by Chugg, Sandy
The conviction is not something I am proud of and of course it had serious consequences: I lost a great job as a welder in the shipyards and it also put paid to my long-term aim of becoming a Royal Marine. Further down the road I was denied the chance to join my sister in Canada. Another problem is that the conviction is never spent. It was for more than two-and-a-half years and sentences of that length are never wiped from your record. That youthful indiscretion will follow me to my grave. Worst of all however is that drugs cut me off from my family, both physically and psychologically. My nearest and dearest paid the price for my drug use and that is unforgiveable.
I wasn’t the only football hooligan who was heavily into drugs. Most boys in most mobs were. In what I would call the second generation of casuals – the mid-to-late 1990s – alcohol and cocaine were the drugs of choice. That was true in both Scotland and England; Chelsea, for example, were always partial to a bit of whistle, as they call Colombia’s finest.
It was inevitable that as a working-class boy from the east end I would get into drugs of one kind or another. Given the poverty and deprivation in that part of the city – which goes back for generations – the people who live there have always been inclined to find solace in mind-altering substances. It is hard to get away from drugs in the east end: they are as easy to get a hold of as drink or cigarettes; in fact probably easier given that there are no age restrictions on street corners. I was actually a latecomer to the scene. I smoked my first cannabis joint at sixteen, whereas by that age most of my contemporaries were already well into stronger drugs, like heroin and LSD.
Cocaine was virtually unknown at that time in my part of Glasgow; it was a rich man’s drug, costing £50 a gram, a small fortune to most east-enders. But then, in the early 1990s, after the ecstasy craze died down, the supply of cocaine increased and the price plummeted. I didn’t need to be asked twice. I got right into it. Despite what the authorities will have you believe it had some beneficial effects. For one thing it helped me to stay sober. I have never been much of a drinker; I just can’t hold it that well, which is a major disadvantage when you are a member of a pub-loving mob like the ICF. Cocaine helped me drink more and it stopped me getting paralytic. It also gives you much more confidence in social situations, helping you to interact with people, again helpful in a gang scenario in which large groups of people coming together is the norm.
At least that’s how it was in the early days. With long-term use I started to become paranoid and I got into the habit of shutting myself away to snort on my own. In splendid isolation, and with a brain befuddled by coke, I would twitch constantly at the blinds; the slightest noise made me think that people were coming to get me. I often felt suicidal, especially when the cocaine was mixed with alcohol. I frequently cut myself off from my family and I have lost count of the number of family events I fucked up by being on a binge or coming down from one. And if by chance I did manage to attend an event I would be depressed and make everyone’s life a total fucking misery.
When I started snorting coke was a social thing. I would have a few lines at the weekend and maybe one day through the week as well. Soon, that wasn’t enough. Before long I was at it every day. In fact I was snorting so much of the white powder that I could have got a job as a test pilot for Hoover. At the peak of my habit I was going through a quarter (seven grams) a day. That is the equivalent of twenty big lines. Surprisingly, I was still able to work, but I lost a succession of jobs because of the coke. It was also expensive. Some weeks I would spend £600 on my habit. The money came from a variety of sources: some from my wages; some from introducing buyers to dealers; while some was payment-in-kind through debt collection for shady characters.
In my fifteen or so years as a user I tried everything to get off the coke, including various forms of counselling. I had to do something, partly because of the heavy price I was paying in terms of my mental and physical health but mainly because of the effect it had on my wife and family. Nothing I tried, however, had the desired effect and from time to time I still fell off the wagon. It is only in the last few years, as I neared forty, that I got a grip on it. I am older and wiser and of course I have three young children and a host of other responsibilities, including helping to run a boys’ football team. At the time of writing I am delighted to say that I have been clean for six months.
