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Barmy Army

by Alan Allsop

264 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #05-1194; ISBN 1-4120-4857-5; US$23.00, C$26.62, EUR19.00, £11.50

The story of a small group of hooligans getting into scrapes and getting up to daft tricks before, during and after football matches in the late seventies and early eighties.

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About the Book      About the Author      Excerpts      Catalogue Information

About the Book

This book is a story based on actual events in the days when being a football hooligan was relatively harmless fun. Forget the images you've seen on the TV or in the press with hundreds of youths rampaging all over Europe. This story recalls the tale of a small group of lads spending days and nights out in unfamiliar towns before during and after football matches in the late seventies and early eighties. Getting into scrapes and getting up to daft tricks. Fighting? Yes there was plenty of fighting, and while some of the battles are recalled here I hope this book conveys more about the characters involved and what went on around those fights than just the fights alone.
To those who weren't there, to those who have only heard the rumours and hearsay and legends I hope this will enlighten and maybe even amuse because we did have a lot of laughs along the way. This does not set out to be a book where the author is trying to prove he was the best or the hardest. He knows he wasn't. It is simply an account of what took place from someone who was there.
I seek no glory, I have few regrets. I wish simply to tell it how it was for me.

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About the Author

Alan Allsop is now a respectable man with a grown up family and a job in the management of a large construction and building maintenance group. But there was a time when he was a little less respectable, at least in the eyes of the establishment.
Being a former football hooligan the darker side of his past may be frowned upon by many but he believes his experiences as a hooligan helped build the character and confidence needed to become the man he is today.
Still passionate about the game of football his interest now lies firmly in the tactics, skill and physical effort employed on the pitch rather than the terraces.

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Excerpts

Page number 8 paragraph 5

...Why was I a hooligan? What caused me to become one of those youths portrayed in the media as the lowest of the low? What was the problem with society that made youths like me become scum? There was no problem. Stuff all the fancy psychology and sociology; I didn't become a hooligan to rebel against poverty and poor housing. I didn't do it because I saw no future except long-term unemployment. I didn't do it as an act of political rebellion against the government of the day. I did it for the buzz. I did it because it gave me a high no drugs could give. I did it because inside, all young men are warriors and I'd been presented with an arena in which to test my skill against others. I did it to people who were trying to do the same to me and on the whole those who got hurt got hurt because they were looking for it, and sometimes they came off worst. It was accepted as an occupational hazard.

Page number 131 paragraph 1

...Millwall came up in March. We had to go to Millwall as it was at that time the ultimate challenge. They were the big boys. All crews were judged against Millwall they were universally accepted as the benchmark for domestic hooligans. I'm sure Chelsea and West Ham fans may disagree but that's how we saw it. Millwall had been featured on the TV in a documentary which while obviously over played and hyped up was still based on the fact that no one fucks with Millwall. We'd heard the stories, we'd seen the TV show and we'd been brought up on the legend. Now we figured it was time to go and see for ourselves. We were going to fuck with Millwall.

Page number 168 paragraph 3

....Charlie, who still had his stick, raised it to his shoulder and marched towards the first group of Mods like a soldier on parade. As he got about ten yards away, still making as though the stick was a rifle, he pointed it at the Mods and started shouting 'bang, bang'. The Mods must have thought he was just some local retard and took no notice as they walked past within three feet of him and his 'rifle'. Just as they drew level Charlie altered his grip on the stick and swung it around hitting the tallest of the Mods on the back of the neck and knocking him clean out. He then put one foot on the prone Mods back and raised the stick above his head one end in each hand and with a huge cry of 'Aggression' he jumped forwards and started swinging the stick at the other Mods who had now surrounded him.

Page number 230 paragraph 2

....That's done it I thought but the copper, cool as a cucumber, walked slowly over to Jockey, tipped his hat back slightly and with his head tilted to one side said to Jockey in the same slow drawl 'And who do you think you are?' Jockey started wriggling around in his green sleeping bag, his arms still by his side and shouted 'I'm a fucking caterpillar, who the fuck are you?' The whole assembled mob were pissing themselves laughing as the copper who still rates as one of the coolest I have ever come across took hold of Jockeys sleeping bag and pulled it, with Jockey stuck inside, straight out of the van window and deposited him on the tarmac. As two other coppers picked Jockey up to carry him away the cool cop said 'Well boy when you turn into a butterfly I might think about releasing you.'

Page number 255 paragraph 1

....There was a brief lull in the proceedings as she looked around for more victims and then, as it started to sink in that we were being attacked by a she devil, one lad ran down and smacked her straight in the mouth. Unfortunately for him this was just the point where the police had decided to intervene and he was quickly arrested. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him as I imagined the scene in court where the prosecution described how he had punched a poor defenceless girl, forgetting to say how this girl was something akin to Attila the Hun.

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Catalogue Information

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