Crush at Craven Cottage: My letter to Fulham FC

Last year, I attended a friendly between Brazil & Ghana held at Craven Cottage and found myself caught up in a crush outside the ground. The official response from Fulham Football Club (and unofficial responses I personally received on Twitter from Sarah Brookes, Fulham's Director of Communications) prompted me to write the below open letter to her and the club. After seeing this incident mentioned in light of today's developments as an indication that lessons haven't been learned, I thought I'd repost.

My questions were never answered.

My experience

My experience of Monday night is in line with a number of blogs that I've read on the subject as well as the comments underneath yesterday's Evening Standard piece, and is entirely inconsistent with the official statements and emails emanating from Fulham FC. My two flatmates and I arrived at 7.15pm, having booked the tickets online the previous day for collection. At this point, your assertion in the public statements I've seen of people congregating and 'partying' in the streets is valid. This, however, is typical of any football match 30 minutes prior to kick off, and is entirely separate to the problems that subsequently followed. We found the ticket collection booths and joined the back of the relevant queue for us (separated into A-L and M-Z for each booth), our hearts sinking as we saw the two 'queues' stretching across the road in a disorganised fashion. At the time we began queueing, it was already busy, but there was still a semblance of order being maintained by the people forming the queues (the separate lines were still just about discernible, with space down the middle for people to exit). There were no stewards or police present at the ticket collection booths to organise this, direct people, or hold people back.

As the minutes progressed, it became clear that the lines of people were hardly moving, and with numbers of people trying to collect tickets increasing at a rate far greater than tickets were being distributed, the area of queueing was becoming more and more congested and ill-defined. Those who were arriving to pick up tickets began to join the throng from the side (for two reasons; firstly, simply a result of location – there are walls of houses/gardens opposite the ground which meant space to join the back of the queue was of a premium; secondly, there was clearly an element of people not wanting to miss the kick-off). Before we knew it, we were in the middle of a crush that was becoming more and more worrying. The three of us who were attending together quickly got separated, there were occasions when I was not standing on any solid ground, and I was being kept upright solely by virtue of the close proximity of others. I was next to a gentleman with a young son, whose head was firmly pressed between his father and the individual in front of him, and it became very evident that for those of us in the middle, there was no way of getting out.

With kick off time approaching, I was fully expecting to hear an announcement stating that kick off would be delayed. I believed this would have been the most effective way in reducing the problems, given that people's desperation not to miss any of the match was only serving to make the situation more fraught. Instead, there was no announcement (nor still any sign of police or stewards), and a few minutes later, a roar from inside the ground confirmed that the match had indeed kicked off as normal, exacerbating an already serious crowd scene outside. My arms were now contorted around people next to me, and I was becomingly increasingly agitated that any surges (as had been occurring) would have the potential to break it. According to the official statement, loudspeakers were employed to encourage people to enter the ground, but from my vantage point I heard no announcements. Conversely, the complete lack of any communication from the club was a point of contention for me and the others I found myself pressed up against.

All calls for calm and attempts to manage the crowding were coming from individuals within the crowd itself, and generally those who were in the company of young children or dependent others. On the whole, I firmly believe that it was only through the sensible attitude of those who were within the overcrowding that a more serious eventuality was avoided. Apart from a couple of minor skirmishes and arguments, the general attitude was that of “we are all in the same boat and we can't do much about it, so let's try and remain calm until action is taken.” By approximately 8.05pm, an announcement was made to the crowd that anyone with a printed receipt would now be allowed access to the ground with that alone, and no longer had to collect the tickets it detailed. This, however, once again came from a member of the public who had just picked his up, and thus confusion reigned on the veracity of this statement, given that absolutely no announcement had come from an official within the club. This did serve to ease the crowding to an extent from around the outside of the crush from what I could see, but it wasn't until 8.20pm that I was able to move of my own will from my position in the middle, after the Police finally moved in - nearly an hour after the situation reached a level of potential danger. From a personal perspective, I managed to get out with nothing more than a bruised arm and a very tight chest (lasting approximately 36 hours), but at the height of the overcrowding I was fearing far worse.

Throughout the entire experience, there was not one announcement made to the crowd from any officials, no police intervention until 8.20pm, and the only stewards I saw were trying to help a girl out who had fainted towards the front of the queue. Once in the ground (Over 35 minutes into the game), I found my way to my seat, discovering it was already occupied – again, this is consistent with other people's accounts of their night at Craven Cottage.

