Sully: Grafting for England

By Tony Sullivan

The early 1980s was a golden age for football hooliganism and shoplifting in Europe. With security forces on the continent yet to fully realise the extent of the English Disease and security relaxed in even the most expensive shops, Europe was ripe for pillage and Sully was one of many to take full advantage - funding his trips following the national team with ill-gotten gains. As a member of Manchester City's notorious Mayne Line Service Crew which was accustomed to far stricter security and suspicion back in England. Using the cover of fellow England fans as cover Tony reveals the secrets of his success in "Grafting for England" - the follow-up to "Sully: The Football Thug Who Didn't Give a Fuck..." published by Empire Publications in 2009. As Tony makes clear, the football wars in England didn't necessarily stop when hooligans from all over the country got together to follow the national side. Fights would regularly be sparked off between different factions supporting the Three Lions and even a trip to Wembley could catch unsuspecting patriots unawares. Sully has followed England over most of the continent for the best part of 30 years - from the notorious 1980 European Championship where the England team were forced to play through a cloud of tear gas, to the slaughter of the innocents in Rome in the late 90s, where Italian scooter boys slashed anyone looking remotely English. The hairiest moments though are reserved for trips into the former Soviet Bloc with the Poles, in particular, lending a unique lunacy to trips to Chorzow and Warsaw. In between Sully recalls his frequent inactive periods at Her Majesty's Pleasure including his involvement in the notorious Strangeways Riot and the demise of his grafting career abroad following the confiscation of his passport. Of course, it being Sully, comedy is never far away particularly when lads' trips to Greece and Portugal don't go quite as planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Empire Publications
• Release date: Feb 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781901746655

Book preview

SULLY: GRAFTING FOR ENGLAND

TONY SULLIVAN

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First published in 2011 by Empire Publications

Smashwords Edition

© Tony Sullivan 2011

ISBN: 1901746 658

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Published by Empire Publications at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is available in print at:

http://www.empire-uk.com

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the following people: Firstly, to everyone who bought the first book ‘Sully’ - I was amazed at the success of it and how everyone commented positively on it.

I’d also like to thank a few people who took the time to visit me when I was last in prison:-

John Blinkard from Harpurhey, ‘Blazing Bren’ from Moston, Pete & Dennis from South Manchester (you may have heard some people say they have had a pint in every town - well Pete & Dennis have had a fight in every country!). Not forgetting Dave E, Andrew, Carl H. and Jason Palmer - and no, this is not an invite for a Visiting Order for my next trip inside! Also apologies to those who were supposed to come up last time I was inside but never made it because Dave was sorting the VO’s out...

Apologies to Nick, South Manchester for the ‘blip’ in the first book.

Thanks to Sean, South Manchester, for the precise details regarding the Bulgaria trip, otherwise I would have made a fuck up of it.

To John Ireland, Ashley Shaw and Mike Hubbard from Empire Publications for supporting both books and to P. Hill once again for his efforts of turning my words into something readable (and littered with Smiths / Morrissey lyrical references again!).

RIP Mary C, Mick V and Victor D.

To Josh & Haley Murray, North Manchester and Callum, South Manchester - you have choices to make in life, please think carefully and make the right choices and you’ll go far.  

Thanks to all the lads on the England scene over the years that I have had the pleasure and privilege to travel, graft and fight with.

Finally, to Lizzy my girlfriend and Chloe my daughter, for putting up with me for so long (not that they have a choice ha ha).

INTRODUCTION

I can’t believe I’m sat here writing my second book! I was encouraged to write the first one when I was inside Kirkham prison for nine months and after chatting with the lads, recalling all the stories, someone suggested it was time the tale was told. It certainly helped the time inside pass quicker and even the screws were amazed that there I was, head down and writing furiously each day. To begin with, I decided just to write about what I got up to with City, as well as a little about my background and my youth, as that influenced my character. It was with the success of the first book that people kept asking me to put into print the England stories and here they are - who would have guessed two years ago that I would have had two books on my life published!

As with the first, this book also recalls the shoplifting as well as the fighting. The two went hand in hand. I followed England on the back of shoplifting and it was my ‘career’ for many years. I robbed wherever England played so it would pay for the next trip and everything else I needed in between games. I have also added a bit about my private life not included in the first book, just to give the full details about me and what I got up to, such as when I got into boxing and on meeting my girlfriend.

