Good stuff that Gav Quite a few memories for me including the Brunswick and Bass beer.
On 6 Oct 2013, at 12:02, Nigel Barber <[email protected]> wrote: > Thanks Gav. That brought a few happy memories back. Bus windows are tough. > > > Nigel. > > > On 5 October 2013 23:40, Gav Burnage <[email protected]> wrote: > >> MATCH OF THE AWAYDAY >> Derby County 2 - 2 Leeds United >> Pride Park, Derby, 31st October 1998 >> >> Get up. It's raining, goes on raining. Bike it to the station, and my legs >> get wet. >> >> On the train, two nice old dears reminisce about their husbands' lovely >> college rooms. >> Outside, the East Anglian fields are draped in sheets of water. >> >> Change at Leicester, with time for a walk. The town is busy, and full of >> Army & Navy Stores; defensively, some women peer out from black linen >> letter boxes. >> >> Change at Nottingham. On the platform opposite a baby howls in desperation; >> a man ignores it, goes on ignoring it. Is this what evolution's for? A >> corned beef sandwich and a large tea please: they are smiled to me >> dutifully by Kerry, whose name badge I have plenty of time to memorize, and >> who is being gracious under the pressures of working the station tea room >> alone with some awkward Saturday customers. >> >> Arrive at Derby. Buses wait to whisk away fans straight to the ground. I go >> to the Brunswick. The usual clump has gathered round a piano, in a >> difficult-to-find upstairs corner, warming up with the usual brew of beer, >> and gossip, jokes and laughter. >> >> Nige's “5 minutes’ walk to the ground” turns out to be another joke, one >> that takes twenty minutes to tell at the rate we go. Inside, “We're at the >> front, we'll be on Match of the Day”, I say. Dorigo's playing for them, but >> gets a great reception from us (don't we always love the team that won us >> the title?) Early on, Rob Molenaar splats someone flat to give away a >> penalty and a goal, but later head-rockets one in at the right end to make >> amends, this highly emotional kind of one-two being a familiar trick of >> his. Harry Kewell scores a neat one from the edge of the box, but it took a >> deflection — only, as they say, it was a Slight one rather than the >> outright theft of a much more juicy Wicked one. Anyway: Joy. Stephen >> McPhail is pleased as punching the air right in front of us. We jump at the >> goal and love the high spirits bursting out in our young team. >> >> At half-time we cheer and boo the latest scores, and I laugh for the bloke >> who, head in despairing hands, is sitting plum next to the Happy Bloke from >> London who, childlike, just loves tapping that toy Leeds drum of his, >> non-stop and all the time, framing the perfect Match of the Day half-time >> crowd shot. >> >> First half good, second half bad. Lucas Radebe goes off on a canvas >> stretcher, torn between the pain in his leg and the loud reception he gets >> from us: he grimaces and applauds back, and, right in front of us, looks >> humbled by the support, deafened by the volume of his own name. >> >> We miss Lucas. They equalize. More pressure. We hang on for 2-2. >> >> Buses wait to whisk away fans straight to the station. Me, Dave and Niggy >> think this time we might as well, but, on the back seat and too late, the >> Munich ‘58 song tells us we're on the wrong one. A blue-jumpered, >> England-badged, no-haired guy shouts at everything and everyone, bangs the >> window. Outside his targets bite, bang back. Inside again someone else >> grabs out the window for a hat. Like Derby shirts, the sudden madness going >> on is black and white, and our more colourful shades are grimly greyed out. >> The world is rapidly rewinding back to front. Boots aim at the window. >> Normal songs sung now sound sinister, evil. “We're Yorkshire's Republican >> Army, we're barmy”. The window buckles and bends. The nicked hat is stuffed >> down the nicker's crotch, and brandished out and up like a trophy. At the >> front, a girl grins knowingly at No-Hair. He rants some more, drunk on iced >> hate, boot at the window again. We expect it to give, and blood and glass >> to fly. >> >> “You're a disgrace to the good name of Leeds United,” No-Hair tells us. >> >> The bus speeds off for the station. The long way round. What can you >> usefully say back to something like this, I wonder. Jesus Loves You. Is >> this what evolution's for? >> >> The station — police and safety. Nutters and lunatics scramble first. Then >> we thank the driver; he doesn't believe us. The pubs are shut, but we >> wander to an empty hotel bar, and sink an edgy pint in safety, and let >> normal service resume. “I was frightened”, says Niggy. I was too, but >> blokily blather about fight or flight. More pints, sunk slower; it's Bass, >> the Fruit of the Trent, and we sniff to see if (as Sarah puts it) “It >> smells like wet dogs.” We talk of football nutters in Halloween movies and >> what happens to bodies left to medical science. >> >> Back to the station. We pass up the chance for food; “There's a chip shop >> at home with me name on it.” >> >> More trains, more banter; everyone is a fan. Next to us there's Darren the >> Derby fan, down as usual from Boro with the kids and a pack of Derby mates. >> A nearby Sheffield Wednesday