‘What should have been an evening of victory and celebration turned sour in the cruellest way possible’
The story of the Welshman, the World Cup semi-final and The Rolling Stones. David Owens recalls the night England couldn’t get no satisfaction as football and rock‘n’roll clashed
IT was an occasion I will never forget – a night when a nation and one particular player was left in floods of tears with the soundtrack supplied by arguably the world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band.
It had drama, both on stage and off, and an 80,000-strong crowd who didn’t know whether to look at the stage, clasp a radio to their ear – or sit with a portable TV on their lap.
What should have been an evening of victory and celebration turned sour in the cruellest way possible.
This week the memories of that fateful night have come flooding back.
Yesterday, the greatest show on earth rolled into Russia for the 21st World Cup.
Tonight, The Rolling Stones, who themselves know something about putting on a show, will take to the stage at the Principality Stadium in Cardiff as part of their No Filter Tour.
For me, these two events playing out within 24 hours of each other will provoke a solitary but spectacular reminiscence. Almost 28 years previously the World Cup and The Rolling Stones met in a head-on collision on one of the most bizarre evenings I have ever known.
The date was Wednesday, July 4, 1990. I was a Welshman, at the home of English football, Wembley Stadium, to watch The Rolling Stones on the night when England held its breath. This was their biggest game since some people were on the pitch thinking it was all over, as the national team took on Franz Beckenbauer’s West Germany in the Italia ’90 World Cup semi-final in Turin.
I was 21, in my first year working as a journalist at Thomson Regional Newspapers. I was dispatched from Thomson House in Cardiff to preview The Rolling Stones’ forthcoming gig at The Arms Park as part of their Urban Jungle Tour, tasked with letting the readers of the South Wales Echo know what they could expect from Mick Jagger and Co before the Stones rolled into Cardiff.
Italia ’90 had captured the imagination. There were those evocative and stirring BBC opening World Cup titles featuring Pavarotti’s Nessun Dorma, and dashing Des Lynam’s urbane cool.
England had built up a head of steam after a narrow passage from the group stage. There was a close-fought 1-0 victory over Belgium, a titanic quarter-final victory against Cameroon, and then that semifinal.
As a Welshman I was attuned to World Cup failure and Wales not being there. My abiding memory of arriving at Wembley then was sheer ambivalence.
I was more excited by the thought of seeing one of the world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll bands for the very first time than paying much attention to England’s semifinal showdown with West Germany. However, I hasten to add there was no hate, dislike or malice. I felt nothing except summary indifference.
At the VIP area at Wembley there was much talk about how the TVs would be turned off at 8.15pm when The Stones took to the stage. However, as the game progressed, England dominating, the drama and tension rose. It was feared there would be something approaching a riot if the screens went blank, so the TVs remained on. Hearing the opening strains of Start Me Up, I took my seat in the press box to witness The Rolling Stones’ Urban Jungle show unfold before my eyes. I remember a then46-yearold Mick Jagger wearing an emeraldgreen frock coat, resembling Doctor Who if he had swapped the Tardis for a rock ’n’ roll band.
It was also the final tour for Bill Wyman, a man so perpetually glued to the spot he made statues look animated.
There were many sitting around me with wireless radios tuned into the commentary, while I’ve never forgotten the sight of then World Champion boxer Gary Stretch several rows over from me, with a portable TV on his lap.
The show progressed with Jagger apologising for staging the gig on the same night as England’s biggest football match for decades, and a collective groan as word of Andreas Brehme’s 59th-minute goal for West Germany filtered through to the audience.
I’d made the decision that I would watch the whole set as I needed at least a rudimentary knowledge of what a Cardiff crowd could expect. The Stones were on blistering form despite their minds most probably being elsewhere. This was a band refusing to go through the motions or showing they were in any way distracted as they motored through their classic songbook: Sympathy for the Devil, Street Fighting Man and Gimme Shelter providing particularly unforgettable highlights.
Then a roar. England had scored an 81st-minute equaliser from Gary Lineker, and the crowd erupted midsong, Jagger shouting “Come on England” from the stage.
With the game going into extra time, I was torn on what to do, but stayed with the Stones, making friends with people with radios to keep me updated.
As 30 minutes added-on time passed without either side troubling the net, England’s fate would be decided on penalties.
Thinking there was no way I could miss this epochal moment in World Cup history I joined the assorted throng in the long bar downstairs, ready to witness the polarised agony and ecstasy that only penalty shootouts can bring.
Surrounded by England football fans, all this Welshman remembers is the worry and the anxiety, the cheers and the groans – and as Chris Waddle’s missed penalty sailed over the bar the utter deflation of a nation’s hopes.
The game that had famously seen Gazza’s tears saw similar scenes among those standing around me.
In the moment of ultimate pain I felt empathy, not joy nor elation. As a long-suffering Welsh football fan I could sympathise, not gloat.
Of course, if I had jumped for joy as West Germany won I probably wouldn’t have made it back in one piece anyway.
While I was indifferent to the England football team, I felt for their manager, Bobby Robson, a humble, endearing and eminently likeable man.
The ultimate irony was The Rolling Stones’ final encore that night – (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. How presciently perfect and cruelly ironic could a song be?
Mick Jagger in the intervening years has admitted he considered cancelling the Wembley gig, but went ahead, thinking England would not make it to the semi-final.
Maybe the band has learned from their mistakes as none of their UK No Filter tour dates clash with England’s games at the 2018 World Cup.
A post-gig exit is usually euphoric. That night, however, there was nothing, except broken dreams.
■ A version of this article first appeared in our sister paper Wales on Sunday.