This article delves into the stories behind an intense encounter between the M69 rivals, Coventry City and Leicester City. These Midlands rivals have had quite a few wars during the years, but this one is probably the best known of them. Let’s get straight on with the stories.
Leicester Baby Squad On The Move
Leicester Baby Squad member Alan told us….“Coventry vs Leicester 1984. We rolled out of Leicester early doors, two battered coaches full of lads buzzing on cheap lager and bravado. Burberry caps pulled low, Pringle jumpers zipped tight, folding brollies tucked like badges of rank. Word was this was going to be lively. Cov was close, too close to be friendly, and the M69 run felt shorter than usual. Songs started before we’d even cleared the ring road. By the time the skyline came into view, the Baby Squad were already standing in the aisle, itching. Police boxed us in on the approach, blue lights flashing us straight past pubs we’d have happily emptied into. Inside the ground we were herded—then mis-herded—into the Coventry Kop. No segregation worth the name. Sky blue all around, a few hundred of us dropped right in the middle like a lit match. At first it was just the stare-downs, the shoulder nudges, the chants traded like insults across a bar. Then someone went down a few rows ahead and it tipped.”
“Seats came up with a crack, wood and metal flying. A surge pushed us forward and back, and suddenly there were too many bodies, too much noise. I remember being forced down onto the pitch by the pressure from behind—boots skidding on grass, hands grabbing to stay upright. The ref stopped play, players backing away, police pouring out like a dam had burst. Twenty minutes felt like an hour. We were back on our feet and running, scraps breaking out everywhere—Cov lads charging, us meeting them, then splitting as the shields came in. They moved us eventually, lines of police forcing us out of the Kop and into our own end. Even then it didn’t settle. Leicester shirts were still dotted in Cov’s stands, and every bad tackle sparked another rush. The game stopped again. I heard later the papers said six or seven hundred of us were in there; it felt like more. When Cov went two up, the mood turned nastier. We attacked the stands nearest us, fists and feet against Perspex, while the coppers held the line.”
Pitch Invasion
“Full time didn’t end it. It spilled straight onto the pitch—running battles, short sharp chases, then the whistle of batons and the thud of shields. Outside, it carried on around the ground and into the streets. Someone said a lad got slashed near a pub opposite; someone else swore an axe was found in the Kop later. I don’t know about that. What I do remember is Ball Hill, waiting for buses, groups forming and reforming, bricks and bottles arcing, a bloke going through a shop door in a shower of glass. We limped back to the coaches bruised and hoarse, proud in that stupid way only comes after chaos. Next night, back home, Hinckley lads were still grinning, trading stories like medals. It was the worst day I’d ever been caught up in—and, back then, that almost felt like the point.”
Coventry’s Perspective
Coventry Legion member Rod told us…”By the time we heard the coaches were in, the word had already gone round the pubs and back streets. Leicester were bringing numbers, Baby Squad loudmouths thinking they could roll up the M69 and treat the Kop like a playground. That wasn’t happening. Not in our ground. We filtered in early, Legion lads dotted through the Sky Blue Terrace and along the Kop, scarves tucked away, coats zipped. You didn’t need colours to know who was who. Eyes met, nods exchanged. The place filled up and the tension sat heavy, thicker than the cigarette smoke drifting across the steps. When it became clear the stewards had dumped a pocket of Leicester right in amongst us, there was disbelief first—then smiles. Someone up the back shouted, “They’ve had it today.” The game kicked off but no one around us was watching the ball. It started with chanting, then a shove, then a punch thrown two rows down. That was the spark. We surged as one, trying to crush them back into their seats, reminding them exactly where they were. Plastic seats came up easy, clattering down the concrete. Leicester fought back hard, I’ll give them that, but they were penned in and they knew it.”
“Then the push got too much. Bodies tipped forward and suddenly lads were tumbling over the front, spilling onto the pitch. Police rushed in late and clumsy, shields up, batons waving. The ref stopped the match and the roar was deafening. Sky blue everywhere, fury and pride mixed together. This was our patch and we weren’t backing off. Leicester still had lads scattered in other sections and that kept it boiling. Every time a Coventry player went down, it kicked off again. The police tried to peel the away fans out, dragging them across the pitch like sacks of meat. We let them know what we thought of that, coins and abuse raining down, the Legion banging the hoardings and daring anyone to come back. When Leicester were finally penned into their own end, the game restarted, but it never really settled. Another bad tackle, another surge. The match was stopped again, Bobby Gould coming out and trying to calm it, arms waving to the crowd. Didn’t make much difference. We were already in too deep.”
After The Match
“After the final whistle, it went straight off again. Lads vaulted barriers, chasing Leicester onto the pitch before the police closed ranks. Outside the ground was chaos—sirens, running feet, groups forming and clashing in side streets. We pushed them away from the pubs, down towards Ball Hill, keeping them moving, keeping them out. Someone went through a shop window in the madness, glass everywhere, blood on the pavement. No one stopped to check who it was. Hours later, waiting for a bus, still buzzing, we heard stories flying round—slashing near the Mercier, weapons found in the Kop, papers already sniffing. We didn’t care. Two–nil up, ground held, reputation intact. They came to Cov looking for it and got exactly what they asked for. That’s how it was then. You protected your patch—or you lost it.”
We thank Alan and Rod for their recollections. It’s clear that the Baby Squad did try to ‘take’ the Coventry Kop, but it would appear they got moved out by the police, more so than the Coventry hooligans. Underestimated firms, or just an easy day out? What do you think?
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