Drugs may fill a void in your life, but the effect will only be temporary. Ultimately, they lead to pain and misery, especially for your nearest and dearest. So do as I say and not as I do. Stay off them. Having said that, I still think drugs should be as legal as alcohol is. That way the purity and safety could be guaranteed. The government would also derive huge amounts of tax and it would save enormous amounts of money on policing and on the criminal-justice system. There are also cultural considerations. Why not control drug use, rather than making it cool and anti-establishment? It couldn’t make things any worse than they are today.
24
MY LIFE NOW
I don’t see myself as anything special or extraordinary. I am still the same wee Sandy from the Gallowgate and it is only other people who put me on a pedestal. Looking back I am not embarrassed about anything I have done with regard to football violence, although as I have said already I am sorry that it took me away from my wife and family when they needed me most. My only regret is the drug conviction, which caused real pain and suffering to my nearest and dearest.
I would have loved to have made it as a professional footballer. I played at under-fifteen and under-sixteen level for Rangers Boys Club, where Eddie Annand, later of Dundee and Ayr United, was a contemporary, while Charlie Miller, who did make it with Rangers, was a couple of years below me. Some people thought I could have made it at some level in football but the reality is I was an average midfielder, the type who broke up attacks and played the simple ball to more skilful teammates. Not unlike a certain Mr Neil Lennon! When Rangers failed to offer me a professional contract I was of course disappointed but as my burgeoning career as a football hooligan was beginning to take off I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Maybe it was for the best. I am a great hooligan but an indifferent footballer.
My love of football has endured to this day. I got an HND in sports coaching with development, and I put theory into practice by working as a community coach. I am now heavily involved with my son’s team, which is called Drumsagard Football Club. It has allowed me to coach boys at under-ten level, and it is something that I love doing. Instead of taking from football I am imparting knowledge, putting something back in, redeeming some of the bad things I did. That gives me a lot of satisfaction.
The parents at Drumsagard know all about my background. I have been up front with them from the start. I have to thank all of them for not judging me, but especially Graeme Ireland and John Love, respectively the chairman and vice-chairman, and committee members Jill Donohoe, the Craigs, Houston and Queen, and Brian Miller. They stuck their neck out for me, letting me coach despite my background. I am proud that they now see me as a positive role model. Those parents who don’t know about my background may be shocked by some of the things in this book but I can assure them that my involvement in football violence is all in the past. If, however, they had any objection to me being there I would walk away, sad as that would make me.
I have only let myself down once. Drumsagard were losing 4–0 and the opposition players were also putting in some hefty challenges on our kids. The other team’s coaches and parents were rubbing it in big time and I think some of our lot expected me to say something. At first I restrained myself but when one of their boys put in a hefty challenge on my son, Elliot, it led to heated verbals with their coach. In the old days I would have laid him out but I restrained myself, although I did tell him to fuck off, something I am not proud of.
Despite a few lapses I now see myself as the dedicated family man. I have got much to be proud of, including a nice home, a wonderful wife and three beautiful children. I don’t think of myself as a bad person and I would alw
ays try to help anyone who was in trouble. I proved that to myself at the Bellgrove train crash in 1989, when I pulled survivors from the wreckage. That led to an appearance on Kilroy, a popular television programme of the time.
There has been another great source of joy during the last two years. I have been reunited with my two sisters, May and Gina. In the process I have discovered that I have a number of ‘new’ nieces and nephews, as well as great-nieces and great-nephews. It has been a very nice surprise.
I hope you have enjoyed reading my book. Some of you will be angry at the things we did but all I have done is to tell the truth about what happened in those years. I hope that at least you respect me for being honest.
