To Pay Is To Fail – Melissa Moore (Part 2)

The art of “jibbing” is intrinsic to many people’s experience of the match. Everyone has their favourite story of their best and most audacious jib and everyone loves telling it to a packed pub or coach. Melissa Moore however took it to new levels when her proficiency in the jib landed her a spot on a TV show that saw her have to make her way back to the UK from a real life gulag and then from Timbuktu with little more than a bag full of United badges as currency. Breathe in and shuffle up as we present the second part of our interview with one of United’s greatest professional nauses. Interview and writeup by Carly Vandella.

When you haven’t got that much money to begin with, you always see what you can do to get into grounds and on transport without paying. You need to have an eye for it, and always be on the lookout to spot an opportunity, an in. You get to know particular grounds, the layout, and the best way to approach them. For example, the far left hand turnstile at Everton has a bit of a gap that’s bigger than the others. Certainly when I was much slimmer I could just sort of go round the outside of it. I got away with that one many times. I did actually get stuck fairly recently, at the new West Ham ground, trying to squeeze through with somebody. It was because I was wearing too many layers – definitely not cos I was fat. I remember going to Birmingham one year, everybody was vaulting the turnstiles because it was one of the places that still had the original old school turnstiles that only go waist high. Turns out I wasn’t actually as athletic as I thought I was and got some very nasty bruises. Every occupation has its hazards I suppose.

The whole thing with jibbing is, if you’ve got the confidence to do it, you can get away with all sorts. You need to stay in practice though, it is a skill. I’ve gone in through the kitchens at Sunderland and Chelsea. There was one at Chelsea where I got in to their end which was next to ours and my god, I’ve never been in a situation where I heard so much continuous not very covert racism from so many people’s mouths, it was absolutely awful. I couldn’t stay in there because I’d have ended up blowing my top and my cover, so I ran through the double doors on the concourse into our end. I got lifted as it was really obvious but I was quite happy with that because it saved me from something worse. They removed me to the bar that’s outside the away end and the owner gave me a free beer after I told him the story. But that’s what it’s all about – taking a chance; nothing ventured, nothing gained. There’s been many a time I’ve been and not got in but found another way to watch it. West Ham in the 99/200 season, I was banned at the time and ended up watching it from the roof of one of the garages on the building site where they were redeveloping the corners. I got in with this bunch of cockney scally children who were like “Yeah we go and watch it from the top of these garages”, so we’re up there on this roof and they were dancing about absolutely buzzing. I think we won 4-2 – we could only see half the pitch but it was a great laugh. At Charlton one year I gave my ticket to someone who bailed me out with a place on their minibus when my lift fell through and convinced an old dear to let me into her flat in that big block that overlooks the ground and watched it out of her toilet window while stood on top of the bog. She was a little bit baffled but lovely about it, bringing me tea and biscuits as I tried to hoist myself up on top of the cistern. The getting there and the getting in is sometimes more exciting than the actual match that you’ve gone to see.

Anfield is usually the best game for getting in for nowt. Because I can speak French, I have persuaded them I was a French journalist a couple of times. The best one was the O’Shea game, I convinced them I was from L’Equipe and had just got off the plane. I was babbling at French in them and eventually got let into the press area. There was this buffet, and all this beer, but you can’t get directly out into the seats from that area. So I thought, sod it, I’ll just stay in here. At this point, Paddy Crerand, who I knew for going here there and everywhere, turned up and laughed when he saw me, “What are you doing in here?” “I’ve come to watch the match Paddy”. “Alright then” he said, with that twinkle in his eye that he has, and then goes and introduces me to Matt Dickinson from The Times as “The new French correspondent for United”. So I had to carry on this really badly accented conversation with this journo while Paddy is in the background pissing his sides. By the time we scored I think there wasn’t really any doubt left as to what was actually going on, but fair play he didn’t blow my cover.

