A Liverpool view of the Heysel Stadium Tragedy

There would clearly be no football for some time. We decided to move to the back, away from the packed terracing, to find some less competitive oxygen. It also gave us a clearer view of the chaos on the pitch. Two concentric semi-circles of armed police with helmets and riot shields now spanned the entire Liverpool section of the crowd, staring blankly back at us with their backs to the pitch. Whatever had happened, it looked pretty clear where the blame was being apportioned. With all the police attention directed towards us, the Juventus crowd remained a police-free zone. A rhythmic chant rolled out from the Italian masses, thousands of black-and-white flags jigging suddenly into life. One bore the inflammatory message ‘Reds are Animals’. Unless someone had brought a blank flag and felt-tip marker pen in to the stadium with them, ready to tailor a relevant message on the spot according to events as they unfolded, at least one Italian fan had a preconception regarding the English fans opposite them.

A few red flags waved half-heartedly in token, muted response, but by now nobody seemed in the mood. A large electronic scoreboard –– just about the stadium’s only concession to the 20th century –– flashed incomprehensible digital messages, whilst a public address system babbled incessantly and totally unintelligibly. A mood of deep gloom and foreboding pressed down like a heavy, soggy blanket. All we’d looked forward to for so long, built ourselves up for, dissipated into the clammy evening air.

By this time, at the opposite end of the ground, a group of Juventus supporters had got to work dismantling the perimeter fence, but the police, preoccupied with staring at us, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. A group broke through and swarmed over the mangled debris of the fence. Another roar rolled from the Italian end as a group of 40 or 50 began to charge round the running track towards our end. (See photo page 79.) We watched with mild bemusement. A crowd of 15,000 does not feel threatened by 40 or 50 potential attackers, but the evening was becoming more surreal by the minute. It was tempting to shout a pantomime-style “Behind you!” to the police, who steadfastly refused to switch their expressionless gaze from us as the Italians grew ever closer behind them. Some of the Italians wore scarves bearing the Ultras’ skull-and-crossbones insignia, pulled cowboy-style over the mouth and nose.

When they reached the seated Liverpool section they came to a halt and began hurling stones, coins, cans, even a metal waste bin into the packed seating. The response from the Liverpool supporters was immediate, and a random assortment of debris (including the returning waste bin) arced from the stand towards the Italians on the running track, who scattered to ironic jeers as the bin crashed to earth and bounced amongst them like a loose firework.

Most of the police continued to ignore the entertainment from a distance of no more than twenty yards away, but eventually one or two began to take a mild interest, tilting their heads ever so slightly away from us and towards the skirmish behind them on the running track. A detachment finally broke away and another half-hearted cartoon-style chase ensued, to get the errant Italians back down the running track to their allotted territory, accompanied by jeers of derision. The Olympic 4 x 100 Police Chasing Fans event. Lane discipline was poor.

By now, large sections of the perimeter fence at the Juventus end of the ground were under assault. No longer able to ignore the growing disorder, a large contingent of police was despatched towards it from somewhere within the bowels of the stadium. Dressed in curious blue overalls and helmets, they looked more like armed plumbers than crime fighters as they marched purposefully towards the Italians, to more ironic cheers from Liverpool’s supporters. They were immediately bombarded with debris –– there was now plenty of it lying around –– by the Italian fans and, seriously undermanned, they mounted a swift and decisive retreat.

The apparent timidity of the Dyno-Rod police seemed to further encourage the Italian fans, who this time mounted a major pitch incursion; with many hundreds now on the pitch behind the goal and around the penalty area. More reinforcements arrived, with what seemed like divisions of militia marching formally and grandly into the stadium, only to be stricken by the same lethargy and indecision that afflicted their colleagues. The battle waged on as the rest of us watched on, totally bemused yet bizarrely entertained by this degeneration through anarchy towards farce. There was still no sign of the football, and we still didn’t know what had happened or why there was this interminable delay in getting the game started. It was clear something major had gone wrong, but we still had no idea what.

© Chris Rowland and Paul Tomkins, 2009
From Where I Was Standing is released on October 20th. You can order it here.