ICF HALL OF FAME
Aldo, Andy McC, Al Kair, Alan Bell, ADS, Action, Albertz, Adam, Ally G, Andy K, Billy Maitland, Browny, Bomber M, Big F, Big Gary, Brucie, Big Lawrie, Cagey, Colin Martin, Carmichael, Cooper, Con, Collins Bros, Craw, Clarky, Christie, Big Craig C, Deek K, Deryk S, Davie T, Danny W, Davy Imrie, Dougie Watson, Douglas Don, Donald, Daz, Del A, Ecky, Eddie C, Edon and Bro, Fearon brothers, France, Flemie, Forrey, Frankie Bear, Fraggle, Gadget, Grog, Geo McD, Grahamer, Graham Anderson, Gytobear, Garry F, Geemac, Graham O, General Jamie, Garry Miul, Graeme, Hoppy, Jeff, Johnny R, James C, Jim H, Jinx, John Lav, Jambo McG, Jay Munro, John McC, Jackie Mac, Joe, Jaimo, Jock, Jamie Andrew, Johnny Milne, Joe Daps, Kev (Greenock), Kev (Perth), Kenzie, Kegz, Kenny B, Lochy, Mark McL, Mitchell, Milligan, Mackay, MacRae, Murdo McL, Moose, Mark H, Millsy, Maxy, Mark McE, Nordo, Ozzy S, Pedros K and McL, Porky, Paul L, Praty, Percy, Paul Wilson, Rico McGill, Rab Anderson, Robbo, Ron D, Ross McP, Rab T, Riot, Ricky C, Rab McG, Swedgers, Scott N, Scott McL, Slim, Smoothy, John and Sam Bruce, Stirling, Wee Stoddy, Stu and Scotto, Stuart McL, Shug, Skelly, Sick Mick, Steph W, Strachan, Scotch Tosh, Steely, Shorty, Scott Clydebank, Terry, The Bat, The Chuckle Brothers, Tighe, The Gimp, Tommy and Big John (from Greenock), Whitey, Willox, WBA Scott, Wilson, Wullie C, Wee Ronnie
Apologies to anyone I have missed
To our friends from clubs all over Britain and beyond. Follow, Follow.
1 Celtic also asked that Dallas should not be considered for the next Old Firm fixture at Celtic Park, in December 1999, a request that was denied.
2 First published in 1935, Alexander McArthur’s best-seller explores the life of ‘razor king’ Johnnie Stark, a fearsome street-fighting man from the Gorbals.
3 Whitehill luminaries include Lulu and Ford Kiernan of Stlll Game fame.
4 This was a major factor in the development of casuals firms in places like Aberdeen, Edinburgh and Motherwell. The locals got sick of Old Firm fans coming onto their manor and taking the piss.
5 Johnstone with an ‘e’ is the correct spelling; it is not, as some people think, Johnston.
6 The fight with Hibs is also on YouTube and at the time of writing has been viewed by more than 300,000 people.
7 The media firestorm surrounding the 1998 exploits of the Scottish National Firm in Spain and France was undoubtedly a factor in the clampdown.
8 See chapter 6: ‘Assault on the Gallowgate’, written by one of our top boys, Mr Blue. It is an excellent account of our attacks on the pubs in that area.
9 Scheme was a band from one of Glasgow’s toughest housing estates, Easterhouse, and hugely popular in the city at the time.
10 These lads would claim to be Chelsea bods but were most probably back-liners at best. In the years to come we got to know the real Chelsea Headhunters and their youth mob. They were, and are, a top firm.
11 Rangers’ dominance on the park was quite incredible. From 1988/89 until 1999/2000 we won eleven league titles out of twelve, provoking Celtic’s ‘Sack the Board’ campaign, the ousting of the families who had run the club for decades and the takeover by the ‘talking bunnet’, Fergus McCann.
12 Section Red was an area of seats in the Govan and Broomloan stands at Ibrox. We even thought of changing our name from ICF to Section Red because we didn’t want to have the same name as West Ham, but the name didn’t catch on.
13 See also These Colours Don’t Run: Inside the Hibs Capital City Service by another leading Hibs hooligan, Derek Dykes.
14 Broughty Ferry was once known as the ‘richest square mile in Europe’ because of the number of jute millionaires from Dundee who lived there.