There have been one or two times when I really thought I was going to be seriously harmed and times when I’ve lived a charmed life. You have to remember, the vast majority of incidents written about all took place in the days before mobile phones had been invented. Back then you didn’t know what you were about to face, there was none of this ringing up a rival firm and seeing how many lads they had with them, weighing up your options before deciding if you were going to turn up or not having evaluated your chances. You just jumped on a train, arrived at the station and faced what was there or wasn’t there. You ran with lads who you trusted not only to stand and fight but trusted to turn up on the day and on time. You made arrangements at the previous game and then wouldn’t see or hear from them until the day of the next game but you knew they would be there without the need to call them every five minutes to make sure they hadn’t forgotten.

As with the first book, everything included is the truth - nothing is sensationalised or made up; it’s simply a record of what went on and what I got up to. I don’t claim to be the leader of any particular firm, I was just one lad amongst many who did what they did at the time - and sometimes got lucky, sometimes got hit and often got caught!

I hope you enjoy reading it and if you have got this far and think it may be too offensive or the language is too crude, then please put the book back on the shelf - Nick Hornby’s ‘Fever Pitch’ is on the first floor.

Club v Country

Lots of lads ask me - if it came to choosing between City or England, which one would it be? I have no hesitation in saying it would be City. I was brought up by to be a Blue, it’s in the blood, whereas I chose to go and watch England. In the firms I mixed with at City, there were not too many lads that followed England. Back in the 80’s, all the home games were in London and difficult to get back from, whilst travelling abroad was not as easy or cheap as it is now. I liked watching England because I liked the travel and also it offered easy pickings to earn some good money!

I suppose, had City been playing in Europe regularly, then I may not have gone to support England as often as I did. Those daft Munich twats are always going on about how they don’t care about England - well that wasn’t always the case. From the late 70’s for about four seasons, United didn’t qualify for Europe and a few of them travelled to watch England and then when United were back in Europe, a lot of them dropped off but came back when English clubs were banned from European competitions because of hooliganism of fans abroad (at least you can’t blame me for that one!)

It was only after the Beckham incident against Argentina in France 98 that the whole ‘Man U - England’ thing blew up and the red twats spat their dummies out and started supporting Argentina - the stupid knobs.

That’s why at England games when you check out the flags and the names of the towns and cities emblazoned across them - the majority of them are naming clubs that are outside the top flight (or were at least they were ten to twenty years ago) - clubs like Burnley, Carlisle, Hull, Plymouth and the two Bristol clubs as well as loads of non league clubs too. These sets of fans would in most cases have no chance of seeing their team at Wembley (pre-play off and Johnstone’s Paint Trophy years) and certainly not abroad, so following England gave them that opportunity. And that’s why nowadays, you don’t see flags of the so-called ‘Big Four’ too often at England games - with the odd exception of Chelsea who always remain loyal, no matter what their club are doing.

I also know a few City fans who are now taking a sudden interest in England because we have a fair few players in the set up, such as Wright-Phillips, Barry, Bridge and Lescott. In the 90’s, we had only had two England internationals - Keith Curle and David White, and they didn’t get five caps between them (though how Tony Coton didn’t get one cap was the biggest disgrace going) and this was reflected in the apathy my fellow Blues had at the time towards the national team.

Of course, when following your own club, you start off going with your family and then once old enough, with your school mates who you saw every day of the week. Following England, you were pretty much on your own and just met up with people who were on the same train or coach and then didn’t see them again for months, if ever.

Then there was the problem that the Cockneys always saw England as a home game for themselves and would be looking to have pops at any group of lads coming ‘onto their manor’ at Wembley. The London firms always used Wembley and away games to settle scores and to set out to prove that each was worthy of being the top London firm. I was so glad when England moved around the country when Wembley was being rebuilt - the biggest moaners about this were the Cockneys, crying like babies saying, ‘How are we supposed to get back from St James’ Park on a Wednesday night?’ The stupid cunts never gave it a seconds thought as to how Geordies are supposed to get back from Wembley on a Wednesday night.

Then there’s the ‘London is England’ brigade rabbiting on about how the national team MUST play in London. Most other countries in Europe move their national team’s games around the country - Italy and Spain are the current World Champions and European Champions respectively and it doesn’t seem to have harmed their chances of success but as long as England are playing at Wembley and the poor Cockney cunts don’t have to travel, then that’s all right... You never hear England fans booing the team away from Wembley, or disrespecting the other teams’ national anthems but once the games returned to Wembley, out came the boo boys again.

Disappointingly, fans from other clubs started their own parochial grudges rather than joining together and putting the Cockneys in their place. So fans of West Midlands rivals Villa, Birmingham and Wolves would have a battle on the train and at Euston. As would the East Midland rivals Derby, Forest and Leicester at Kings Cross. The south coast clubs would have a pop with south London clubs at Waterloo... and so it went on.

