Roaming in the Gloaming - Betty
The idea of touring round Europe watching Leeds play seemed such a far
off dream the day Howard Wilkinson resigned. George Graham seemed to
bring some hope, but it's David O'Leary and his raggedy arsed bunch of
kids who saw us on the road to what for me has been a fantastico year. I
realised last night when I crawled into my pit that I would never have
had the delights of the likes of Roma, Praha, Milano or Barca to chuckle
at as I amble about my diurnal routine if it were not for the "young
manager and his babies".
Unlike the other soft bastards that I travelled with this week, I had to
contend with the extra burden of getting from LOTSA to lovely Essex,
before I could begin the trip proper. Needless to say this involved the
usual shite with Leicester which I have dealt with elsewhere. Having
forgotten to take my mobile, I missed the chance to ponificate via the
BBC as to my thoughts on the lumpen scum who think its funny to chant
racist abuse at football matches where Leeds are playing. These people
are not football fans they are vermin and should be taken outside and
shot as class enemies. Anyway I was mulling over these and other issues
when I stumbled across an old bloke with a carrier bag in Stansted
Airport. If it hadn't have bin for the twinkle in his eye, I could have
easily mistaken Thirkers for the copper out of My Pink Half Of The
Drainpipe, but his shiny black steel toecapped coal man's boots gave him
away anyway.
Next to turn up was Caddy who for some reason had been at work since
five in the morning and then presumed that a train would get him to the
airport in good time. What do you expect from a lad born in Donny, home
of the Railway Kings, the St Leger and a panto horse called Flaxton Grey
(incidentally the only horse to have played at WorldNET). The new
apprentice, Sergeant Doherty turned up last carrying a bag which I'm
sure contained housebreaking tools in it. A small but select band hell
bent on enjoying the beauty that is Roma, the eternal city, home of the
Popes, lots of mad bastards on scooters, the town full of ruins (which
we were doomed to blend in with at closing time).
As is customary on these trips, Caddy made sure that panic set in
immediately by leaving his mobile at the security desk. Whilst we
enjoyed the first glass of the day he ran off back to get it and was
delighted to find that there were loads of them there, I only wish he
had blagged me one as I was bereft without mine. There were very few
Leeds fans on our flight, as usual Scone and Nit from Whitby were there
(I think Graham's missus pays them to spy on him actually). So ofski we
goski.
The flight was uneventful, we drank the bar dry, Scone and Nit cornered
the air hostessses up the back of the plane and I chatted up Denis
Findlay (who Gramp Sykes will remember played for the two Manchester
teams in the fifties - scored agin Leeds too!). Dennis was great company
unlike my scummy mates who made me sit on my own for some reason whilst
they talked endlessly about computers and their favourite hard disk file
allocation tables. Dennis kept drinking tonic water out of a large
plastic bottle, it was only when he swayed up the bog that I realised he
had gin in it too! At the end of the flight we exchanged cards and I'm
off to stay with him up his villa in Peruggia next Summer.
When we landed at Ancona we fled the airport for Castel Ferretti station
and the 4 hour train trip to Roma. The station has been turned into
someone's house so whilst Thirkers gave a kid sweeties, Caddy and the
Sarge went into some bushes together ( I think its an old RAF thing).
Those reading the list earlier will know that there had been some
discussion about the price of a train ticket between Ancona and Roma.
Caddy had printed out this thing that said it was £33 each way. We were
discussing this and Caddy noted that there didn't seem to be anyone
collecting tickets etc.. on the train. At that point the conductor
turned up sat down beside us and started to use complicated long
division, 3 times table and a card with a magic spell on it to work out
our fare. It was about threepence happenny each way for all of us. What
Caddy had was a print out that said £330,000. Funny isn't it how the
Eyeties have copied our pound sign for their Lire? You'd think they'd
get their own.
Once up Rome we tear arsed round to the Hotel, dropped our kit and hit
the town. Paul and I remembered our way towards the Spanish Steps, took
in a few closed bars first and finally landed in this place which was
run by Lazio fans who completed every sentence with the word
"Fantastico". As we ate our steaks the lad serving us polled up and
asked how it was, after all the "fantasticoing" Thirkers sort of grinned
and muttered "s'alright" in his usual nasty snarling Armley street
urchin way. From that point on we used Fantastico at every available
opportunity! We settled on some Grappa and then did the tourist thang
around the Steps, ending up in a trendy wine bar full of people with two
mobile phones, rubber faces and grey teeth. It was great, all the swish
Romanos supping gentile glasses of wine and us lot knecking bottled beer.