15 It seems incredible, but Rangers actually finished fifth in the league that season.
16 The late, and much lamented, Mr Johnstone can be seen talking about this fight on YouTube.
17 Their mob had a fucking weird name, something like Painaro, after a song by the Pet Shop Boys. Well, each to his own I suppose.
18 Rangers won the replay and went on to face Dundee United in the final. If we had won it would have given us back-to-back trebles but, as I note in the chapter on the Utility, United sneaked it 1–0.
19 The Louden is meant to be the Rangers pub but when I went into ask the regulars and staff for some bottles and glasses, they refused. I found that very disappointing.
20 There were only two groups of four at that time, and the winners of each group went straight into the final. There were no quarter, or semi, finals.
21 This was the very bar in which Glasgow gangster Lewis ‘Scooby’ Rodden was shot a few years later.
22 The Dutch hooligan is generally a massive cunt.
23 We didn’t give a fuck about the game, as our own teams weren’t involved in the semi-final.
24 Who says cocaine is a performance-enhancing drug?
Legends. To my right is Davie Carrick and to my left is the H man. You will not find two more formidable football hooligans anywhere in Britain.
The Beach End, Aberdeen, in the early 1980s. I wasn’t there among the dodgy wedge haircuts and the naff knitwear but you will be able to spot Carrick, Anderson and Hillan among the Rangers scarfers.
The soccer babe
On the bus to Hibs, in 1990, aged seventeen.
I once played for Rangers, for the youth team, and my medal haul was pretty impressive, as you can
Some of the boys from the early 1980s. Brucie is second from the left while Walesey, a cult figure in the mob, is second from the right. RIP wee man, you were a legend.
The Loyalist
I have always had a strong commitment to the Loyalist cause and I have visited Northern Ireland on several occasions.
Next to a Belfast mural commemorating those who have fought and died for the cause.
Wearing a bulletproof vest in a Belfast safe house, 1999.
Life didn’t mean life! I have had three life bans from Ibrox but thanks to a change of heart on the part of Rangers I am now allowed to go and watch games again.
The ICF in action
Heading for High Street after an Old Firm game, hunting for Celtic.
Taking on Aberdeen in George Square, one bank-holiday weekend.
I am in among the Rangers fans in Belgrade, where we played Red Star. You can just about make me out: I am close to the RAF flag, next to the guy with the white T-shirt.
During the 1998 World Cup the press alleged that the Scottish National Firm were fascists. We thought we would play along with their ridiculous allegations and so we got together for this collective salute.
I have always considered Shettleston to be my spiritual home and to carry an ICF/Union flag with its name was an honour.
In January 2011 the ICF and some of our pals, many of whom are normal Rangers fans, gathered at Ibrox for this photograph. We had come together to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the Ibrox disaster, in which sixty-six Rangers fans tragically lost their lives. Rangers didn’t have a clue who we were or why we were there.
That day in January 2011 was special for all of us, because we are all genuine Rangers fans, despite what the media will tell you. We really wanted to honour the dead of the Ibrox disaster and I hope this wreath and our floral tributes do just that.
I was nicknamed Billy Britain thanks to my penchant for wearing patriotic colours. I had this
tattoo done to symbolise my love for Scotland, Britain and the ICF.
To me this shop sign, which depicts the flags of Ulster, the United Kingdom and Scotland, says it all about this great country of ours. I also wanted to include (below) a mural from Belfast.
The one who got away. Here I am at the front door of Ibrox (without, I should add, Rangers knowing anything about it). Maybe in another life . . .
Celtic fans are forever claiming that referees favour Rangers. So just to keep in the spirit of things I wore this referee’s outfit for the last game of season 2010/11 down at Kilmarnock. I don’t know if it helped but we clinched our fifty-fourth league title.
I do have interests away from football. Here I am with my musical hero, Paul Weller, who of course didn’t have a clue who I was.
Now that I have given up on hooliganism my main interest is in running kids football teams, along with my fellow coaches at Drumsagard FC.