Mickey Greenaway.
by Adam ' Cortez' Porges,
Photos by Kevin Axtell

I was never a close mate of Mickey Greenways.
I knew him on nodding terms, as everyone seemed to back then. It didn't matter where we went, home or away, pre-season friendly whatever, Mickey was always there. The only time I had a real session with him was when we played at Barnet in a pre-season 1983 -84 (more like post season 82-83 as the season had only just finished). We had just resigned Alan Hudson (for some unfathomable reason) and much more importantly were about to sign Pat Nevin, Joe McLaughlin, Kerry Dixon, Eddie Niedzwickski, etc and embark on what was to become my personal favourite season, Yup 1983-84 the season of John Neal's Div 2 championship winning team, it was the season that thousands invaded Brighton, when we won 3-2 at Huddersfield in a stormer, when the biggest crew ever went to Elland Rd in a show of strength more akin to an army, a mob that Leeds fans could only dream of, we went to Maine Rd for THAT game on the Friday night with the famous Nevin , Cannoville , Dixon goal, we beat Leeds 5-0 at the Bridge to clinch promotion and yes of course everyone and their mates went to Grimsby to see us win and be crowned as champions in front of the erm Findus Stand.
Anyways, this pre-season match at Barnet (which as it happens is my local team, shhhhh whisper it but I live in Arsenal land for me sins) and I've bumped into Mick in the Red Lion for a pre match couple as you do, well we talked briefly and agreed to meet up after the game, thereby interrupting our session only to watch some mundane game acted out for us by a not very interested Barnet or Chelsea, the only highlight being at half time when an impromptu 75 (or so) a-side football match took place on the pitch, this was deteriorating more and more into the type of game that they play in Derbyshire or somewhere when 2 towns spend about 3 days trying to get a dead bit of pigs bladder from one end of the town to t'other ( Northern culture eh, doncha just love it ?), when just as it looks like their going to have a job sorting it all out and getting the real game(!) going again Mickey appears on the center circle , grabs the ball, lifts it over his not very tall head and shouts 'come on, off the pitch' and the whole thing instantly stops and just like the Pied Pipers rats, hordes of yer very best Chelsea nutters immediately leave the pitch, the teams come out and sadly the second half of the main event was allowed to continue in the same dreary fashion.
After the game we had a good few drinks together as I showed him the various wonderful drinking holes of Barnet High St and he in return recounted the stories of 1955, the pre West Stand where many of us sat during the 80's, the Old Trafford replay, Athens, etc.
Well as far as I was concerned I owed Mickey a big drink for the all the Zigger Zaggers he started and the fantastic support he generated and anyway I'm drinking in the legendary company of Greenaway so I'm buying, he's talking and we're both happy.
Good bloke.

When I heard that he'd died a while back and that there was to be a memorial night at The Bridge I immediately signed up for it and looked forward to how it would be.
Let me tell you it was a great occasion, not for everyone maybe but for me it was perfect, the turnout was superb, real faces of yester-year from the Shed and the North Stand. (some good some old er lovable rogues) all of course impeccably behaved. No-one and I mean no-one in terrace firm speak would have 'taken' the mob that was there that night.
The food was great, the disco was top fun with overweight and over aged skins taking it in turns to skank it up on the dance floor and when the DJ played 'Liquidator' the roof almost came off and at that point as the hairs on my neck stood on end I almost shed a tear for The Chelsea Shed, for my CFC Butchers coat, for my DM's, for my scarf, for my rosettes and badges, for my Dad, for Bobby Tambling, for the West Stand and the smell of Armani, leather and cigar smoke, for the painted lines on the green green grass in front of the red cinder track, for the rickety old North Stand, for the Bovril Gate and the Tea Bar, for the piles of monkey nut shells, for the wooden seats in the West and the little terrace either side of the tunnel and the weather vein on the East, for the disabled blue 3 wheelers parked up in front of the shed, for the half time score board on the wall in front of the North Stand and for the years spent following my club, but amongst all of this I felt a massive sense of well being and a feeling of being at home that night in that room, after a growing and long period of feeling in a sense alienated from the club in vastly changing times something was there that had been missing for far too long, perhaps just a feeling of pride in being back amongst like minded people , suddenly I had a realization that reminded me of my love and passion for this club, and it all became very clear, you see its not about the individual people the Ken Bates, Vialli, Zola, Gullit, Colin Hutchinson, Desailly, Hasselbaink, SKY TV, the newspapers, the megastore or even me and you, its far far bigger than that and for many thousands of people like me its just a massive part of their life, so when you're next moaning about foreign mercenaries and changing times and football on Sundays, etc all of which I admit to constantly doing just remember and take heart , It aint all dead ya know, it ain't all forgotten, its just not at every match the way it was, but it WAS at the Bridge for that night.
Thanks Mickey, you can rest well mate, the true spirit of Chelsea Football Club and its famous fans aint going anywhere, its alive, well and on call and it just came out to say goodbye.

Text © 2002 Mafdet Inc.
Photos of Stamford Bridge © Garry Jones
Original copies can be found on his site: "The Missing Link"
http://www.algonet.se/~datacaf1/index2.html