Probably one of my favourite jibs ever was Inter in 99, the Scholes game. I’d just done my knee in playing football and signed myself out of hospital, and didn’t mention it to my mother. I went Tuesday to Thursday with some flights that were free with air miles and was there with this big massive thing on my knee, hopping along, and I was also banned at the time, but that was only a minor issue. I’ve still got somewhere the world’s worst snide with a terrible hologram on it which I used to get through the first checks and into the queue. Tickets were going for £100, and this was in 99, it was crackers. The Italian police were obviously as they often do making things more difficult than they needed to be. It was getting closer to kick off and I got to near the front of the queue and I just threw myself to the floor with a surge of the crowd and made a massive noise, threw my crutches about. All the Carabinieri were like “Oh no, this poor woman! ” and called over the Red Cross. I had been repeatedly practising the phrase “Oh no, ho rotto il mio ligamento!” and made a right fuss. So these six Red Cross lads in their little jumpsuits turned up and put me on the stretcher, strapped me in, and carried me like the bloody Queen of Sheba into the concourse bit and asked “What do you want us to do?” I said “I feel much better now, you can leave me here, I’m sure I can manage” and they were like “OK, no problem carina”. I got straight into the middle of our end. If you watch the video, when Scholes scores and they pan behind he goal you can see a pair of crutches in the air next to a bloke in a yellow jacket and that’s me, giddy as a kipper, trying to keep control of my legs.

There was a time in the ’90s with the whole snide Interrail scenario when you could go pretty much anywhere across Europe for nothing. Everyone was on it. It got so popular that once on a train through Slovenia going to Zagreb, there was one lad on the carriage who was a real Interrailer and had a real ticket, while the entire rest of the train which was all United fans were on snides, and he got thrown off because his ticket was different to everyone else’s. He was gutted. I really felt for him. Not enough to intervene and get us all nicked like. We had a match to get to. Kipping on the parcel shelf of the trains, that was a favourite one when I was small enough to get up there. On the infamous “Night of the balaclavas” at West Ham, I’d been playing for the University football team in Leeds and had made it clear I had to leave at half time to get on the train to London. So I got off, went to the station and, got a platform ticket, for 10p. I got into the luggage rack thinking “I’ve got nothing with me, no more cash, I’m covered in mud and this is not gonna go down well.” I got to Doncaster or somewhere equally shit and these two big older women in gaberdines spotted me there, and stood in front of me for as long as it took for the hector to go past. Eventually got to the ground and I had no ticket and there was this bizarre, uneasy atmosphere. It had been absolutely kicking off everywhere and the place was like a war zone. I thought, “I can play this to my advantage”. That’s what you do, find the opportunity. I went to the gate and there was some senior steward who saw this little mud-covered girl in her football kit in the midst of this chaos and was like “My god, are you alright?!” I got into role and started going “Oh I’ve come all the way from Manchester and I’ve just realised I’ve not got my ticket and I’m really late for he match.” He said “Just give me a second, ill just go and check in the ticket office.” So I’m thinking shit, hes going to ask what my name is, so I’m trying to think up a name and he says “Come with me”, and he literally goes behind the desk in the ticket office and prints me a ticket.Hands it to me, “Off you go, have a good time, stay safe!” “Thank you!” and off I go, there’s smoke and sirens and police in full riot gear and I’m skipping through with my free ticket. If you’re bold enough and find the right opportunity then where there’s a will, there’s a way.

