Perhaps my closest brush with football violence? Shrewsbury Town had drawn Cardiff City in the Littlewood’s Cup, the winners would advance to the quarter finals. My brother and me were dropped off somewhere near Gay Meadow and then made our way into the ground, probably with about half an hour spare. The footballing fayre on offer that night was not particularly good, Shrewsbury huffed and puffed, and Cardiff, although not much better, did create more chances and did look the more likely to score. We were on our way out when in the closing stages of the game Bernard McNally, Shrewsbury’s Northern Irish international, scored the only goal of the game. After a brief jump up and down we wandered off to meet our lift home. Our Welsh visitors were less than enamoured with Bernard’s late strike, as I was to witness the following day.