Читать книгу By George - Hilarious Tales from England's Most Fanatical Football Supporters - David Stanfield - Страница 9
ОглавлениеWe arrived in Nuremberg at about 6 pm. We followed the signs to the stadium and there was a campsite right next to it. The thing was, how would we get the two vans into the campsite? I had a plan. The lads parked just out of view of the camp hut by the barrier gate. I went into the office dressed as St. George and all three of the staff smiled and told me I had been on German telly and in the papers.
They all wanted photos with me, and as I was posing with them, a car trying to get out beeped his horn. The manager pressed a button on his desk and the barrier lifted. The car drove off and the manager went to press the barrier button again. I quickly grabbed his arm and shouted, ‘Come on, my friend – one more photo!’ I turned him away from the view of the window as the roar of two engines whizzed through the perimeter. The manager tried see who it was, but I gripped him round the neck and said, ‘Smile!’
I left the office and went to find the lads. The campsite was based in the middle of a forest and only 400 yards from the stadium – it was perfect and it was free. I found the lads and they were beaming from ear to ear. ‘Never mind the “Great Escape”, we’ve just done the “Great Entry”,’ I said.
The following morning, we found out there was a game of cricket arranged – England versus the Trinidad and Tobago fans at a local park. We hadn’t been invited to play in the cricket match, but agreed among ourselves to ‘George-crash’ it and take over. We were leaving the campsite when a Hummer limo with different England decals on it pulled up. Everyone was round it like flies to shit. ‘Take no notice, lads – he’ll never outdo the Georges,’ I said, but before I’d finished my words, the lads were off to talk to the driver and have a look inside.
The driver and owner of the limo told us his name was ‘Dex’ and that a load of lads from England had hired his limo for the World Cup. I said, ‘You’re getting paid and you get to see the World Cup? Not a bad life if you can get it.’ ‘Not only that, I drive the guys around in the day and have the evenings off,’ Dex replied. We dragged Steve and Paul away from the limo and went to the cricket match, knowing we would shortly be the centre of attention once more.
We arrived at the park where the cricket match was being held, strode up to organisers and said, ‘Alright boys, we’re here ready to play!’ One organiser said, ‘No, mate, you’re alright – we’ve got enough.’ What we didn’t know was that Mark ‘Chappers’ Chapman from Radio 1 had been asked to captain the team. He stepped forward and said, ‘Oh yes, the press will love it – can you play in the suits?’ ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Then you three are in the team!’ said Chappers.
By the time the match was about to start there were hundreds of people there, mostly English who had come to see England beat the West Indies at cricket. I just hoped we wouldn’t let them down. Before we started we gave a live interview for ITV, and I mentioned that we’d written a song for the match. The reporter asked us to sing it live, and Paul and Dave looked horrified – it was a song I’d made up and they barely knew the words. We gave it a go anyway and sang my new song, which ended with the line, ‘And then we’ll do the Crouch Robot!’ followed by the three of us doing the infamous Peter Crouch goal celebration. Everyone was wetting themselves, and even the interviewer was laughing as he handed back to the studio.
We lined up and sang the national anthems and the Mayor of Nuremberg, who was the guest of honour, was introduced to all the players. When he got to me he smiled and said, ‘Very nice outfit – a crusader, I think? And what do you think of our city?’ ‘We absolutely love your city – you should be very proud of Kronenbourg! It’s fantastic.’ Oh no – I’d praised his city but I’d called it by the name of the drink I’d been getting wasted on every day! I waited for a response, but the mayor just looked bemused and carried on.
All the English lads in the starting eleven, huddled together with a camera man in there as well, as I delivered my team speech to build morale, which ended in a chorus of, ‘IT’S COMING HOME, IT’S COMING, CRICKET’S COMING HOME!’
England fielded first and eventually got the Trinidad and Tobago team out for 85. The England captain Chappers was delighted and said, ‘We’ve got some good batsmen – we can do this no problem.’ He then left as he had another radio thing to do, so the event organiser took over as captain and put us three at the bottom of the order. By the time Dave went to bat, England were 75 for 7. The captain said to Dave, ‘Right, just try to get the other guy the strike and let him win the game for us. Just don’t get out.’ Easy enough instructions, we all thought. The bowler unleashed his first delivery, Dave let fly with the bat, and the ball was caught by a fielder near the boundary. He was out, and I was next in to bat. Surely the script was written that I would help England to victory.
‘Take your cape off – it’ll get in the way,’ Dave said. I ignored him. As I stood at the crease all I could think was, ‘Stan, there’s hundreds of people watching, the world’s cameras are watching. It’s your chance to be a hero.’
As the ball reached me I swung my bat and completely missed the ball…and then my cape swung round and took the bails off. I couldn’t believe it – what a fucking disaster. I was out C.B.W (Cape Before Wicket).