In 2001, I ended up on a Channel 4 TV show called Lost because of the legendary and sadly missed South African Charles. They’d somehow convinced him to go on this reality Tab show where the premise was you got blindfolded and dropped somewhere in the world, could be literally anywhere, and you had to make your way back to London with no money racing against two other teams. I was at Bayern Munich, a pre-season friendly at their old ground, and my phone went just as I was trying to climb some chain link fence at the back of the ground trying to get in. There were 4 teams playing in a tournament and the games were back to back so I was trying to get in for the earlier game so I could stay in for United. So the phone goes, and theres someone on the end going “Charlie has given us your number, we’re from the telly, we’d like you to go on the telly”. I’m like” “Yeah right, you’re taking the piss mate. Look, I’m literally trying to scale a fence at Bayern Munich at this point in time and have one leg up a fence, so whoever the fuck you are, you’ll have to ring me another time cos I’m busy” and put the phone down assuming it was someone on a wind-up. They rang me back the following week and said “You dont need to come for an audition, you’re exactly what we want.” We had to go do a training day where we had to do forestry skills and all this sort of thing to try and make sure that we didnt actually die – “dont eat this type of berries” and all that. When we set off, they took everything off us – phone, watch, everything, and took us to Biggin Hill airbase blindfolded and put us on a private jet. It was all very exciting. Then we stopped, they took us off the jet and put us on a helicopter. I was gutted – only time on a helicopter and I’m fucking blindolded. So then we landed and got dumped on this shore – we didnt know if it was sea, lake, whatever. Now, we had been allowed some luxury items, so I took a bag of 30 United badges because I knew that United is a password to all sorts of things across the world. Even if you don’t speak the language, you can always use it as an in. We had literally no idea where in the world we were. I was like “Well, the sky is quite close to us, that means we’re in the North, and that means we need to go south to go home”. We managed to find some people who spoke Russian. I found a guy who spoke some German and so managed to get him to give us a ride on his boat off the island we were on, which turned out to be the Solovetsky islands which is part of the Gulag archipalego in Russia. I think the others didn’t really understand the significance of the place and what had actually gone on there in the past, which to be fair at that point was probably for the best. There was a point where we’d all reconvened on the main island near the harbour, we commandeered a fishing boat to get to the mainland. There was me, Herbtree and Charlie from the other teams with local kids singing “Bunch of bouncing Busby babes” with scarves and shirts on. I wish I still had the video for that. It all got competitive after that. We nearly got arrested at the train station for refusing to pay on but luckily found someone that helped us get on the right train. Now I know from travelling round Europe that the best way to get back to Europe from that end is via St Petersburg, known as the Gateway to Europe in Russia, then down to Warsaw, back to Berlin and then its easy. Charlie made the mistake of going to Moscow, where you have to convince someone to fly you which is much harder than jibbing a train. So we managed to get to St Petersburg but leaving they were very on top with tickets. We had enough money for two tickets to Berlin, which I gave to the cameraman and my teammate and said “Look, I’ll find my way back to Berlin. Be there when the next train after this one gets in”. They were like, “No fucking way, we cant just leave you”. I was like “I’ll be fine, seriously”. All I had one me was this tiny bag with my book, a bit of bread, a beer, and my United badges. I got off the train at Brest in Belarus which is not very welcoming, shall we say. The trick in those parts of the world, if you find yourself in bother, go to the train station and find the person with the best shoes. They are the most likely to speak a language that you do. So I found a woman in white stilettoes, and spoke to her explained the situation, and she was lovely and helped me get onto the platform. It was an absolute scrum at passport control where you cross the border to get the train from Belarus to Germany. I managed to tip someone a couple of dollars to let me onto this train, I get on it and the cameraman and Herbtree were on the train – it had been taken off to change gauge and they’d been chucked off the train by a dodgy inspector because they hadn’t given him a backhander! Schoolboy error in that part of the world, always have a bit of a sweetener ready for when you meet someone official. So we all ended up getting to Berlin on the same train. We managed to jib to Belgium where we met a lovely lad who after hearing the story of what we were up to bought us three rail and sail tickets all the way back to London. We got to Trafalgar Square and the crew from the TV show weren’t there – they had expected us to take at least another two days! The others were all still in Moscow and God knows where else. We had to ring them from a phone box and convince them that we were actually at Trafalgar Square, they were amazed we’d done it so quickly.
The second show we ended up getting dropped in Timbuktu, in Mali in Africa. That was a mad one. Not a very pleasant trip in many ways but as we travelled round, as the local kids saw my United shirt everyone was mad for it. I was giving out badges, scarves, all sorts, and people absolutely loved it, they all knew United and were so excited to meet someone from Manchester. It was amazing, the absolute joy we saw on peoples faces as they said “You really are from Manchester, you’ve seen the stadium, and these objects you’re giving us have actually come from Manchester!” That’s what I always say about the evangelism thing, it’s great to spread the good word and the glory of United across foreign parts. I love the idea that these people in Timbuktu and Dakar might still have those objects and know that they have a personal link with Manchester and it might give them a bit of joy, and that might sow the seed of the next batch of foreign fans, or even players! The absolute dream would be that we sign a player who says “It was 24 years ago, I was a three year old child in Timbuktu and I met this crazy Mancunian lady who gave me a George Best badge, from that day on it was my dream to play for Manchester United.” I always say its Mancunian as your nationality and United as your religion; that’s what I’ll be putting on my census.