My questions

There are a number of questions that I believe need answering on an organisational level as to why the problems outside the ground escalated as they did. Why were no stewards present at the ticket collection booths? Even if Fulham weren't expecting the crowd numbers that eventually turned up (something that a blog commenter here would appear to dispute), why was it not communicated effectively to police and/or stewards that there was a potential safety concern occurring that required intervention? Is there a reason why kick off was not delayed? A number of recent games have seen delays/postponements due to safety concerns outside the ground rather than issues within (last years snow fall causing treacherous travel conditions are an example), so could this decision not have been taken to pacify the increasing desperation of fans not wanting to miss kick-off outside?

I would also like to know if there are any figures available detailing how many tickets had been ordered for collection from the ticket office, how many staff were employed in each ticket collection booth, as well as how many stewards were deployed on Stevenage Road on the night. My assertion on twitter that there were 6-8 (3-4 per hut) was dismissed as “absolute rubbish” by yourself, yet that is what I witnessed, and is corroborated by my flatmate who managed to get to the front of the queue as well as all the individuals who have tweeted/blogged on the subject. For all the posturing and finger-pointing of the official statements and subsequent blog/comment responses, I believe that these figures will paint a true picture of the nature of the problems that occurred outside the ground. Also, was it the responsibility of Fulham FC to pay for the policing and stewarding of Monday's match?

I was motivated to pursue this email as a result of the official statement released through the Evening Standard, as well as the comments made by the club in Paul Doyle's Guardian article. I have attended many football matches throughout my life, both home and away as a fan of Liverpool FC and as a fan of the sport itself, including other Premier League teams and games from top leagues across Europe (I have also visited Craven Cottage twice previously this year; as an away fan for Fulham vs Liverpool and the Women's UEFA Champions League Final, and had great experiences at both of these), yet I have never previously witnessed scenes like I did on Monday night. There are aspects of the press releases that I find insulting to those of us who were present for the Brazil vs Ghana fixture, and would strongly urge the club to retract these statements, withholding from further comment until a full review has been performed. Furthermore, I would like to make it clear from the outset that I will not be accepting complementary tickets to future Fulham FC games by way of recompense for the experiences of Monday night. My primary motivation for writing is for someone to accept responsibility for the events of Monday night that put myself and others in immediate danger, and to seek assurances that the safety concerns that arose will not be allowed to happen again.

Back, back and forth and forth

I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.


Hello again...

It's been six weeks since I last pressed the publish button on my supposed weekly blog. I was en route to Budapest back then, looking forward to lashings of Goulash and Soproni in unequal measure (didn't end up having any of the former, although I did enjoy a sumptuous venison and blueberry stew, as well as that other well known Hungarian dish - Double Whopper with Cheese).

As tempting though as it is to grandiloquently express the all round loveliness of the city over the course of five paragraphs, I am not Michael Palin and this is not a travel blog, so both Budapest and the differing delights offered by Dublin a few weeks later shall go uncommented on (also saving The Stag from an awkward chat or two), other than to say both were enjoyed immensely.

So, to the marathon, and the dénouement of the cliffhanger in the last entry. The feared stress fracture turned out to be a number of angry tendons in my right foot. A setback, yes, and a major interruption to the most crucial period of my training, yet I seized on the fact that I wasn't definitely ruled out on medical grounds and placed all of my focus on being on the start line (forgetting any previous notions of running it in a stellar time). A combination of weekly physio sessions and buying enough strapping to fund Elastoplast's Christmas Parties for the next 10 years meant that I reached last week ready to do "the long run" - 20.5 miles of Thames-side running through Barnes, Chiswick, Kew and Richmond, a picturesque route on which the worst area I ran through was disappointingly when turning onto my own road (with the exception of Brentford. All of it).

Under three hours later. I was back at the flat. Wincing, sweary, and dreading the ice bath I was about to put myself through, but for the first time in the two years since I first received the letter of acceptance, I felt ready.

And then, bombshell. Sat at my desk 48 hours later, I realised I hadn't received the letter telling me my start location, so I called up the Virgin London Marathon hotline to find out. I was placed on hold.

"Mr Craig? I've just checked your details on the computer and you haven't been allocated a running number. We received your deferral notification but not your illness and injury form, and as such you are not registered to run in this year's London Marathon."

Months of training. Weekly physiotherapy sessions. All my sponsorship. Giving up football. No(t much) alcohol. All for nothing. Gone. Heartbreak. Numb.

I knew I had submitted the form. I could remember doing it, and could also recollect calling the very same hotline number afterwards to confirm they had all the information they needed from me. I can quote what the man said back to me that day, but my protestations fell on cold, unsympathetic ears.

