It is undeniably true that my love of chess has shaped both my experience and understanding of England more so than anything else. A corollory of that pertains to how it crossed over into other passions which took me further afield too. Some of those at my local club (Luton) have become life-long friends. Unsurprisingly, then, we did things together other than play chess. We also went to football matches to watch Luton play, with A-Team player Damon D Cruz behind the wheel as always. This happened at matches away from home four times, the second of which I would like to focus upon.
In Reflections 6, I chronicled for how Matthew Payne, Damon D’ Cruz and I went to watch the FIDE candidates semi-finals at the Saddler’s Wells Theatre in Islington, London in Autumn 1989. Same old season but fast forward 15 years, and all three of us went down to Southend-on-Sea to watch The Hatters play in the F. A. Cup first round. United by a love of chess and football, we cheered on our home team, the day being one not forgotten.
That Autumn I was commuting to Cambridge daily and can only assume I must have dropped a day’s pay and requested that Friday off. It was a televised, evening match, Damon and I left Luton not long after midday, the drive itself not worth mentioning. I recall we arrived easily enough and went for mid-afternoon drinks at some unglamorous boozer on the sea front. I always remember sitting outdoors with a black leather jacket on and eating bags of roasted peanuts which I washed down with whichever lager I was drinking. The sky was as grey and deadening as Southend itself…nothing more than a cheap seaside town with little to offer I thought. Conversation was mostly chitter-chatter about nothing in general, most probably something was said about my upcoming trip to Thailand at some point, how often chess cropped up I cannot recall. Darkness fell with drizzle around five, the evening sky soon miserable. Off we trundled to collect Matt at the train station…say sixish? In being early, that did not stop us having a few more jars at that small pub just inside the station -accompanied by even more bags of dry roasted peanuts of course. In finding chess fan numero tres, a short stroll in dismal weather to Roots Hall was had, the fever and noise ricocheting through the streets we walked as one.
I liked it how we hung out as chess friends, but chess was not on the agenda -we were there for the footy. The game was great as Luton won convincingly (see below for highlights). There is, however, one memory that stands out so much more than any other, even as I type these words, it’s hard not to smile or laugh. As anyone can tell you, when football fans go to away matches in their hundreds or thousands, a lot of drinking gets done, especially when it involves a well-supported club from a rough, working-class town like mine -that match was no exception. I must have had at least 5 pints myself before the game, probably more, but enter the guy in the navy fisherman’s jacket in the row in front of us -it’s hard not to laugh even after all these years! With his head of unkempt grey hair, he looked late 50s, early 60s maybe. He had a flushed red face, that of an alcoholic and an enormously buldging stomach to put it mildly. How many pints he had before the game I didn’t know but would find out in the break. He was one row down and off to my left slightly. To his right were two office type looking guys, both went off to get coffees during half-time. The old guy, who I shall never forget, then couldn’t control himself anymore and started spraying out vomit left, right and centre. Not little amounts but high powered sprays, short bursts lasting a second or two. He couldn’t stop himself, how many times it happened I could not count. When the office type looking guys returned to their seats, chatting away looking all happy holding their paper cups of coffee -the sudden look of sheer horror on their faces was absolutely priceless! Their seats were by now caked in puke, and I do mean caked -that is not an exaggeration. Not just their seats but the floor around them and other seats too. There were stunned and looked for a culprit instantly, perhaps in fear of perpetual puke! Straight away they clapped eyes on the the guy sitting next to them, who had stopped spraying it about by then, and who couldn’t have looked more like an alcy if he had tried. But the instance they clapped eyes on him, he looked away all innocent and up to the sky too -it was hard not to take amusement in it. They had no choice but to stand for the whole of the second half, glancing around suspiciously for other potential culprits, visibly less happy than they were before the half-time whistle. The old bloke next to them continued to spray vomit but far less often and was much more discreet about it. At one point Matt and I looked at each other, smiling away -you couldn’t not! Talk about taking the biscuit!
The atmosphere was jubilant, the weather awful but bearable, Luton were victorious, we didn’t get puked on! Round two it was, we were all singing away together, most of us pissed up. I liked how our working class roots combined with our more middle-class lives and interests, and how a great night was had, full of friendship and action on the pitch – it was a great combination that we played.
This account of that day, Friday November 12th 2004, is written because it exemplifies how chess not only broadened by understanding and experience of my culture in chess events but also non-chess events with chess players I knew well, had stayed friends with for decades by then and would for decades more. Chess brought us together and from that we enjoyed our football in each other’s company.
M J M
McCreadyandChess 