Then screen put up an apology for technical difficulties and folk were booing. Kick-off came and went and cheers of "Manchester: wank, wank, wank" began. The screen said "Go to the Velodrome" for a bit then it went dark. Some people were raging, others crying. I was worried then that things were going to go mental, and wondered how far £25 million would go if you had to replace every pane of glass within a mile radius of Picadilly gardens. People began to move trying to find the other screens or to get up to the velodrome. Two lads pushed through with a shopping trolley loaded with crates of booze.
We went to Albert Square, outside the town hall, but the area was already full and you couldn't get in so we returned. People on the streets were confused and lost, as all the hotels and bars were full or sealed off and there was nowhere to go. Many shops and supermarkets had been sealed off since lunchtime when they had run out of booze. Someone cheered that Rangers had scored and people got more frantic to find somewhere to see the game that they had spent all their cash and effort coming to see.
When we got back to Picadilly, the riot police were blocking a side street. We watched people taunting and yelling at them, and tried to decide if they looked scared or just psyched behind their body armour and facemasks. I cracked open another can of Tennants, gave Gemma back her wine and we watched. It was really interesting because in front of the riot police was a row of Rangers fans that were keeping the abusive ones away from the police and protecting them. For some reason the word went out and they charged with their batons up. I don't really know why - perhaps they were trying to get to the centre of the gardens. I think that you could have driven an ambulance in there if you wanted anyway. The armoured front line swept past us, and some other police in normal uniform told us to move to the side so we did.
Then the bottles came. There weren't that many, but it was enough to be worth moving away. Some of them didn't reach the police and came down amonst the fans. The fans were mainly just scattered around the street, with their phones out to find news from the game or of places to see it, or to take photos and video of the police. The folk throwing the bottles were dicks, and they were getting loads of abuse from the others and told to wise up. Some were taunting the police, and each time the police charged and they came sprinting towards us in retreat they were grinning from ear-to-ear in a kind of scared/excited/fairground-ride kind of way. Still there were fans protecting the police, which considering the flying bottles and cans was an extremely brave thing to be doing.
After that, we went for a wander about to see what else was going on. It was probably more interesting than the game anyway. We walked up to the stadium and back. Anywhere with a TV was rammed. 50 people were stood outside Ladbrokes trying to get a glimpse and a small Chinese had so many people inside and pressed against the glass that it looked like it would explode outwards at any point, like when fish-tanks get shot in films. A boy was pissing against a drainpipe with one hand, and talking on his phone with the other.
Groups of fans moved along the streets and asked groups coming in the other direction if they knew where to go. No-one did, so they wandered along in confusion. We wondered if, in fact, it had been planned to let people start drinking so early, so that by the time the match came they were too tired and drunk and docile to cause much trouble. There was banter in Picadilly railway station, where the bars were overflowing and someone with a drum was driving the singing and dancing. The police looked nervous but it was all in good spirits. Close friends and relatives of the Pope may not have enjoyed the lyrics.
Near the stadium the police were out with their horses but things were quieter and the crowd had thinned to a trickle of people. A group had gathered outside a roadside pub, with guys stood on chairs outside trying to see the screen inside over the heads of others and through the runnels of condensation that dripped down the steamed-up windows. Two police officers kneeled with a guy with a bloody face and wrapped him in their coats. We waited for the final cheer then drifted back to town with the crowd.
The atmosphere seemed to be lighter then, as people could just accept that they had missed the game and that Rangers had lost. Three lads had some flirtacious banter with a tall, square-shouldered woman with a slutty walk whom we couldn't decide if she was a prostitute, a ladyboy or just a big girl who had made a poor choice of footware. Other conversations were of the muppetry of Manchester council and of long journeys to Burnley and Blackpool and wherever people had found a place to stay. We heard the fireworks from the stadium but had turned the corner and couldn't see the lights. Two guys spat at the sign of a Catholic girls' school and a man on his phone said what idiots they were to the person on the other end.
Back through town was quiet but we avoided Picadilly. A highlight of the night was the bus back to Fallowfield, the student capital of Manchester, where a load of young Rangers fans heading back to a campsite on a local rugby pitch sang and bounced and cheered and handed out food. I don't know if they or the other passengers actually knew the meaning of what were singing about? The words of the songs were totally at odds with the atmosphere and banter of the bus and many students bounced along while local asian lads laughed and texted their friends about how much fun it was. It was fun.
The reports on the TV make it look really bad. Admittedly, when the police charged us it was fairly early on, and much of the worst stuff happened once the game was over. But the overall atmosphere was not bad. People were absolutely devastated to have been unable to have seen the game, and with no information or places to go they were wandering the streets in confusion. Where I was, the main bottle throwing only began once the police charged in, but that may not have been the same everywhere.
We talked about setting up an experiment with exactly the same situation, but not having any police there at all, just to see what would have happened. I don't think that many Science Councils would fund that experiment. Shame. It would also be interesting to know how it would have turned out if the screen had been on. Poor Scott and Robert that came down from the farm and said that the daytime was the most amazing day of their lives, but they still went back up the road cursing the town's existence. It's gutting for Manchester that some technical muppetry ruined the whole thing. You get plenty drunk Scots at T in the Park, but they don't have riots there. The thing that struck me most was the number of fans that were helping the police and protecting them and picking up people that had fallen. The TV footage makes the atmosphere seem really threatening, which it wasn't and the "good samaritan" that picked up the fallen policeman was in no-way unique.
It is going to rain this afternoon. That's a good thing; it will wash the smell of beer and piss from the streets and the city centre will be returned almost to normal again.
They've decided against showing next week's Man United game on the big screen.