I thanked her for her time and returned to my desk, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what I'd been told. Not in the marathon. The lingering pain from Tuesday's run was a constant reminder of the hammer blow I'd just received. I went out for some air, fit to burst with frustration, but instead spoke to Sabrina, who gave me support, encouragement and pragmatic advice that was beyond anything I could possibly have hoped for. Thank you.

I resolved myself to find another marathon later in the year to justify the sponsorship you've all so generously given so far, yet when looking at entering Berlin and New York, I still felt unable to give up the London dream. Without really thinking, I fired off a desperate email to Sarah and Amanda from Mind, apologising for the straw-clutching in advance while asking if there was even the remotest possibility of gaining an extra place through the charity, be it as an injury replacement or anything else.

And now for the Wayne's World ending (the happy one, not the Thelma and Louise one). That email sparked Sarah into action; action that was an all-conquering combination of sympathy, persistence and fabulousness. She spoke to her Virgin London Marathon contact, who in turn worked similar magic in the corridors of power of VLM headquarters. 24 hours later, just as I was teetering on the brink of committing myself to an evening of pub and KFC, Sarah called to say I was back in the race on the authority of race director Dave Bedford himself. Like waking from a bad dream, natural order was suddenly restored. Sarah - I cannot thank you enough.

It's 36 hours away now. I'm increasingly nervous, struggling to get over a cold and worrying about a dodgy calf that in turn is pulling at my knee. But I think back to what I felt last Thursday lunchtime, and I know the only place I want to be on Sunday morning is on that start line. Bring it.

Race against time

I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.

The lead up to any major English sporting event wouldn't be complete without a metatarsal scare, and I've done my bit to ensure that this year's London Marathon is no different. 

A pain on the outside of my right foot that began a week last Saturday felt much worse after last Thursday's effort. An inconclusive x-ray and an appointment with the specialist later (whose name I initially misheard rather ominously as Mr Butcher - thankfully, it's Mr Bircher), I'm now booked in for an MRI scan next week to investigate a possible stress fracture or some other pediatric loveliness. 

I know that literally some of you may be worried about my participation in this year's marathon, but I'm still confident of being on the start line on the 22nd April - a focus that has been redoubled since reaching my initial sponsorship target in the last few days. A massive thank you to everyone who's donated so far (and to those who haven't - pull your finger out). My projected target times may have to be revised depending on the results of the scan, but regardless of that, I want to make sure I haul myself around the 26 miles to repay the generosity you have all shown.

For now though, it's rest, and there are few places better to do that than the spa city of Budapest. Back on Sunday.

Songs that go run

I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.

 

Given that I've asked you all for song recommendations to accompany me on a marathon (and that you're all rather predictable souls), it hasn't been entirely surprising that a number of suggestions contain "run" in the title. With that in mind, I whimsically decided half an hour before an eight mile run last Thursday to put together a completely new playlist, consisting of 65 songs from my iTunes library that feature the word run. My only proviso? It had to be used in the correct context (i.e. the physical act of running), which disappointingly ruled out Keep the car running by Arcade Fire and any track suffixed with ...Feat. Run DMC.

With shuffle pressed, I set off. These were the results:

Delta Goodrem - Running Away: Not exactly the start I was looking for, made doubly disappointing by the realisation that I possess a Delta Goodrem album. You probably don't need to be told this, but warbly Antipodean lady-pop is not very good to exercise to, no matter how lovely her face is. Set the tone for an erratic pace over the eight miles.

Memory Tapes - Run Out: An improvement. The first minute felt as though I was running through the end credits of an earnest 80s coming of age drama, and that's no bad thing, surely? 

No Doubt - Running: A No Doubt song that I have no recollection of ever hearing before, despite it being on their singles collection. Chorus contained the words "running, running, as fast as we can", which makes me think Gwen Stefani is more of a sprinter than a long distance runner (admittedly, "running, running, at a consistent and comfortable pace" wouldn't be as catchy).

Cut Copy - Midnight Runner: A short yet uplifting burst from the Aussie bleep-merchants, providing the perfect backdrop to crossing the Thames over Hammersmith Bridge (admittedly not at midnight).

The National - Runaway: As a child, I was often forced to accompany my mum to Mackay's, a shop specialising in mum-wear in the heart of Formby village. Without exception, my limbs would turn to lead every time we stepped inside, leading my 7 year old self to believe I was physically allergic to floral polyester (a fact I made sure did not escape mum's attention). Overcome by lethargy, I would endeavour to sit down anywhere I could: the seats by the shoe section; the small ledge in the front window display; the changing rooms (much to the annoyance of those trying on dresses. Especially if they were already in there). It was a special kind of fatigue I had always thought was reserved for sulking infants, but then I tried running to this song, and I was 7 years old again, staring at row upon row of houndstooth maternity blouses. The National are a great band, but unless you want to know how it feels to suffer from M.E. for five and a half minutes keep them well away from your gym playlist.