We headed back towards the Hotel at about midnight, which seemed to be a
sign for Thirkers to go beserk, he kept climbing orange trees and then
handing the fruit around (I dont think he had actually ever seen an
orange tree before, maybe kids in Armley think oranges are grown in the
soil like spuds, I'm not sure). Anyway some Roman type was going to get
up next day to find one splattered on the roof of his Postman Pat car.
Caddy found us a bar near the hotel which would serve us, which was good
cos the barmaids were wearing pelmets and there was a guy belting out a
tuna on the sax. The good thing was that the owner was a Milanese and he
was keen for us to go back after the match next day (be here for twelve
he said - Result!).
We hit San Pietro next day, bought Lal a Pope Snow thing for her
collection and then tried to find Al Edgar - we tasted the bus this time
which was bizarre - the queue were underwhelmed when we cheered because
it actually turned up. By the time we got to the Trevi Al had split so
we hit the Piazza Navonna for a leisurely luncheon (Thirkers excelled
himself with non fish and chips) and a stroll round the Christmas Market
in the piazza. The restaurant did have a small smattering of fans -
including a group who were clearly from the North Side of the River
judging by their accents and the ugliness of both the men and the women.
That daft twat dressed in Gold as an Egyptian type was still there.
Thirkers copped for some Pistachios and Olives which kept us going as we
half wandered half shopped our way up the Walkway back to the Trevi.
This was wierd where were all the Leeds fans?
After a hotel stop and checking out the trains back to Ancona (shit ten
to ten rather than ten to twelve because there was a general lack of
recepticle about the reliability of Italian trains - Railtrack you have
made us miss our sleep by loosing our trust in railway timetables!) we
took a tube to Piazza Poppoli because I wanted to have a drink in Franco
Zeppherelli's bar - something the other three Philistines couldn't
understand (funny though how they all wanted to be film buffs when the
Sarge kept asking "what film was this song in"). Needless to say we
ended up somewhere else and proceeded to watch the Parma 1850 Munich
debacle on TV. We headed out for the ground on the tram - which had
exactly no Lazio fans on it. We walked up to the ground from the tram
stop completely un hindered too. On the bridge over the river they were
selling ale quite freely. So what is it with the tossers in Milano then?
And don't tell me it's because some poor guy got stabbed, because the
shut down in Milano was organised days in advance. Give me Roma any day.
After a kerfuffle getting into the ground we were treated to an hour and
a half of bliss. A fairly even first twenty minutes developed into a
tussle that Leeds had clearly got their teeth into. Woodgate was
definitely a different player to last Saturday, DaCourt was a collossus,
Smith was up for it as was Viduka (in spite of us constantly shouting
You Fat Knacker at him). In the second half we just outshone them and it
was not a question of would we score but when. When we did it was a
peach. Kewell set it up to Viduka, Smith ran clear and picked up the
back heel and side footed it expertly into the onion bag. Lazio's
failings were in the second third of the pitch, they didn't hold the
ball up enought or ditribute it properly to their front men, who looked
dangerous when they actually did get the ball, but couldn't beat the
combined talents of Woody and Robbo.
At half time in the bog the general feeling was what had looked like a
chance to get one point before kick off was ours for the taking. This
was the best European football I have seen the team play. In the second
half they had the measure of Lazio, both in terms of skill and tactics.
The team's work rate was 100%. When they did score the thousand or so
Leeds fans just kept shouting "Yes Yes Yes" - the local police who used
a very light touch throughout took it in good part, even though a lot of
them were clearly Lazio fans. Half time saw a mass consumption of that
coffee liquer thing, I think this is what made us far noisier in the
second half, Give the 40,000 or so Lazianilos their due they did make a
noise, but only up to when we scored.
I've seen some of the reports from those of you who weren't privileged
to have been in the Stadio Olimpico last Tuesday, all I can say is that
we beat a team which could easily also have one this game. What won it
for us was the skill of Dacourt, Viduka and yes Smith combined with the
commitment of Bowyer, Woodgate and Robinson. The rest of the team were
part of it but those six for me were the ones who did the business for
us. The addition of Kewell alongside those six reminded me that we are
building a fine team, we've yet to see the best of Ferdinand and we will
soon have a much stronger squad when Bridges, Martyn and Batts return.
Batty will bring experience and the others will bring depth. However, as
I say it was a privilege to see the team playing on Tuesday.
