the time and respect to show up here today is a top boy in his own right. There was never going to be anything other than a celebration of terrace culture, and for that reason I allowed the delightful Laura McMullen of the BBC to come along and film us. Naughty, but well-behaved. Observation over, I chilled out, leant back in my chair and accepted a book handed to me with a huge red-faced grin. It was Big Stevie from the Dundee Utility Crew, who have their own affiliation with Stoke. It was that kind of day.
Back in 2003, when I handed in my work for Naughty, I had originally included some stories of trips abroad with England and with the Stoke lads, and from my years on the run. Unfortunately, the sheer number of words made it impossible to include them, so they were shelved - until now. Sex, Drugs and Football Thugs covers roughly a decade, from the mid-Eighties to the mid-Nineties, after which I effectively retired from the scene that had been so integral to my life. It will show you a side of me that my close friends have always loved in me the most; my sleazy, uninhibited nature, the part of me that tastes of stale vodka and smells like the cold drying semen that s been left as nothing more than a reminder. Everybody has a dark side and I m no different.
What I m saying is, if you re not that partial to the odd line of powder, don t enjoy filthy, unadulterated sex and then having your head kicked in at a match and laughing about it later in the pub with your mates, then this book is not for you. On the other hand, you might well be a dirty, sleazy bastard just like me, so go on, see for yourself.
This time we will leave Stoke at home and journey overseas as this time the Naughty Forty go on tour. It is best read as a companion book to Naughty, so if you haven t already read that, get down your local bookstore and invest the best 7.99 you ll ever spend. It fills in the gaps in that book, mysterious periods when I and others like me left Blighty s shores and got up to well, read on and find out.
Chapter One
A Well-Deserved Break
LOOKING BACK, I put it down to a number of things. There was the fact that I had missed out on my irreplaceable drunken teenage years of beer-swilling sexual frivolity while serving as a soldier, and desperately wanted to participate in some now. There was also the tour of South Armagh I served and the dishonourable discharge that had me wallowing in an attitude of I don t give a fuck what happens to me today, never mind tomorrow. After Ulster, I knew I was going to be a little crazy for a few months. What I did not realise was that the madness would last for over a decade.
I was twenty years old, had been in Civvy Street for just over seven weeks and already hated it. Hated everything about it, the whole fucking lot. Well, everything except for Stoke City Football Club and the hooligans who followed them. That was different. They were different. We were different, and everything that we did and lived by was different. Being different was all-important. It kept me alive.
I had just about enough money for the flight but that was it.
Scallying to survive was the only option or we couldn t go. So my childhood mate Eddie and I got to selling the odd illicit bits and bobs that we d recently acquired. We got a couple of quid together, booked two seats and flew that night. Neither of us wanted to miss out on Stake s first-ever firm holiday abroad. It was all anyone had been talking about since the season had finished.
Club Tropicana s drinks are free, George Michael sang. Good job then, because we had no intention of paying for fuck- all when we got there. Why should we? We were Stoke City and for t