The Ugly #2
Chesterfield…3 Bolton Wanderers…0
3rd May 1986
Pre-Wembley feel good fever was hitting Bolton fans as only Wigan stood in the way of a trip to the Twin Towers, the first for 28 years. With just one more game left in the league season, a trip to Chesterfield really shouldn’t have thrown up the anger and carnage that it did.
Bolton were going into the last match of their league campaign at Saltergate on the back of a 4-0 home loss to Bristol City and a 3-0 victory in the Freight Rover trophy up at Darlington. They were mathematically safe from the drop so in hindsight it was a nothing match and you’d have expected the majority to have stayed away and keep their money in their pockets for the up and coming Freight Rover Northern Final versus Wigan and then of course the prospect of a trip down to Wembley. Hindsight eh?!
What actually occurred was quite probably a mix of over-exuberance, too much ale and well, the final chance of the season to stamp their mark on being “top boys” in the division’s troublemaking category. Of course, not discounting the fact we were getting battered 3-0 and being goaded by the home support – more than enough to ensure a melting pot of violence ensued!
As a young fan, I’d had no other means to get to the match other than the travel club. We’d arrived relatively early, had a wander around the perimeter of the stadium and soaked up an uncomfortable atmosphere. The police were out in force looking gnarly – of course, back in those days, you were a hooligan until proven innocent. All football fans were categorised and a “threat” and as such got treated pretty poorly by the authorities. To this day, I’ve always felt that the late 80s police loved it when there was trouble. They got the chance to wade in there themselves and wield their batons, set their dogs on folk and fill their boots with an authoritarian thuggery. Correct me if I’m wrong, but its how it felt to me.
“Stories were already emitting of much trouble in the town centre before the game”
Coming into the stadium we headed into the paddock with its low roof – this would be great for acoustics and the rounds and rounds of Wembley songs we’d be chanting. However, stories were already emitting of much trouble in the town centre before the game. Rowdy, pissed up Wanderers lads had been causing chaos with one pub getting bricked. In fact, as the game kicked-off, it became apparent that the away end was filling up bit-by-bit as our hordes of drunken troublemakers entered the old ground late. The paddock started to get packed. The atmosphere was turning from pre-Wembley joy to an air of savagery. It wasn’t too long before things began to get ugly.
But let’s not forget events on the pitch first. With Bolton safe, Chesterfield still needed points to be 100% certain of Division Three football and so went about their task of taking Bolton to the cleaners with three second half goals, the third being a comical error from Bolton keeper Dave Felgate who stepped back over his line with the ball in his hands. For many of us, it was yet another embarrassing away defeat. How can a team be riding on the crest of the wave in one competition, the Freight Rover Trophy, but yet be so piss-poor in another? This was Phil Neal’s first part-season in charge, and we’d not broken any pots, even with the vast experience and winning mentality that he supposedly brought with him from Anfield. In his defence, here was a man, simultaneously still playing and also cutting his teeth in management, a tough ask I suppose.
“It was like a treaty for POW’s had been signed and the handover had taken place much to the delight of the cheering Wanderers following”
It’s was the Bolton player-manager who became a focal point of the afternoon. As the atmosphere descended into carnage in the paddock, fans began to get at each other through the segregation fencing and missiles were being thrown with some regularity. Bolton thugs were also amidst the home support in other sections of the ground and battling relentlessly. The roar of “Bolton’s here, Bolton’s there, Bolton’s every fuckin’ where!” in tribute to the lads fighting across enemy lines rang out with an air of menace.
Eventually this sizeable mob of Bolton lads was escorted from the home end around the perimeter of the pitch and the heavy steel gates opened pitch side so they could be repatriated. It was like a treaty for POW’s had been signed and the handover had taken place much to the delight of the cheering Wanderers following.
Trouble in the home sections.
Bolton’s mob re-housed.
Enough is enough, time for action!
As always, it soon became a three-way affair, as the police entered into the fray, quite late after dealing with disorders elsewhere, and the rucking took on another perspective. This heavy-handed police ‘platoon’ complete with snarling dogs came forcefully into the paddock and I readily recall seeing one skin-headed Wanderer getting attacked by a crazed dog. Blood was spilt.
Instead of “Wembley, Wembley” chants, we now had “Run, run wherever you maybe, we are the B.W.F.C and we’ll twat you all wherever you maybe and we’ll leave you in the infirmary”.
“Phil Neal asked the referee to stop the game, and made his away across the playing surface to the edge of the pitch, calling for calm”
With tensions way past boiling point, Phil Neal asked the referee to stop the game, and made his away across the playing surface to the edge of the pitch, calling for calm. He was stood on the turf amongst the debris of rocks, concrete, broken glass and just about anything else that could have been used as a projectile.
Order was restored for a while, but then came the final whistle, the league season was over and the supporters piled back onto the streets of Chesterfield intent on more scrapping.
In total 34 arrests were made. There’d been rumour that Burnley had 33 arrested at one match… Bolton had eclipsed that and earned their ‘badge of honour’ in the hooligan world.
For me, I needed a piss, but the police just wanted us out of the stadium, out of the town and out of the county. Two bleeding hours and the rest, dying for a leak all the way back to Bolton. On arriving on the Burnden forecourt, I just legged it up past the Happy Shop, around the back of the Embankment and had, what I can still recall to this day, the “best ever piss of my life”!
A truly chaotic day. Three weeks later we were stood in the sunshine of Wembley Stadium, what a total contrast from the blood-soaked carnage of Saltergate.
Footnote: Sometimes the memory can be hazy, but I’m damn sure that as all the battling was in full force, Wanderers’ famous videography team, lead by the unconventional commentary of Dave Higson were actually sat in a gantry above the Bolton support. At one point Dave dangled his microphone down to the away supporters and made comment on how passionate the Wanderers fans were… however, it certainly wasn’t a passion for the football, more a blood-curdling roar of hatred. I’m also pretty sure this was the match that he coined the infamous phrase “the police are acting like pigs, so to speak”. (Editor Note: I’ve since been corrected, it was at Wrexham when he uttered those magical words!)