One of my favourite away games that. Real men against boys and we actually knocked it around really well and put them to the sword. I was on the top deck for that so didn't know about all the standing hoo har.
I remember after the police were forcing everyone one way and a big cordon was in the way of the way we wanted to go turning people back. As I approached it my phone rang and they parted like the red sea just because I was on the phone. Beyond the cordon was mayhem (seemingly being ignored by the five-oh who preferred to stand in a line with their back to it) and a few running battles. A group of about 30 were being held against a wall, although they could have just walked off as there was only 2 horses and a couple of coppers, while shit loads of little fights were going on all down the road. Me and my mate latched on to an elderly couple and walked down with them as a statement that neither of us were remotely hard or interested. A couple of lads came over and eyeballed us but no more. We made our way to Nettospoons and were just settling down with a burger when the same lads and about 30 other Stone Island clad loons came and sat right by us. "Wait til they say Bradford" says I to my chum. "Brat-fert" this and that the inbreds said whilst regailing tales of running the Blades all over, even at Leeds station. We sidled off to a pub with a telly and watched Pompey beat the pigs 3-1 at Hillsbro to round off a great day of footy before coming home.