Wolf Parade - You Are A Runner And I Am My Father's Son: Probably just as awful as some of the others on this list to run to, but I was so grateful that the previous song had ended it didn't register. I did, however, notice an alarming similarity to Cold War Kids' We Used To Vacation which was released a year later. 

Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God): Frankly, I'm disappointed that no one's recommended this yet. There aren't any hills to run up in Barnes, but this is such a belting tune it didn't matter a jot. Lovely stuff.

Beatles - Run For Your Life: Progress! Typical jingly-jangly (albeit a bit dark) closer to Rubber Soul gave me two decent songs in a row for the first time of the evening, although hearing John Lennon tell me "you better run for your life if you can, little girl" was slightly disconcerting, not least for reminding me of my childhood P.E. lessons.

Zola Jesus - Run Me Out: Progress judderingly halted. When exercising, this is the musical equivalent of being spurred on from the wound-down window of a hearse. Whilst running through treacle. In flip flops. There's a time and place for this song. Four miles into a run is not one of them.

Velvet Underground - Run Run Run: If Zola Jesus was a metaphorical sinking ship, The Velvet Underground proved to be an equally metaphorical lifeboat. A lovely lifeboat with a big engine and filled with beer and a complete set of obscure Eastern European Subbuteo teams to keep me entertained during the journey back to shore. Despite being from one of my all-time favourite albums, I'm ashamed to say it took an email from a man who's name isn't Chris Fox to remind me of its value to a running playlist (and simultaneously provide the inspiration for this very blog). Love love love Run Run Run.

Bogshed - Run To The Temple: This mid-80s indie band, whose sound was described as "shambling" by John Peel, were originally known as The Amazing Roy North Penis Band. None of those words are a typo. It's got a good beat to it which is well suited to running, but now you know they used to be called The Amazing Roy North Penis Band I'm pretty sure you won't be concerned about that.

Missy Elliott - We Run This: Samples Sugarhill Gang's Apache (Jump On It), which is all well and good, but this track was rendered null and void for breaking the proviso stipulated in the first paragraph. Spent the entirety of this song annoyed with myself for failing to spot this earlier.

DJ Shadow - Run For Your Life: Sharing a title with The Beatles' entry earlier, this has a furious pace that is perhaps too quick for anyone wanting to avoid heart failure when running long distances. Samples Miles Davis What I Say, and made me think of Wacky Races for reasons I'm not really sure of.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Runaway: Also shares a title with a previous entry, this time with The National. Couldn't really judge it objectively as I was once again grateful that I wasn't running along to The National. Or The Corrs. They have a song called Runaway too. That would have been awful. 

Animal Collective - No More Runnin': Perfectly apt, starting as it did at the very moment I turned into my road.

So there we have it. Some good, some bad, but anything called Runaway should be left on your Songs to cry along to playlist.

Andy's marathon: Black Sabbath and cemeteries

I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.

Serendipity: n The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident. First usage attributed to English author Horace Walpole, who wrote in a letter dated 28 January 1754 "this discovery, indeed, is almost of that kind which I call Serendipity, a very expressive word". Often used to describe 15th/16th century explorers such as Pedro Alvares Cabral, who was blown off course while navigating the Cape of Good Hope and inadvertently discovered Brazil.

It was with a similar sense of (mis)adventure that I found myself approaching an unanticipated T-Junction on Monday night's run, guided less by stormy waters and ill-wind than by an inaccurate pre-run reading of Google Maps. As Cabral, Columbus et al all proved though, a wrong turning can often bring the greatest rewards. Thus I ploughed on, buoyed by the strains of Robyn's Dancing On My Own as the signpost ahead increasingly came into focus. I squinted. "Right: Mortlake Cemetery. Left: Townmead Road Reuse & Recycling centre." 

Lost: adj Unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts. Used to describe people such as Andy, who momentarily forgot the meaning of the phrase "go f**king straight on" when running along Lower Richmond Road.

Nevertheless, a swift check of my GPS-enabled 21st century "compass" (read: iPhone) and I was back on track towards Richmond quicker than you can say Santa Maria (albeit via Kew, a diversion which added over two miles to the originally planned route). Robyn soon segued into Over and Over by Hot Chip and my focus was once again firmly fixed on the playlist.

So, to the music. Thanks to all who've suggested tracks for the marathon playlist so far through the blog comments and on Twitter (keep them coming!). These have already made me realise the need for greater diversity than the 100% bleep-and-bass-fest it was previously. 

