Part I
ENGLISH FANS IN SPAIN
Chapter One
PREPARATIONS FOR SPAIN
At around 8 oâclock on the evening of Wednesday November 18, 1981, Paul Mariner, the England centre-forward, stumbled and diverted a mishit shot from mid-fielder Trevor Brooking into the Hungarian net. His goal gave England the victory which sent them into the final stages of the World Cup competition for the first time in twelve years.
While English football fans rejoiced, some no doubt returning home from the match to dig out maps of the continent and plan their summerâs footballing adventures, FIFA officials viewed Englandâs qualification for Spain with emotions more nearly approaching alarm. The Spanish civil authorities, despite their not inconsiderable experience in coping with public disorder, probably also cast an anxious glance at the result which emerged from Wembley that night. The reason for all this concern was the fact that, whatever it signified in football terms, Englandâs victory meant that the most vilified fans in Europe would be on the march across the continent again.
The cheers for Marinerâs goal had hardly died down when the authorities and the media in this country, too, began worrying at the prospect of British-inspired disorders in Spain. One of the first to express concern was the Conservative MP, John Butcher. Less than 36 hours after Englandâs qualification, he was warning Michael Heseltine, then Secretary of State for the Environment that, unless massive precautions were taken, â⌠a large international television audience will be treated to scenes of the degrading and humiliating behaviour exhibited by a certain element of British supporters whenever they visit the continent.â1
Mr Butcher went on to request that a âtreatyâ should be negotiated with the Spanish government for the return to trial in this country of British fans convicted of offences in Spain. He also demanded that the passports of those involved in disturbances at the Finals should be withdrawn. His concern was echoed in a growing number of media comments and official pronouncements in the closing weeks of 1981. It was premised upon what he and many others took to be the certain prospect of bad behaviour by a minority of British, but most probably primarily English, fans in Spain. Underlying this concern was the threat to the national image which they felt such behaviour would imply.
As we noted in the Introduction, a number of Englandâs recent matches in Europe, in particular those in Basle and Turin, had been scarred by terrace disturbances. Significantly, these matches had been televised in several countries but, for Spain, the international viewing audience promised to be even larger. With over 7,000 media personnel due there to cover the tournament and the peak TV audience expected to be somewhere in the region of 1.4 billion, the publicâs demands for what The Financial Times called âthe facts, titbits, excitement and scandal in the worldâs biggest single-sport jamboreeâ, threatened to focus the eyes of the world squarely on English terrace excesses if and when they should occur.2 After the scenes in Turin, Prime Minister Thatcher â she was in Venice at the time, attending an EEC âsummit meetingâ â made it clear that she was âseverely embarrassedâ by the behaviour of the England fans involved. With murmurs growing from EUFA and FIFA about the possibility of a total ban on English sides in Europe, there was clear recognition both in government and football circles in this country that precautions would have to be taken to ensure that Englandâs hooligan following did not âcut looseâ in Spain.
Towards the end of November 1981 the newly installed FA Chairman, Bert Millichip, used the forthcoming Finals and the likelihood of hooliganism there by English fans to preface the outlines of a comprehensive attack on hooliganism by English fans at home and abroad. His ten-point plan ranged from recommendations for the return of corporal punishment in schools, through the prevention of movement at home and abroad of fans whose dress or demeanour was âoffensiveâ, to the reintroduction of the Riot Act to deal with football-related disturbances. With Spain more specifically in mind, Millichip was equally unyielding if decidedly pessimistic. At a conference of the Central Council of Physical Recreation held in Bournemouth on 27 November he is reported to have said:
With the World Cup almost upon us, the Spaniards, without doubt, are nervously contemplating the arrival of ferocious gangs of moronic louts from this country who find the game of football such a convenient platform from which to launch and display their show of naked and uncontrolled aggression. Nothing can prevent this invasion. Tickets or no tickets, theyâll be on the boat to Bilbao, get drunk, wreck the boat and then get drunk in Bilbao and wreck that. They might get shot, but that is their problem.3
Millichipâs pronouncements may have been somewhat alarmist, yet on past performances he had good reason to expect serious disturbances at the Finals. Indeed, given the length of time English fans were expected to stay in Spain and the reputation of the local police, scenes in excess of those experienced in Basle and Turin could not be ruled out. Nevertheless, the Spanish Basques did not appear to be unduly unnerved at the prospect. Nor did they share the FA Chairmanâs sense of the inevitable. Indeed, reports from Bilbao later suggested that the locals, perhaps for reasons as much political as based on simple politeness, professed themselves to be âdelightedâ at the prospect of hosting Englandâs Phase One matches.4
Meanwhile through the agency of the Minister for Sport, Neil Macfarlane, the government pressed ahead with plans aimed at minimising British hooliganism in Spain. A meeting in December with representatives of the home Football Associations produced five main proposals.
(i) that a pamphlet of âdoâs and donâtsâ should be circulated through supportersâ clubs to fans travelling from England, Scotland and Northern Ireland;
(ii) that talks should be held with FIFA to try to ensure the segregation of English fans from opposing supporters inside grounds;
(iii) that plans should be implemented to increase the consular staff in Spain during the World Cup and to create liaison posts, followed by a series of meetings with the relevant Spanish authorities;
(iv) that a close look should be taken at the distribution of tickets and the plans of tour operators;
and (v) that liaison should be established with the Ministerâs opposite number in Spain.