This was a team that looked comfortable in Europe - a team that should
be playing there next season if it can only drag itself up from mid
table obscurity back into the top three where it belongs. Certainly one
of the best Leeds teams I've ever seen play in Europe. A great
performance which is done a disservice by the scoreline. I don't know
what it looked like in the Pack Horse, Rich, but my feeling after having
seen ITV's highlights is that they didn't do the lads justice and the
commentary there was pretty much 100% pro Leeds. Anderlecht should be
very worried. However I digress from my fireside chat...........
At the end of the game Risible was out straight away. The team came out
to play very quickly, they obviously like singing with the fans and the
press corps which followed them out was very bemused. Highlight was
Lucas singing his own song. He obviously loves it a great deal when we
sing it. Gary Kelly and Lee Bowyer are the ring leaders in all this,
making the others all have a go (including Rio who was taken aback by it
all I think - I bet the Hammers never did anything like that). Our chant
of "five gears and they are all reverse" got a laugh from the copper who
spoke great English, but a quick blast of Bandera Rossa showed which
party the majority of them supported!
Oh and what song did Bowyer sing? Well it was clear that it was what he
had tried to sing and failed in Milano - it was the WATC COE. He even
took his shirt off. The time passed by very quickly before we left
anyway - Leeds staff were on hand to make sure we got the use of the
toilets (thanks Alan Heggarty on behalf of a burstin' Cadd) and there
was no hassle once out of the ground. We dodged the flares to catch the
last bus from the stadium into town and it was the best thing cos it
dropped us right outside the jazz bar at ten past midnight! But not
before Al Edgar had checked that we all knew exactly how tall Robbie
Fowler is. Al even had a blow up Robbie in his handbag to prove it. The
beer flowed in the bar and we were generally well behaved. We took a
carry out back to the hotel and woke up the only other guest (which was
nice) and then hit the sack to dream about that goal.
Next day we had to head for the station - meet next to the cafe we said,
so Thirkers went for cheese the Sarge enjoyed girly (oops sorry racing
car) calendars and I paniced when they didn't turn up. I had the tickets
so I said to Pete, "Stuff 'em, they can walk". Sure enough they had
already found the train and were desperately looking out for us. I
thrive on hassle me. The train was a hoot, the AC was on full making it
feel like a chest freezer and we only had one can of beer between us. A
quick wazz resulted in me finding an old dear's hand bag and then me and
Thirkers being applauded by a whole carriage full of ancient Italian
women when we found the owner - Bravo Inghilesi they bellowed before
Graham and I snogged each one individually - "no tongues like, but quite
a few of 'em grabbed our wedding tackle" as Thirkers will no doubt say
every time he recounts (embellishes) the story for his assembled great
grand children in years to come.
When we hit Ancona we bumbled about until we found a bus into Il Centro
- a bus populated mainly by slavering old men with strange sticking
plaster on the backs of their heads. We had a wander round a couple of
dozen fish markets before we found a restaurant inhabited by the world's
most beautiful waitresses (also afficionados of the pelmet as it
happened). This was the best food we had in Italy and it cost bugger
all. Lovely Taghliatelle, Lasagne and Gnocci. The Sarge had a massive
ice cream - which we let pass as he is only an apprentice - and off we
stumbled back to the Railway station for our bags. I was burstin so I
went in search of the bogs. they were a delight - a Workers Co-operative
runs them and I had a great chat with the two old Communists who man the
desk - I was so pleased that my 30p was going to them rather than
Gardner Merchant or some French PLC. Superloos run by workers - living
proof of the efficacy of the Labour Movement and workers control.
Our flight back was predicated by a trip with Fangio on the Manche
equivalent of Death Race Two Thousand. At the airport Thirkers pestered
everybody silly trying to get a bin liner to hide his cheese in which
was mingin'. He even hassled a guy who he thought was a porter, but in
fact worked for New Holland and was travelling with seven Japanese
businessmen. Oh how we laughed. On the flight back we sat next to Peter
Ridsdale who had transmogrified into a Teeside businessman - he loved it
when Caddy called him a child abuser (just where are Verner and Adie
when you need 'em?). Caddy's indescretion was all his missus' fault
anyway because she had told him not to get pissed on the plane - so I
suppose that accounted for all the ale, the shorts and the coffee
liquer.............
Anyway I'm home again now, I've got my phone back and the world is
mostly alright. That's the end of this year's Euro Romp, Anderlecht and
Madreeed all beckon. If you haven't done it already I advise you to try
it, if you have you'll know what I mean when I say its the best sort of
football. Now did I ever tell you about the time Thirkhill and Brown
messed me about with a lift in Barcelona..............................
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PETE CASS (1962 - 2011) Rest In Peace Mate
