This weekend, Hull City host Bolton Wanderers in the Premier League. Little more than a decade ago, a game against the same side over at their Horwich ground involved a three-division gap and one of the most infamous bits of direct action any indignant set of supporters could concoct. Boyhood Dreams asked ANDY DALTON to recall the Tennis Ball Protest. You may find some of the language used hilarious.
September 1998, and City were struggling. As usual. Mark Hateley's second season was starting as badly as his first one had gone, and the Tigers were stuck near the arse end of Division Four. The gut-wrenchingly familiar off-field problems we thought had ended with the arrival of David Lloyd and Tim Wilby were beginning to bubble up again, with rumours of the crap-haired southerner wanting to shift City into Hull FC's decrepit Boulevard "stadium" swirling.
It was against this backdrop that City prepared for a League Cup second round first leg tie at Premiership side Bolton Wanderers following a surprise away goals victory over Stockport County in the first round - this being more creditable than it sounds, with the Hatters then lying in the second tier. The build up to what was actually a fairly glamorous occasion was spectacularly dismal, with a humiliating 4-1 defeat at Barnet being the warm-up fixture. The City fans were outraged by the prospect of being herded into a sub-Conference standard ground by an increasingly unpopular and out of touch southerner, and feelings were running high. And so one of the most imaginative supporter protests ever seen came into being...
City fanzines Amber Nectar and City Independent clubbed together to purchase several hundred tennis balls, which we spent an afternoon in the White Lion pub scrawling a large "NO" onto using marker pens - the negative in question being a direct response to Lloyd's insane Boulevard scheme. The plan was to surreptitiously distribute these in Hull, en route to Bolton and outside the ground, with an explanation being provided as the protest's purpose and timing. It worked a treat.
Despite a heavy police presence outside the ground, the home stewards and constabulary had no idea of the plan, and although most City fans were frisked on the way in, let it be known that if you're determined to smuggle items into a football ground, it can certainly be done. Yet...the precise timing was the one thing that'd remain slightly vague. Before the game? During the game, to hold it up and ensure maximum publicity? At half-time? We hadn't nailed this down, and as kick-off approached and the hundreds of City fans armed with luminous yellow tennis balls were uncertain and unsure.
Then suddenly, with the players preparing for kick-off, a lone tennis ball arced through the air, propelled from the upper tier. Then madness took over, as this was taken as the signal for hundreds of tennis balls to be hurled onto the pitch from the corner of the ground we were congregated in. Steve Wilson, the City keeper nearest to the surreality, held his arms out in utter bemusement. Bolton instantly deployed stewards and ball boys to clear the field, which was now covered in tennis balls - and as this was being done, a deafening chorus of "say no to the Boulevard" echoed from the City fans.
To this day, it remains a spine-tingling memory, the sheer intensity and duration of this verbal protest booming from the away end of the Reebok Stadium. The Tigers lost the game 3-1, which saw plenty of City fans ejected by the embarrassed officials, and outside the game police dogs and horses were needlessly deployed in what looked suspiciously like an act of revenge by the home plod.
No matter - the protest worked beautifully. Crushed by the embarrassingly personal nature of our action, David Lloyd was chased out of town soon after, and the legend of one of the most thrilling and original protests by a set of desperate fans fighting for the club's survival was born. Lloyd's sudden capitulation did, however, rob British sport of the possibility of a protest that'd have made even more national headlines - for a follow-up had been mooted about travelling to a Davis Cup tennis match and throwing footballs onto the court. Would this really have happened? We'll never know...but in those mad, bad times, desperate times were calling for desperate measures. And so the Tennis Ball Protest passed into City folklore.
Andy Dalton is the co-editor of Amber Nectar.
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