The photo below is from one of my favourite jibs that wasn’t a jib. I won a competition with Wilkinson Sword I think and the prize was two tickets to the match and the chance to take penalties at the Scoreboard End to win cash for a kids charity. I smashed them all in, the other blokes didn’t get any more than one each, got cheered on by loads of my mates and won the charity £5k. I met Choccy and Ole in the tunnel before going on. I had an LUHG t-shirt on under my shirt but sadly the photographer refused to let me wear it on the publicity pics.

I never regret not having taken a more conventional path in life. I always say this. I look back sometimes and think “Would I have done anything differently?” My third year of University, I’d smashed my knee, been in hospital a lot, was on crutches up until early May of ’99. As I came towards finishing I was faced with a tricky situation – my final exams were on Tuesday afternoon and Thursday morning, and United were playing in the European Cup Final in Barcelona on the Wednesday night. Obviously, I went to Barcelona for a week. That was it, no question. I often think back to it, because I know how upset my Mum was; your parents always want the best for you and the safest route obviously, but I think my Mum always knew that I was a little bit different to all the other girls at school. A conventional career path wasn’t really something that interested me. I’d done archaeology at Uni and I wasn’t really sure where to go after that. I’d stayed in Manchester rather than going away. She wasn’t best pleased obviously, but I would not have swapped that week for doing my degree at all. No fucking way. It was still one of the most magical nights of my life. The entire week was magic. I had 50 quid, that was it; didn’t have a ticket, didn’t have fuck all. Had my flag, and a bag. I went and stayed with a mate in Madrid on Monday night, jibbed the bus to Barcelona on the Tuesday. Ended up kipping in a cupboard in a mate’s hotel. I can’t explain it but I had this incredible sense of freedom that week – like I’d broken free from normal life and was into the realms of magic. I wouldn’t go back and do my exams and have missed that week at all. I think I’ve managed to get the best of both worlds to be honest.

At times though United was a drag, I’ll be honest. It’s like what Shaun Ryder says, about Manchester being the noose around your neck that keeps pulling you back home, and United was like that. I missed loads of shit growing up, normal stuff you do with mates from school, because I was at the match. As you know, with United it’s not just about the match, it’s about the getting there and getting home and the whole carnival around it. Facebook wasn’t around back when I was graduating and I’d hear on the grapevine from other people’s mothers “So and so has moved to Shanghai, so and so is getting married and has three kids now”. But I always thought, “That isn’t the life that I want”. I’ve been to I don’t know how many countries, and spoken however many languages and seen so many different things that football has given me. We’re back to that whole crowd thing of seeing things differently, different people, different cultures, mad experiences. Why would I want to have given that up? All of those experiences, whether it’s getting whacked over the head by the Carabinieri or paddling round outside the rear door on the beach next to La Coruna, all of those highs and lows are something that I think haven’t necessarily made me a better person but has certainly given me a better perspective on the world. Those experiences are the kind of thing that just can’t be bought. Just as well really as I wouldn’t have paid for them anyway – to pay is to fail!

In case you missed it, the first part of this interview can be found here https://deepestred.org/2021/02/20/she-wore-a-scarlet-ribbon-melissa-moore-part-1/