Yesterday, 29 years ago, Eric Cantona hurled himself into the crowd at Selhurst Park during a league match between Manchester United and Crystal Palace. The Frenchman had been sent off, and as he walked down the sideline towards the tunnel, he leapt into the air, propelling himself feet-first over the hoarding and into the crowd towards a Palace fan named Matthew Simmons.
As the stadium exploded, goalkeeper Peter Schmeichel was among those who ran over to escort his teammate off the pitch. By then, Schmeichel knew he was a day late and a dollar short. In attacking the fan, Cantona had defined his career at Manchester United. Nothing would change that.
Cantona claimed Simmons had shouted at him: “F*** off back to France, you French bastard” and called his mother a “French whore”. Simmons later countered in court he had shouted: “Off! Off! Off! It’s an early bath for you, Mr Cantona!”
Simmons’ version of events did not ring true with football fans, or indeed a court of law, and he was later found guilty of using threatening words and behaviour and fined £500. His response was to leap over the bench, taking aim at the prosecutor, kicking him in the chest. He was led out in handcuffs.
As for Cantona, the now iconic act would earn him a lengthy ban and cost him the French captaincy. The threat of a prison sentence was later reduced to 120 hours community service.
Where have the years gone? Well, not very far.
Last weekend, in a Serie A game, Milan goalkeeper Mike Maignan alerted the referee that he was leaving the pitch due to repeated racist chants and “monkey noises” from Udinese fans. He was followed by his teammates to the tunnel, although the match resumed.
There was strength and dignity to how Maignan reacted, compared to the rush of blood from Cantona. But decades on, Cantona’s bespoke, re-education programme has a softer outline and feels more like an exhilarating rip through convention, a cathartic event. It was vicariously thrilling and shocking.
Think about it for too long and the act becomes distorted by norms. Words like violence, due process and role model appear, to remind us of how civilised we are.
But Cantona’s instinctive, feral moment also brought other qualities like truth, clarity, authenticity, and moral accountability. With it, he instantly became both a stain on English football and a rough justice rock star, a street avenger.
“I have never seen as disgraceful an incident as that in all my years in football,” bawled Jonathan Pearce in his radio commentary. “I care not one jot about his supreme talent, he launched himself six feet into the crowd and kung-fu kicked a supporter who was without a shadow of a doubt giving him lip.”
Cantona was a player who manager Alex Ferguson described as having “defiant charisma”. Ferguson also occasionally seemed to hint that he understood the self-destructive qualities of his talisman.
Former United winger Lee Sharpe sets the scene as Ferguson arrived at the changing rooms after that infamous 1995 game at Selhurst Park had ended in a 1-1 draw: “The manager comes in and he’s absolutely fuming. The door smashes off the back of its hinges. The jacket is off, he’s got the short sleeves rolled up; steam coming out of his ears and frothing at the mouth.
“There are benches in the middle of the room with shirts and balls to be signed. Cups of tea and plates of sandwiches. They’re sent f***ing flying everywhere. We’re getting scalded and getting egg sandwiches down the back of our necks. We look at each other, thinking, f***ing hell, Cantona is getting it here!
“And then he starts, the manager. F***ing Pallister, you can’t head anything, you can’t tackle. Incey, where the f*** have you been? Sharpey, my grandmother runs f***ing faster than you! You’re all a f***ing disgrace. Nine o’clock, tomorrow morning, I’m going to run your f***ing balls off in training. F***ing shocking.
“And Eric – you can’t go around doing things like that, son.”
In a back-page headline, the Daily Mirror described it as “the night football died of shame”, while the Daily Express headline dripped with concern for the kids: “Absolute thuggery in front of the children.”
Cantona, now a screen actor and sometime rock star, remains not only delightfully unrepentant but resplendently proud. Four years ago, in an interview with the Guardian, he placed the incident in terms of memorable career high points. “My best moment? I have a lot of good moments, but the one I prefer is when I kicked the hooligan,” he said.
Cantona has regularly been quizzed about the incident and has occasionally reflected that he wished he had put more force into the kick.
In contrast: “There is absolutely no place in our game for racism,” declared Milan’s official social media accounts after the Maignan incident at Udinese.
In a world of platitudes and terrace bigotry, karma arrives in various forms. Occasionally it comes with viewer discretion, and with Eric Cantona hurling himself into a stand at Selhurst Park.
