An insight into the life of a West Ham hooligan

I sat down on the train after a hectic afternoon, hoping for a peaceful journey. In front of me two Hull City fans were being congratulated by the most infuriating Red Dog for their victory over the Rams. A talking dog on the train? A red talking dog on the train? Nope, just a Forest fan, unfortunately. I shook my head to let the neutrals on the train know I disapproved of this stupid adolescent, and it was from here I gained an insight into the mind of a West Ham hooligan first hand.

“Is anyone sat here?” he said. “Not that i’m aware of” I replied. “Fuck em” he charmingly said back, and plonked himself down. There was no-one sat there, so why he felt he needed to “fuck em” I’ll never know.

“You not a Forest fan then?” he said. After explaining in a few words my thoughts on Nottingham Forest, he chuckled and told me he’d been to Coventry supporting the ‘Appy ‘Ammers. This chap: Bald head, Stone Island jacket covering a ‘going out’ shirt, his body riddled in tattoo’s. The combinations spell out ‘hooligan’, don’t they? One particular tattoo really grabbed my attention. On his ear, the bit that gets pierced, was a green/blue mess. I thought the poor man had a disease where mould infested his body. About 15 minutes later after I plucked up the courage to look again and realised it was a tat. Panic over.

I asked him how it was at Coventry, knowing that the Hammers had taken almost 7,000 fans. I was expecting him to give me a bit of a match report, but what I got was “Ahh fuckin nuts. Kicked off under the stand. Went down and police were being heavy handed, putting barriers up, so we just kicked the fuckers down. Too many of us. Brilliant”. Gone were my hopes of wondering how Carlton Cole played, or if Rob Green had made yet another howler, this journey was going to be about hooliganism. And whilst I don’t condone hooliganism (in the slightest), I do find it fascinating.

I chanced my arm. “You go to Millwall then this season?” He did, so I followed up with asking how it was. “Fuckin quiet. There were too many of us”. At this point I was thinking, “ang on, too many of you, but it was quiet?”, but obviously we were on different wavelengths. “We said we’d meet em on Tower Bridge, but they just ran off. Too many of us, we’d have slaughtered them. We’d arranged it before but they just didn’t fancy it”.

I asked about policing, because West Ham v Millwall is notoriously disgusting for fan behaviour. “They were alright. They gathered us up at Stratford Station, and told us we could take our beer on the tube with us. Worked out better for them. Cause if they’d have tried to stop us it would have got nasty”. He continued “I just walked into the ground (at Millwall) without a ticket. I told a copper I was waiting for my mate who brings me tickets every week (for this chap lives up North) but we’d got separated by the police and couldn’t leave their escort. The copper told me to just go in ‘cause we aren’t leaving any of your lot out here on the streets’”. Brave move from the police.

“I hope they let us take 5,000 to Leeds. They can’t cope with us up there. Last time 500 of us walked out early and the police didn’t know what to do. Leeds fans were nowhere to be seen. Too many of us”. This hooligan business seems to be about safety in numbers.

His mate rang him to say he was arriving in Heuston, so the journalistic side of me started twitching. “How come you’re returning to Yorkshire on your own? How did you start supporting West Ham? Fami...”.
“I just liked the colours when I was young. Supported em ever since. Got to support your team haven’t you? Started going on my own and met the lads through years of going”. Forgetting the fact this chap likes a scrap at football, I admire how he had the balls to just travel up and down on his own for years. His knowledge of football was also excellent.

Conversation moved on to me living in Sheffield. “I’m in Sheffield next week for a clothes show” he said. I asked him what that was in aid of, as this wasn’t a man I associated with catwalks. “Me and my mate hire pubs out, buy clothes and then sell em on. We’re doing it with some of the BBC boys”. Just as I was about to say “Ahh i’ve worked for the BBC today actually, answering phones from angry Derby fans” I had a moment of inspiration that spared my blushes. There are two meanings for BBC. Bristish Broadcasting Corporation, and the Blades Business Crew. I realised he was on about the Sheffield United hooligan firm. I have read books about the BBC, so asked this chap if they are still going. He twitched his head, did a funny thing with his lips and said yes. He confirmed the fact they are ‘nasty fuckers’.

I then asked if they get on with each other, and whilst his answer didn’t make me feel like they exchange Christmas cards, he said that they do get on. I imagine they’ve had a good scrap over Carlos Tevez though.

The train pulled into Sheffield. I squeezed past my mate (I believe if you can hold conversation for 40 minutes with someone then you are mates) and told him I enjoyed the chat, and I wasn’t lying. I’d quite like to do a series where I integrate with hooligans (what’s that? Louis Theroux, Ross Kemp and Danny Dyer have already done that?). “Yeah mate. See ya. Good luck” he said.

Good luck with what?