Read Online Rangers and the Famous ICF: My Life With Scotland's Most-Feared Football Hooligan Gang by Sandy Chugg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandy Chugg
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the van and took us to Parkhead Forge, which is on the route to Celtic Park traditionally used by Rangers fans.
The hatred we felt for all things green and white led us down some dark alleys of the soul. One such alley was a slashing contest between two of our main and iconic lads after an Old Firm game. The rules of the game were simple: whoever slashed the most Celtic fans would be declared the winner and inducted into the ICF hall of fame. To make sure we didn’t get detected by the coppers we took an alternative route through Duke Street and along High Street, one that would give us exposure to the maximum number of Celtic fans. The two contestants weren’t satisfied with an ordinary, common or garden knife. They attached Stanley blades to ice-lolly sticks to give then a tramline. It meant that when you were slashed it would be much harder for the doctor to stitch. Who won? It was honours even. They got ten each and we declared it a draw.
*
Although by the twenty-first century the golden days of the casuals had gone forever there was still huge potential for trouble any time we played Celtic. After one Old Firm game the ICF were drinking in the city centre when twenty of us decided to go to the Merchant City to look for them. Due to the number of police on the streets we got split up and I found myself in a group of five, made up of four Youth and me. I don’t know why but I had a sixth sense that we were going to come unstuck. We ended up in a pub in Trongate and we knew that the CSC had also been drinking in the area. So it was no great surprise that when we walked out there were twenty of them in front of us. Two of the Youth panicked and ran away. I had two bottles in my hand and I said to the two who were left, ‘No matter what happens I’m not running away.’
I knew one of the Celtic boys. I had helped him out in the past and now he was about to return the favour. He did his best to get me to leave quietly.
‘Sandy, just put down your bottles and walk away. We will let you off this time,’ he counselled.
I took his advice and calmly walked away, without panicking. I went into the pub that the two Rangers Youth had run into. I wasn’t going to leave them. Nobody owed them any favours and they would have been given a right doing if Celtic got a hold of them. In the end they bailed out the back door of the pub. Their mistake was to panic and run away. You should never do that.
That wasn’t my last encounter with Celtic. In 2005 after an Old Firm game the ICF were drinking in the Orange Lodge in Rutherglen, after which, funnily enough, we moved to a former Celtic boozer, which was then called The Edge. We had been on the phone to Celtic but as usual they were hiding in the pubs of the Gallowgate. First the Rangers Youth got in touch with them but no joy. Then I belled their top boy but he didn’t want to know either.
At eight o’clock I heard a commotion at the front door when a couple of the Youth lads left the building. When I went out to find out what the fuck was going on I saw that twenty Celtic were in a confrontation with our Youth. By this time all the main ICF boys were outside and they steamed into Celtic. I was fighting this fat lad when, all of a sudden, I was picking myself up off the pavement. I had no idea who, or what, had hit me. I tasted blood in my mouth and began to spit out bits of my teeth. Isaw five Celtic boys lying on the ground and it was then I realised that I had been knocked out, because the fight had moved on up the street.
‘Sandy, Sandy,’ someone was shouting.
I looked up and saw an old pal, Scooby, a Rangers fan from Haghill. He had been driving past and had seen me on the deck. Realising how bad I looked he drove me to the Royal infirmary. When I found out it would be several hours before I would be attended to I made a few phone calls to find out what exactly had happened. While I was told that several Celtic boys had been knocked out I didn’t find out
The hatred we felt for all things green and white led us down some dark alleys of the soul. One such alley was a slashing contest between two of our main and iconic lads after an Old Firm game. The rules of the game were simple: whoever slashed the most Celtic fans would be declared the winner and inducted into the ICF hall of fame. To make sure we didn’t get detected by the coppers we took an alternative route through Duke Street and along High Street, one that would give us exposure to the maximum number of Celtic fans. The two contestants weren’t satisfied with an ordinary, common or garden knife. They attached Stanley blades to ice-lolly sticks to give then a tramline. It meant that when you were slashed it would be much harder for the doctor to stitch. Who won? It was honours even. They got ten each and we declared it a draw.
*
Although by the twenty-first century the golden days of the casuals had gone forever there was still huge potential for trouble any time we played Celtic. After one Old Firm game the ICF were drinking in the city centre when twenty of us decided to go to the Merchant City to look for them. Due to the number of police on the streets we got split up and I found myself in a group of five, made up of four Youth and me. I don’t know why but I had a sixth sense that we were going to come unstuck. We ended up in a pub in Trongate and we knew that the CSC had also been drinking in the area. So it was no great surprise that when we walked out there were twenty of them in front of us. Two of the Youth panicked and ran away. I had two bottles in my hand and I said to the two who were left, ‘No matter what happens I’m not running away.’
I knew one of the Celtic boys. I had helped him out in the past and now he was about to return the favour. He did his best to get me to leave quietly.
‘Sandy, just put down your bottles and walk away. We will let you off this time,’ he counselled.
I took his advice and calmly walked away, without panicking. I went into the pub that the two Rangers Youth had run into. I wasn’t going to leave them. Nobody owed them any favours and they would have been given a right doing if Celtic got a hold of them. In the end they bailed out the back door of the pub. Their mistake was to panic and run away. You should never do that.
That wasn’t my last encounter with Celtic. In 2005 after an Old Firm game the ICF were drinking in the Orange Lodge in Rutherglen, after which, funnily enough, we moved to a former Celtic boozer, which was then called The Edge. We had been on the phone to Celtic but as usual they were hiding in the pubs of the Gallowgate. First the Rangers Youth got in touch with them but no joy. Then I belled their top boy but he didn’t want to know either.
At eight o’clock I heard a commotion at the front door when a couple of the Youth lads left the building. When I went out to find out what the fuck was going on I saw that twenty Celtic were in a confrontation with our Youth. By this time all the main ICF boys were outside and they steamed into Celtic. I was fighting this fat lad when, all of a sudden, I was picking myself up off the pavement. I had no idea who, or what, had hit me. I tasted blood in my mouth and began to spit out bits of my teeth. Isaw five Celtic boys lying on the ground and it was then I realised that I had been knocked out, because the fight had moved on up the street.
‘Sandy, Sandy,’ someone was shouting.
I looked up and saw an old pal, Scooby, a Rangers fan from Haghill. He had been driving past and had seen me on the deck. Realising how bad I looked he drove me to the Royal infirmary. When I found out it would be several hours before I would be attended to I made a few phone calls to find out what exactly had happened. While I was told that several Celtic boys had been knocked out I didn’t find out
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