season ticket holder lends us his Sports Green >> for the full-times, and says today proves what a w*nker Danny Wilson really >> is. Some others sing “Stand up if you love the Leeds”. A Brummie fan moans >> about their ref. >> >> Darren from Boro gets his specs out and looks down his nose at this letter >> he's got from Derby County, telling him off. >> >> “It was this Man U fan in our end – he jumped up when they equalised and >> waved his arms about. I thought it's just like last year all over again. It >> was the red mist, I don't normally, but he was goading us like mad. I went >> down and just slapped him. Wasn't a real punch.” >> >> “Yeah well it says here you've a choice — relocate to another stand or hand >> the season ticket over. Hit a Man U fan with glasses, would you? Lucky that >> steward said he provoked you.” >> >> The jokes, moans and stories flow on. There was this luxury holiday >> timeshare in Lanzarote, all mod cons and well-appointed, brand-new and >> brochure-perfect. “We'll be off for a swim in our pool,” promised Darren. >> When they arrived the kids got on their trunks and inflatables, took a >> quick scan round for the absent pool, then said “Dad, get digging”. >> >> Finally something twigs Darren on to the fact he's been confiding in Leeds >> fans for the past half-hour, and he groans comically. “Dad, get digging,” >> say the kids at every available opportunity. The other Leeds sing “Stand up >> if you hate Man U”, and one feels obliged to keep standing till Sheffield — >> so fundamentalist all he's missing is the black linen pillar box to pout >> out from. >> >> At Sheffield it's Cheers all round, and See you next week to Niggy and >> Dave, and on to Doncaster, alone. It's the end of October, but Christmas >> comes early to Donny. The night is cold, hard, but bright, as the walk from >> station to shopping centre reveals the town is decked out with real stars >> above and plenty of electric tinsel ones below, well in advance. The >> subways shelter a few folk with sleeping bags imagining passers-by who come >> along bearing gifts. Saturday night's starting up, and the gangs are >> roaming: girls in long legs and short skirts, blokes in shirt sleeves, >> tails and tongues hanging out. >> >> Hunger alters my plans; my name changes to MacDonald, and I eat a Big Mac. >> Two drunk old blokes fumble the cash for one, too; three times they ask if >> there's mustard on it, eat half, then drop it on the floor, cursing some >> more. Back outside the dance music blares, the tinsel town pounds. >> >> The next train, the London train, is from Aberdeen or something, so so what >> if it's a few minutes late. Smooth, erudite students from America say Paul >> Simon is awesome. We are sorry the buffet can't serve hot drinks due to a >> mechanical failure, but the microwave is still working. >> >> Peterborough. The South. It's raining. Stevenage. It goes on raining. I get >> out. Fireworks are going off for some reason, but straight into the clouds, >> so it's the neon shop signs and Tesco's car park that lighten the dampness. >> >> From the footbridge I can see down into a subterranean art gallery where >> people are viewing carefully tended works oblivious to the watery world >> above. In the station there’s another room waiting, people inside glazing >> outside at the blank, endless wet. >> >> On the platform a man carefully picks out a speck from the corner of his >> girlfriend's eye, then holds her waist contentedly as the patient rain >> drips about them. They dive into their train entangled. Evolution's back on >> track. >> >> The last leg at last, quietly back to Cambridge. A middle-aged, grey-haired >> man sits reading a large, old, red dictionary. >> >> I bike it home, my legs get wet. >> >> Des Lynam shuns us on the telly; they only show the goals, filmed, what's >> worse, from behind us, so our moment of glory is gone for another week, but >> there's a great shot of Lucas looking all pained and grateful. “Let's hope >> we'll meet again on Tuesday for Leeds against Roma,” says Des at the end, >> but his closing headline omits a soundbite caution against the bus ride. >> >> I go to bed, flick off the light. >> >> They miss out so much on Match of the Day, I reflect. >> >> I dream of my wife-and-children-to-be, and Leeds United. >> >> >> (c) and all that Gav Burnage >> _______________________________________________ >> Leedslist mailing list >> Info and options: >> http://mailman.greennet.org.uk/mailman/listinfo/leedslist >> To unsubscribe, email [email protected] >> >> MARCHING ON TOGETHER > > > > -- > vectoria.co.uk > concentrichron.com > -- > > Mindbrix -- Dream it, draw it, build it, love it > > 69 Derby Street > Beeston > Nottingham > NG9 2LG > > +44 7905 311 352 > [email protected] > www.mindbrix.co.uk > Skype: ntbarber > twitter.com/mindbrix > _______________________________________________ > Leedslist mailing list > Info and options: http://mailman.greennet.org.uk/mailman/listinfo/leedslist > To unsubscribe, email [email protected] > > MARCHING ON TOGETHER _______________________________________________ Leedslist mailing list Info and options: http://mailman.greennet.org.uk/mailman/listinfo/leedslist To unsubscribe, email [email protected] MARCHING ON TOGETHER
