The ICF

[Archbishop Herbert Cockthrottle]

Not the best literature you'll ever read, but entertaining....

Posted by H1 on March 11, 2012, 6:35:02

After my explosive introduction into the ICF in the Northbank, Highbury, I had learned a few valuable lessons. I hung up my Billy Bonds shirt, my triple layer claret, white and blue top hat, my silk scarves and my rattle. I got myself a permed mullet with Spandau Ballet blonde streaks, a pair of claret  Farrahs, a knock off Armani brown leather blousson jacket, a matching Paisley shirt with diamanté neck broach and a pair of white Reeboks. This was a new age for the football fan. We was it. We was the ICF. The days of Dr Martens and Harringtons was over. Or desert boots and anoraks in my case.

I turned up at the meet at Plaistow tube at 8AM. I quietly tagged onto the 200 odd geezers already their. All top table too, was a right tasty firm out today, Villa were for it. We got the tube to Euston. Then onto the 125 to New Street. I kept me nut down, my mouth shut and in general kept a low profile. I was firm now and we was on a mission to take the Holte End. BG rallied everyone on the platform before we got onto the Inter City train and gave one of his quality speeches, we all listened carefully, "Business as usual gents, no colors, no singing, let's keep our heads down and get onto the Holte un-noticed early doors, then we'll smash those pony Villa ****** before they know what hit them".  Simples really, not rocket science was it. it was on and my adrenaline was already flowing like I was the Incredible Hulk. Villa here we come.

On the 125 on the way we kept nicking beers from the buffet carriage. My mates kept the barman geezer behind the counter distracted while we leant over and nicked as many cans as we could carry. By the time I got to New Street I was plastered, absolutely hammered. The doors opened and we all piled off the train onto the platform. I started chanting "Come On You Irons" and "#### off you Villa bastards, we are the West Ham boy's" with a chorus of ICF, ICF, ICF? I couldn't help it, it naturally just came blurting out. Every one on the firm was looking at me like I was a ******.  I was dying for a gypsies so I staggered over to the khazy, a quick trot to the Benghazi. After writing ICF on the khazy wall and relieving myself I stepped back out onto the platform to join up with everyone to march to the Holte End, but they had all gone. Everyone had ####ed off? I looked all over the station but couldn't find any ****** anywhere? All gone, pooooof just like that, Tommy Cooper or ####ing what? I couldn't figure out what had happened while I was taking a pie and mash? Where did they all ####ing go? They couldn't have left me. Where are you all I shouted?

I got on my toes sharpish, I needed to catch up with the firm. I needed to get to Villa Park and stick to the plan like BG said, we was going to take the Holte and the boys needed me. I couldn't let them down I would never hear the end of it. I walked out of New Street on me jack to look for our firm. I was a bit nervous now. Now which way to VP I wondered? I saw these 7 or so skinhead birds lurking around out the front of the station by the bus top. They were all decked out in Crombies, Loafers, Monkey Boots, little denim mini skirts, fishnet tights (instant boner), Fred Perry's, Two Tone suits, tin badges, the whole nine, they looked the bees ####ing knees.  Hot like the dogs bollocks, a  part of the Two Tone trend going on in Brum at that time. My Hampton burst out of me Farrahs. I sauntered over to the girls, why not I thought every Northern bird wants a handsome cockney boy between her legs, my Hampton leading the way like a heat seeking missile and said "alright ladies, how we all doing today, which one wants to go first?". They looked at me all funny then  I felt a brass knuckle round me boat and me Barnett split open, a loafer followed right into  me bollocks, then a monkey boot landed in me mush and they all piled into me, "#### off you Southern fairy, Cockney Twat, ####ing die, ####ing West Ham ponce". I shit myself and wanted to run, it was coming on top and my arse was running all down me new Farrahs. A fish netted knee got me right in the nose and I went down in a ball. Now the birds were stamping on me and kicking the shit out of me. I passed out for a second or so, claret everywhere. I woke up seconds later in a pool of beer puke, British Rail sarny bits and claret. The birds were now all sitting on me having polaroids taken by their mate. They was all laughing and posing, one had her loafer on me head and her hands up in the air like she had just won the FA ####ing Cup.  They were pissing theirselves laughing, pulling funny faces and what not. The OB showed up and I was like thank god, I tried to say help me but me jaw was broken so I slurred and drawled like a mong. The OB started pissing themselves laughing too. They told the girls to #### off, picked me up and called for a St Johns ambulance.

