When "When Saturday Comes" comes calling

Matthew Bell on mixing with the stars in an Oasis of cinematic dreams.

Matthew Bell

It’s February 1996. I’m at home doing nothing on a winter’s evening when the phone rings. I answer it. The voice on the other end says: “It’s Sean Bean here.”

Now, I wouldn’t have called myself one of Sean’s biggest pals; I think the last time I had spoken to him at length was outside the bogs at Stamford Bridge (it’s amazing where you bump into film stars) in May 1994 on the day United were relegated from the Premier League. I did, though, always send him a copy of Flashing Blade (one issue apparently found its way to Ukraine where he was making a series of Sharpe). I thought he must be ringing me about that. But no. Sean was calling to invite me to the World Premiere, no less, of his new film When Saturday Comes. I’m guessing he did so because of the Flashing Blade connection, and I didn’t need much persuading to say yes.

Blades fans old enough will remember that some shooting for the film took place at half-time of United’s FA Cup third-round match against Manchester United in January 1995. Sean, wearing full United strip with a supporting cast of supposed Sheffield United and Manchester United players, took a few penalties at the kop end and we all had to cheer when he scored. After a few indifferent attempts, he cracked one into the top corner, which made the final cut:

Sean’s call to me came a fortnight before the Premiere, to be held at the Warner Brothers cinema complex at Meadowhall on February 27th. “It’ll be about a week before I can get the tickets sent out”, said Sean. A week passed by, then ten days. He must have forgotten, I thought. Well, he’s a busy man. All those interviews to take care of between watching the Blades at Crystal Palace and Charlton Athletic.

But I arrived home from work one evening to find a message on my answerphone from Don McBlade (one of Sean’s mates from Handsworth), informing me he had my ticket and asking me to ring him back. A rendezvous was hastily arranged in the car park of the White Rose at Handsworth. Now in possession of a ticket just 24 hours before the event, I was concerned to find that guests were asked to wear a ‘Lounge Suit’.

Not being a veteran of these glitzy affairs, I had no idea what a lounge suit was. Dressing gown and carpet slippers? Tuxedo? Top hat and tails? With no time to even find out, never mind avail myself of suitable attire, I had to do the best I could. I don’t possess a suit of any kind, let alone a lounge one, so my faithful jacket and tie had to suffice (I think I’ve only worn a tie once since then, for a job interview. I got the job). Anyway, I thought I wouldn’t get in the place.

It said on the ticket: “Due to strict security arrangements, guests are asked to proceed to their seats in the auditorium immediately on arrival at the cinema.” That night’s Star also claimed that tight security would be present. No riff-raff would be allowed anywhere near the cinema. Imagine my surprise then, when I waltzed unchallenged through the Oasis, floated up the escalator, fought my way through the massed ranks of star-gazers and paparazzi (although no flashguns popped as I passed and no autograph books were thrust forward in my direction), breezed across the cinema foyer and strolled up to the entrance of Screen Two without so much as a by your leave. Security? Not that I saw, and with all those famous people around as well!

Once inside the cinema, I spotted Mick Rooker and United’s club secretary David Capper (RIP) near the front, so went down for a word. There was no “Alreight Matt?” or anything from Mr Rooker. As tactful as ever, his first words were: “How did you get in here?” Good old Mick.

After a delay caused by the organisers, Guild Entertainment, who’d had tickets printed for seats that didn’t exist (they’d do well in the football business), Sean Bean and the film’s producer Jimmy Daly paid a fleeting visit to greet everybody, adding that they hoped we would “enjoy t’film.”

I’ll come to the film later, but after it finished it was down to the Oasis for the party – free beer, free wine, free food. I went to chat with the United contingent present (no players – they had already gone to Norwich for the match the following night): Tony Currie and Andy Daykin and new United chairman Mike McDonald were also there, as well as Mick Rooker and David Capper. I watched local band Big Wide World (they have a couple of songs on the soundtrack) for a while and then went in search of Flashing Blade contributor and my modern-day co-author Gary Armstrong, who is also one of Sean’s old mates from Handsworth. The place was thronging with blokes who looked as though they could afford a thousand times more than the £40 they paid for a ticket (unless it was just for show), and women who were trying to make themselves appear younger than they actually were.

I eventually found Gary and his wife; several cans later, it was suddenly past two o’clock in the morning. We’d been joined by a couple of others and before I knew it we were in taxis and on our way to the private party at York’s on Charles Street in the city centre (honoured guests only – heaven knows how I got in). The problem was that we had to pay for our drinks here (£2.30 for a bottle of Budweiser, which was very expensive at the time and virtually all they had) but I was by now in, shall we say, a ‘relaxed’ state so I didn’t worry about that. Sean was doing the rounds (pity he wasn’t buying the rounds!), mingling with the guests and basically being an all-round good chap – what a professional! He sympathised when I told him I would be going to Norwich in a few hours.

We left at around 4.30am and looked for a taxi – no Ubers or Veezus back then. No mobile phones even. Looking for a taxi at half past four on a Wednesday morning in the middle of Sheffield in 1996 was not an easy task. Now, if we’d wanted a milk float, we would have been onto a winner. We eventually found a cab in Fitzalan Square and I rolled in home at ten past five. The trip to Norwich did not look the teensiest bit appealing… but up I was at 12.30 none the worse for wear (apart from a slight headache!) and at 1.30 we were off. It was a dull 0-0 draw, the weather was foul on the way home and we got back about 2.30 am. I’d had five hours’ sleep in almost two full days… the things you do for your team.

But what about the reason we were all at Meadowhall in the first place: When Saturday Comes. Despite its obvious flaws, I enjoyed it immensely. Predictable at times, corny even, but what do you expect from a ‘rags to riches, local boy makes good’ story? The two leads (Sean Bean as Jimmy Muir and Emily Lloyd as Annie Doherty) were good and well supported by Pete Postlethwaite, Melanie Hill and others (such as Tony Currie and Mel Sterland, who was wearing a United kit as Jimmy Muir’s captain!).

You can pick holes in some of the football action but, saying that, has the perfect football film ever been made? The worst example is that Sheffield United played Manchester United in the FA Cup semi-final at home. Also, when Jimmy Muir is playing for his pub team early on, both teams come off a very muddy pitch at the end of the game with incredibly clean shirts. But perhaps that’s being over-critical. Sheffielders will love trying to spot the various locations throughout the city: Tinsley cooling towers in the opening credits, Stones Brewery (then in full working order), Anns Grove School (called Woodthorpe School in the film) on Anns Road, Heeley, the Shakespeare (now the Brothers Arms) just down the road (the Fox House in the film), William Hill’s bookies on Halifax Road, the Nailmakers Arms on Backmoor Road at Norton…

Then again, they go into the Shakespeare/Brothers/Fox House, but it’s not the same pub on the inside, and everybody knows that the No.51 bus doesn’t go anywhere near any coal mines, not even in 1996…