The most innovative of these proposals, and arguably the most liable to be effective in terms of actually making contact with travelling fans, was the distribution to British spectators of what The Daily Telegraph described as a âgood behaviour guide to Spainâ.5 This âstrongly-worded list of doâs and donâtsâ was in large part drawn up by Stanley Ford, the British consul in Madrid. It later became the central feature of the âAmigosâ campaign, the brainchild of West Nally, a London consultancy and sports-promotion group, and produced by them in conjunction with the government and the Football Associations of England, Scotland and Northern Ireland.
Using the official mascots of the three home countries which had qualified for Spain,6 together with that of the host nation, badges, stickers and pamphlets were produced in their thousands, carrying a logo which underlined co-operation and friendliness between British fans and their Spanish hosts. The Amigos pamphlets opened out to reveal a message from the captains of the British squads which stressed the distractions for players of âaggroâ on the terraces. This message was backed up, in the case of the English at least, by pleas from players on television and in the press for good behaviour from what The Sun described as the âyobâ element of English support.7 Inside, too, was information on survival in Spain, ranging from the role of the fans as âambassadorsâ for Britain, to the use and abuse of inoculations. Under the heading âLawâ, strong warnings were provided about the stiff sentences that were liable to face miscreants in Spain. On the back endpiece of the folding pamphlet one could also find the addresses and telephone numbers of all the British Consulates in Spain. Before turning to an assessment of the Amigos campaign, we shall briefly consider the controversy which surrounded the choice of the English World Cup mascot, âBulldog Bobbyâ.
In December 1981 the Football Associations of England, Scotland and Northern Ireland revealed to the public their official World Cup mascots, the equivalents of Spainâs âNaranjitoâ, a humanised, football-toting orange. Companies would pay to use these mascots on products ranging from T-shirts and drinks to souvenir mugs and key rings. The Irish chose a decidedly traditional, even old-fashioned, image of the football fan, âYer Manâ, who was clearly already en route for Spain, suitcase in hand, armed with a scarf and other favours, and bathed in innocent exuberance. To launch their campaign, the Scots produced an impudent-looking Highland schoolboy who rejoiced in the name âWee Sandyâ. For their part, the English came up with the more strikingly belligerent figure of âBulldog Bobbyâ, a barrel-chested, bare-toothed bull terrier sporting an England shirt and standing imperiously with one foot firmly controlling a football (see Figure 1). It was an image which was not universally acclaimed as one suitable for a country whose fans had, on more than one occasion, been likened by the more imaginative newsdesks and some politicians to âwild animalsâ. For example, prior to the departure of the fans and team for Spain, a Conservative MP sought assurances in the House that the Spanish authorities realised what a âvery vicious and unpleasant animal is the British football hooliganâ.8
David Miller in The Daily Express similarly argued that Englandâs World Cup Mascot had âthe unfortunate appearance of one of Englandâs more aggressive supporters ⌠complete with bared teeth and beer belly. We have seen him all too often growling around the bars and railway stations of foreign capitals at one in the morning.â9 Frank McGhee of The Daily Mirror also disapproved. The mascot, he argued, had already been âheavily attacked, even by a Government Minister, for his belligerent, beer-bellied appearance as well as his unfortunate connection with the National Front â something the FA chose to ignore in their response to the criticism.â10
The connection with the National Front alluded to here lay in the name of one of the extreme right-wing organisationâs newspapers, Bulldog. Although the FA undoubtedly had in mind the traditional symbolisation of the British nation through the bulldog and felt that they could not, as they had in 1966, choose the lion as the teamâs mascot once again, it was a choice that proved prophetic in view of the activities at the Finals of English youths vowing allegiance to groups from the far right.
In the face of what was fast becoming the widespread condemnation of the bulldog image, the football authorities rallied to Bobbyâs defence. FA Chairman Millichip, for example, pointed out â and with justification â that the image of an animal in football strip could hardly be used to account for English fans who might be driven to acts of violence in Spain.11 Indeed, the Amigos campaign had Bobby, arm around his Spanish equivalent, Naranjito, and grinning amiably while, in the foreground, English and Spanish hands were clasped in friendship.
Figure 1 The controversial figure of Bulldog Bobby, Englandâs World Cup Mascot. Beer-bellied or barrel-chested?
Ted Croker, the Secretary of the FA had been at pains to indicate at the outset that the advertising and marketing campaign which had Bobby as its focal point, would lay great stress on âdignityâ. To this end, it was explained that the World Cup emblem would not be used to advertise cigarettes or spirits. His remarks seemed to take little account, however, of the fact that, for some time, Ron Greenwood, the England manager, and his squad had been committed to a sponsorship deal with a major brewer. âObviouslyâ, as The Daily Express commented in December, âthere is a moral superiority in being drunk on beer rather than whisky.â12 In principle, of course, the use of a mascot or logo in a marketing exercise of this sort constitutes a financially attractive proposition which benefits the game as a whole. The Bulldog Bobby campaign was designed to bring in money for the grassroots of football to the tune of ÂŁ750,000. It was also closely linked to the playersâ commercial pool. In retrospect, however, the choice of the bulldog logo did prove a little unfortunate although, judging by the number of âBobbiesâ in evidence on t...