The only time this happened to me was on 1 October 1977 at a match between Man Utd and Liverpool. As teenagers at the time living in North Wales we were in the habit of reserving places on official supporters club coaches, or going by train (quite a few trying not to pay) to either Liverpool, Everton or Man Utd. (For some reason, Maine Road was never on our radar.)
So on this day the group of us had downed the regulatory pints of bitter in some pub in central Manchester where if you looked more or less 16 or older, your age was never asked. Bus to the stadium, and in the Stretford End about an hour and a half before kick-off (does anyone ever do this nowadays?) Any old-school/long-term Man Utd fans here may remember the banter between the three sectors on the Stretford End (left side, right side, tunnel). "Left side left side give us a song, left side, give us a song!" And as the clock moved towards kick-off time, and the terraces became more and more packed, the usual mass tumbling down the steps started to occur. Things like holding a fag and managing to actually smoke it became increasingly difficult.
One of the ways you could avoid the crowd surges was to stand directly in front of a crash barrier, though the hard lads stood directly behind. I can't remember what the disadvantage was with the former option now, but I do seem to recall that there was one.)
Anyway, on this particular day I decided in my non-sober state to give a gentle push to the folk in front of me (I wasn't the only one) and enjoy the resulting domino effect. It wasn't aggressive and I'm sure those who were pushed just accepted it as part of the normal matchday craic.
However a over-zealous steward/a steward doing his professional job had spotted me; he got hold of my arm, marched me off down the stairs at the back of the Stretford End and unceremoniously ejected me from the ground.
10 minutes later I got a ticket (it was an all-ticket game) at cover price from a desperate tout and managed to see the whole match, albeit from one of the side paddocks.
So on this day the group of us had downed the regulatory pints of bitter in some pub in central Manchester where if you looked more or less 16 or older, your age was never asked. Bus to the stadium, and in the Stretford End about an hour and a half before kick-off (does anyone ever do this nowadays?) Any old-school/long-term Man Utd fans here may remember the banter between the three sectors on the Stretford End (left side, right side, tunnel). "Left side left side give us a song, left side, give us a song!" And as the clock moved towards kick-off time, and the terraces became more and more packed, the usual mass tumbling down the steps started to occur. Things like holding a fag and managing to actually smoke it became increasingly difficult.
One of the ways you could avoid the crowd surges was to stand directly in front of a crash barrier, though the hard lads stood directly behind. I can't remember what the disadvantage was with the former option now, but I do seem to recall that there was one.)
Anyway, on this particular day I decided in my non-sober state to give a gentle push to the folk in front of me (I wasn't the only one) and enjoy the resulting domino effect. It wasn't aggressive and I'm sure those who were pushed just accepted it as part of the normal matchday craic.
However a over-zealous steward/a steward doing his professional job had spotted me; he got hold of my arm, marched me off down the stairs at the back of the Stretford End and unceremoniously ejected me from the ground.
10 minutes later I got a ticket (it was an all-ticket game) at cover price from a desperate tout and managed to see the whole match, albeit from one of the side paddocks.
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