Yet it should never have been like this - it should have been one and all together - we are England, lets fuck the rest off. Yet you were always looking over your shoulder and listening out for accents to see who was behind you and wonder if the biggest threat was going to come from the opposition fans or your fellow countrymen. Fucking stupid, but it’s true. You need eyes at the back of your fucking head watching your own national team on your own country’s soil, as well as abroad.

Southpaw Glamour

As teenager, I got into all sorts of trouble - I’d been nicked for shoplifting and fighting, usually with a Blackley gang and kids from the Langley overspill estate in Middleton. Then there was the time we trashed Alkrington Youth Centre. My foster parents were very good with me and I could have been on the end of a right load of bollockings but they always turned up at the cop shop and collected me each time I was nicked and just drove me home, with a gentle chat rather than the hairdryer treatment.

At the age of fourteen, I joined a local boxing club, based at Blackley Youth Centre. This was quite good for me as it kept me off the streets (well, it took up a lot of my time but I was still out there up to my old tricks!) and I really enjoyed it. The bloke running it was called Jack B and he certainly knew what he was talking about. There was another trainer who took me under his wing and spent a lot of time with me - Joey Jacobs, whose father, Nat, had won an Olympic gold medal in boxing.

After a while, they felt I was ready for my first fight which was held at Manchester’s Ritz ballroom - what a venue. I’ve been there many a time since for a dance and always have a little chuckle to myself about my first fight there. Anyway, I was on last and I was really buzzing but just wanted to get out there and fight - it was my first time and I couldn’t get in the ring fast enough. Any advice being given was just going in one ear and straight out of the other, I couldn’t focus on anything but day dreaming about being in the ring. I desperately wanted to win for both Jack B and Joey and also for Joey’s dad, who had recently died.

Before I went in the ring, Joey’s mam came to talk to me, telling me just to do my best and enjoy it. To put me under even more pressure, all the other lads from Blackley had won their fights and everyone was cheering for me - there’s just no way I could go out there and end up losing in front of my home crowd. The bell rang and I came out of my corner still day dreaming about winning - and was caught with a punch and it was the wake-up call I needed. I survived the first round and Joey gave me a hard lecture during the break.

In the second I started boxing properly, defending myself much better rather than just lashing out wildly and leaving myself exposed all the time. I could fight either orthodox or southpaw which not a lot of lads could do and I often caught opponents out, when they expected me to hit them with a right hand. Just before the end of the third and final round, I caught my opponent good and proper, an upper cut straight onto his chin, sending him sprawling onto the canvas. Before the count had reached ten I was bouncing all over the place, wildly celebrating my first victory in my first fight. Jack B brought me back down to earth with some sound advice about the first round but then congratulated me and I could tell he was proud of me and all the lads for winning all of our fights that night.

The only downside of the night was that I didn’t collect my trophy - I received it but didn’t collect it. The former Manchester United goalkeeper Alex Stepney was handing out the trophies and there was no way in hell was I going up on stage to collect it from him, shaking his hand!

I was then recommended to join Collyhurst Boxing Club which is one of the biggest and well known clubs in Manchester, run by the highly well respected coach Brian Hughes. It had been going for years and Manchester’s first world champion, Jackie Brown, was a born and bred Collyhurst lad. In 1932, he won the world flyweight belt. There were other famous boxers coming through the club when I joined, such as Pat Barrett and Tony Farrell. That club, based above the Co-op on Lightbowne Road, Moston, is officially known as the Collyhurst & Moston Boxing club and is still run by Brian Hughes. Brian has continued to produce world champions such as Michael Gomez in the 1990’s.

Anyway, a few of us ended up training the younger kids, helping them to develop their skills and techniques and then we’d be out training ourselves - and fuck me that was hard! We’d be running through Boggart Hole Clough in Blackley and they had us running up the ravines (and if anyone reading this knows the clough, you will know what I mean!) with someone piggy backing on you! Then we’d jog back to the club for a spot of circuit training and finish with a sparring session. We also had a football team - which is where Pat Barrett earned the nickname ‘Black Flash’ as he was fast as fuck out on the wing. Then there was Chris Little, who later gained notoriety as a main player in Stockport’s underworld (which ultimately cost him his life). I remember his first fight as a pro and really thought he had what it took to be a champion. He’d travel from Stockport to Collyhurst every week and run us into the ground during the training sessions. For a fight in Manchester, Barry McGuigan used the club as his training base which gave us all a buzz.

Brian Kidd’s brother Jimmy also trained at the club. The Kidds’ were all born and raised in Collyhurst, with Brian playing for United, Arsenal and City (he is City’s assistant manager as I write this). One day we had the kids out playing football on Broadhurst fields, Moston, when Jimmy came over with Brian, introduced the kids to him