With this in mind, I set out on Monday evening armed with the updated playlist and subsequently reaped the benefits from the very first track. Despite putting myself at the mercy of iTunes shuffle, Ramones' Blitzkrieg Bop proved to be the perfect song for starting a run, cementing its position in the final playlist with its apt refrain of "Hey! Ho! Let's Go!". As I progressed, my morale lifted with every play of a new addition - Biffy Clyro's Who's Got A Match?, Kanye West and Rihanna's All Of The Lights (Thanks G!), A Town Called Malice by The Jam - they each broke up what was fast becoming the monotony of solid electro that I'd become used to, and more importantly, irrefutably justified my faith in this blog to help me through the 26 miles.

A begrudging special mention must go to Dad for mentioning Paranoid by Black Sabbath (seconded by elder brother Jonathan), which presented a 2min 47 second-long argument at around the 7-mile mark for being included on every running playlist to ever be created. Similarly to Turner, whose comment on the first blog when recommending James's Tomorrow resulted in me grinning my way down Richmond's high street thinking of nothing but Samantha Janus's mid-nineties norks.

My quick finish was ably assisted by liberal finger-gesturer M.I.A.'s Born Free (my increased speed possibly a result of having seen the violently ginger-bashing video - don't watch if easily offended). Total distance covered? A comfortable 10.2 miles, my wayward navigation unexpectedly taking me into double figures for the first time, something I didn't think possible in my current shape. An accidental, fortuitous discovery? Perhaps serendipity was at work after all.

Andy's marathon: The beginning

I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.

It was all going so well... After kicking off with a wheezy, lead-booted New Year's Day jog, the post-Christmas training regime in preparation for this year's London Marathon was beginning to go swimmingly (or runningly, to be precise). I was knocking out 10Ks for fun, my 5-a-day actually referred to fruit (not pints or that thing that makes you go blind) and I'd reached a point where any sip of alcohol was accompanied by a crashing feeling of betrayal. The stuff of nightmares? Maybe so, but I was already reaping the benefits. Better sleep, better health, and I I could already notice a tangible improvement to my fitness, ploughing a furrow down the left flank of my Sunday League team, chasing my first touch to my heart's content. I went to the gym too. Twice! I may even have looked like I knew what I was doing second time around, at least until I started doing keepy-ups with the Swiss ball.

And then it happened. Two weeks ago, a night that was to be made up of a run to Richmond, steamed vegetables and a smug sense of self-congratulation metastasized into an evening involving a sofa, a Big Mac and gunning down virtual aliens controlled by fellow no-hopers worldwide. The blame for this sudden shift can solely be placed at the feet of South West Train for selfishly deciding to park a train across the metaphorical driveway of my journey home, resulting in my usual 30 minute door-to-door commute taking nearer two hours, and was no way the fault of my complete abandonment of self-discipline. Yet that was it; five weeks of good work undone by the lure of burgery goodness. The guilt I'd started to feel every time I lost sight of the approaching marathon-sized goal evaporated as I snaked my way back to square one. A combination of inclement weather and some recent unusual round-the-clock work shifts meant that I remained there for far longer than the me of three weeks ago would have allowed.

There is, however, no escaping my impending date with 26.2 miles on Sunday 22nd April, and the panic that set in over the weekend has seen me regain some focus. I was back out for the first time in two weeks on Sunday morning, and forced myself to be excited when purchasing some new running gloves and wrist wallet, removing the excuse of "there's no one in the flat to let me in and I don't want to hold my keys for 10 miles." Despite having a busy February, the intention is to get out 3-5 times a week, perhaps even for some pre-work dawn running (I can already hear the creaking sound of a multitude of eyes rolling when I write this - hence the perhaps).

And this, in part, is where the blog comes in. The main intention of starting this is to create an ideal playlist for the marathon, containing around 4 hours worth of sufficiently excellent bouncy running music to see me through to the finish line. I'll be taking (serious) suggestions by anyone and everyone who would like to contribute through the comments beneath my the blog or on Twitter (@Andy_craig), with the aim of reviewing how suitable a song is for running, and if it's good enough, it'll make the final list for the day. Any contributions from those of you who work in the music industry (you know who you are, fellow runner!) will also be gratefully received. There'll be a lot more on this in future blogs, including what's currently on the running playlist, what's been taken off and mistakes that have been made. I'll even try and be funny, too.

For now though, this first blog is the beginning, seizing back the self-discipline and reclaiming the guilt of not lacing up my running shoes when I know I should. It's all there in the words above for you all to hound me with if I don't abide - 3-5 outings a week? Early morning runs? Eating more fish than Free Willy? It won't be fun, but then it's not really meant to be, is it?