I spent a few hours in the hospital getting patched up then they stuck me on the first train back to Euston. I arrived back in the smoke looking like a right ******. I limped down the platform at Euston on crutches, me eye swollen and black, me nose broken, me donut split with stitches, my jaw broken. I was a right ####ing 2 and 8. I hobbled past a mob of Gooners waiting at the end of the platform for the red Scalies. I just wanted to get home at this point.  As I walked past them one geezer from the Gooner mob walked up to me and pulled a business card off the back of me fake Armani. Then he read it out loud, it said "You have just been done by the Villa Boot Girls". The whole Gooner firm rolled around with laughter. They knicked me crutches, stuffed me on a baggage trolley and pushed me down the loading ramp. I went flying down the ramp on the trollley and crashed into a open parked mail train carriage. I hit the train  and went rocketing into the carriage. I landed on the mail bags and passed out. I woke up hours later in Dover. I was freezing, so cold my balls had shrunk up like a prune.  I had to write me name and Mums phone number on a ####ing postcard I knicked out of a mail sack. I got this paraffin to call me Mum as I could nt talk due to me jaw being busted. I gave him a few bob to call her. My Mum came to get me and finally I got home. I never heard the ####ing end of it. I had to do washing up for two months. Still all part of being in the ICF. Nothing phases us. Which is why we did what we did week in, week out for thirty years. Next week I will do Birmingham away, when I steamed 300 Zulus single handed and became a top face over ours. ICF,ICF, ICF.


 

[Pete3206]

I read that in a Danny Dyer stylee.

[usav]

I read that in a Danny Dyer stylee.

It's virtualy impossible not to.

[Archbishop Herbert Cockthrottle]

I've just had to eat pie and mash and I've started walking as though I've dropped a log in my pants.

[Rico]

What an absolute load of bollocks!!!!

[garyshawsknee]

I've been to West Ham a lot over the years due to my West Ham fan brother,and though its easy to generalize,(so hear I go) they're the biggest collection of tools you'll ever see,who love playing up to the ICF stereotype.

Going to the Upon Park is like stepping back in time to the 80s,and not just for the fashion, which is all gold chains and sleeper earnings,and that's just the fellas.

[PeterWithesShin]

For some reason, I have the sneakiest of suspicions that the ICF post may, just may, be a piss take.

[garyshawsknee]

I don't know Peter,hang around on Green St for long enough and you'll hear someone doing his best Gary Oldman in The Firm impression.

[Ron Manager]

That Nick Hornby eh.....keeps on churning them out!

[lennythekad]

For some reason, I have the sneakiest of suspicions that the ICF post may, just may, be a piss take.

Think you're right there mate, but it does remind me of the 76/77 season, I think it was. We didn't always take decent numbers to away games, and I used the Travellers Club on occasions. We got off the coach in some side street near Upton Park and some of their boys were on the other side off the road. you could hear a pin drop as they walked alongside us on the other side of the road. You just daren't speed up or make eye contact, but unfortunately, someone in our small group of "scarfers" lost their nerve and ran off the front. They were after him instantly and chased him up an alley and kicked the absolute crap out of him. Fast forward to the return at VP, and with their large ICF firm present, they had a go at the Holte End before the game, and were also outside the Holte at the end of the game. After several skirmishes, they made their way back towards Aston station. It all went off again by the Church and one of their lot got isolated just after the Expressway. He got surrounded and I remember him shouting "How many Brummies does it take to have one cockney boy", before being giving a severe kicking. It was not nice to witness, as I never like to see one person get attacked by a group, but i thought back to the innocent lad off our coach earlier in the season, and thought "what goes around comes around you cockney c**t". 

[PeterWithesShin]

I don't know Peter,hang around on Green St for long enough and you'll hear someone doing his best Gary Oldman in The Firm impression.

No chance am I hanging around Green Street, a hobbit may give me a good kicking.

[garyshawsknee]

I don't know Peter,hang around on Green St for long enough and you'll hear someone doing his best Gary Oldman in The Firm impression.

No chance am I hanging around Green Street, a hobbit may give me a good kicking.

Zola aint their manager anymore 

[Dave Clark Five]

It was a bad place to go at one time but, since they have started writing books about it, the edge has gone off it.
The 6th Round FA Cup tie was particularly evil.

[Jon Crofts]

Upton Park 1982, I made about £15 in coins I picked up off the terracing that were thrown at us by their so called big hard lads, still at least I had enough to buy a copy of Bulldog on the way out which every steely eyed ICF wannabe was shoving under our noses, horrible football club, horrible fans run by horrible people.

In about 78 I think, I had to make a hasty exit from the chicken run as soon as Andy Gray had netted what turned out to be the winner.

And an FA Cup game in the evening god knows when was an especially nasty experience.

I hope they stay down, for good.

[Brend'Watkins]

I thought it was very funny, very imaginative.  Besides the obvious Danny Dyer there's also a bit of Quadrophenia in there too.