As I trudged off, Paul was walking towards me. He stopped when I reached him and said, ‘Right…if I hit the ball, what do I do?’ Jesus, he really didn’t know how to play. I told him, ‘If you hit it just start running and don’t stop, like Forrest Gump.’ Ten behind and two Georges out in two balls…now Paul, George the Second, stepped up to bat to save the day. The bowler rushed in and delivered, Paul swung the bat and hit the ball, not high but hard and low. The other batsman was screaming at him to run – there were a good two runs to be had. With all the England fans screaming, ‘RUN!’ off Paul went. They were safely in for one and turned around for an easy two. Quality – Paul had done it, he’d got two runs on the board, saved the embarrassment of the Georges, and got the main batsman on strike. Or so we thought.
As Paul touched his bat on the crease for two, he then carried on running back for a third. When I’d told him to run and not stop if he managed to hit the ball, he had taken me literally. The fielder, who was almost walking back with the ball, lobbed it to the bowler, who knocked the bails off and ran Paul out. Everyone looked on in horror; had he really just done what we thought he had? Oh yes he had.
After the game the media wanted footage of us three with the T&T players, as we stood there posing for the cameras, we heard loud music and a car beeping behind us. We looked round it was that guy Dex driving across the pitch in his limo. The media people immediately dumped us and went over to Dex to film him and his motor. What a bastard, stealing our thunder! We went over to where he’d parked, right in the middle of the cricket pitch. Dex said, ‘Those outfits are great – I could get you lot to help advertise my cars for the Euros.’ The cheeky fucker, wanting us to help him and his business!
When we arrived back at the camper, there was a cooler box filled with beer plugged in to our electric point. We thought it was a welcome pack or something, so we all opened a can up and started drinking. Dave got cracking with the barbecue and then these Manchester City fans came over and said, ‘All right boys, hope you don’t mind – we plugged our cooler box into your point. We’re in the tents next to you.’ I stood up and said, ‘Sorry, mate – we thought they were a welcome hamper and we’ve nicked a few, but don’t worry, we’ve got loads in the van so help yourselves.’ Steve mumbled something about giving stuff away. I said, ‘Take no notice of Mr Angry, he’s as tight as fuck,’ at which they just laughed.
That night in Nuremberg, we drank in the bars near the red light area, where there were blocks of flats with girls in each room. We left the bar and went to have a look around one of them. There were lots of dodgy, seedy, dirty old men wandering around on the ground floor, so Dave fitted in perfectly. We didn’t stay for long and once again hit the bars. It was about 4am when we got back to the site to find a few of the City boys still up.
An hour later, after listening to a hilarious CD of Manchester City football songs, and playing the Scotland World Cup song ‘We Have A Dream’ as loud as we could to screams all around the campsite of ‘TURN THAT FUCKING SHIT OFF!’ we were joined by a couple of lads from Barnsley. We all sat around the fire, and one of the Barnsley lads asked, ‘Where’d you get the wood from?’ We all looked him in disbelief. I said, ‘Where did we get the wood from? We’re in the middle of the Black Forest. Where the fuck do you think we got the wood from?’ The Barnsley lad said, ‘Oh,’ and then followed that gem up with, ‘What about this weather? It’s like being abroad.’ This geezer truly was the thickest bloke I’d ever met, and I’d met a few.
I had to respond to his last comment and said, ‘Fuck me…I thought I was abroad. I’m sure that was the English Channel I crossed to get here, but maybe not. It must have been the River Thames and I must be somewhere in the South of England. All this time I thought I was in Germany!’ All the lads were wetting themselves, except these two from Barnsley who just looked totally blank.
It was about 6am and there was just me and two City lads left. One called Danny said, ‘Here, Stan, have you got any food in your van? I’m starving.’ I replied, ‘Yeah, do you want a ham sandwich?’ He did. I went into the camper and started making a sandwich for him.
‘Giving our stuff away again, are we?’ Steve said. ‘The man’s hungry and he wants a sandwich, fucking hell Steve it’s only a sandwich,’ I answered sternly. But he wouldn’t let it go and said, ‘Well he ain’t paid for it, has he, so why should he have any of our stuff?’ I lost it at this point. ‘Right,’ I said, and put my hand in my pocket. I pulled out a load of coins and threw the lot at Steve. ‘Here’s your fucking money, you tight cunt!’ ‘No, I didn’t mean…’ he said but I cut him short and said, ‘This whole fucking trip you’ve been a miserable bastard, you’d think you’d paid for everything and you’re that tight you won’t give fuck all away.’ Dave told us both to calm down. I finished making the sandwich for Danny and slammed the door as I went outside to drink until I passed out in my deckchair.
