The Infamous ‘LINCOLN PHYSCOS’ Incident.

My first Scunthorpe United, Lincoln City derby at the Old Show Ground. Quite excited and wary at the same time. Most my friends at school and mum seem to think their townsfolk either live in a ‘loony bin’ or have recently escaped from one. I wonder quite a lot about what a ‘loony bin’ might look like. I doubt it’s shaped like a bin.

Some of the rough kids at school have been talking the match up all week. Decide to wear two scarves for the occasion. One dangles off my wrist and looks like a strawberry ripple when I swirl it around. The other is purposefully fashioned into a tie with a big fat knot worn loosely outside my Lord Anthony bomber jacket. I am undeniably cool. The bee’s knees. In our pine panelled dining room, my big sister takes a photo of me in ‘we’ve just scored’ mode. Our four year old daughter, replete with ‘terrifying’ costume, dons too similar an expression in our living room on Halloween just past. A chip off the old block. In this more recent photo her sister looks at her genuine awe.

I arrive at the ground early in anticipation and enter the Donny Road End via The Royal turnstile for a change. Negotiate the grassy mound and trot down the steps. Looking out across the lush green, confronted with a blemish at the back of the Fox Street End. Hastily daubed with Crown white gloss it reads, ‘LINCOLN PHYSCOS’.
I shudder to think that I’m now locked in a place where psychotic away fans are milling around. But where are they? There’s only 500 or so people in the ground at 2.30pm. Perhaps they did it last night? In which case they probably are psychotic. Mum was right.

A recognisable face sporting an unkempt moustache saunters over. “Fizco’s?” he spits, “Yer dort spell psycho’s like that!!” Me and a few other scruffians guffaw with him as if we knew that all along. “Eh, wonder if ‘Mad Mick’ did it?!”. More guffaws. This time in honest recognition. There seemed to be a lot of ‘mad’ people around at that time. Looking back, perhaps using their Christian names helped us differentiate between them somewhat. There also seemed to be a lot people around called Mick. Some months or years later said crazyman would be renamed ‘Thick Mick’, for no other explainable reason, I surmised, than that he probably was a bit thick.
Moments later we can just about see two man-boys frantically sticking what looks like large quantities of Izal to the slow drying Crown gloss. With their preparation complete, and with two coppers having finished their fags and in hot pursuit, they ceremoniously set light to the paper. ‘LINCOLN PHYSCOS’ goes up in flames like the entrance sign to the inferno! It’s meant to look scary and intimidating, I think. It lasts about 5 seconds. It looks rubbish.

A recognisable face from Westcliff sporting signature donkey jacket and tartan bondage trousers arrives just in time to witness the debacle. Utterly impressed he shouts, “F**kin’ airse! Is that ‘Mad Mick’ over there?!?!”

screeds