another perfectly good motorcycle ruined.......

Saturday, 10 March 2012

well, what do you know, it's saturday and it's football, bit of a novelty this one, first home game on a saturday afternoon, three o'clock kick off since early january, call me old fashioned but 1500hrs saturday and 1945 hours wednesday should be football, not fitting in with sky tv's agenda, yes, i know, sky put a lot of money in, but so what?, it's all relative, my season ticket isn't cheap, i shell out a lot of hard-earned to watch mediocre second division football, because, again, it doesn't matter how you dress it up as 'championship', it's division two, times change, they had to after bradford and heysel and the awful afternoon at hillsborough, you can't see your loved one's off to football and never see them alive again, the 'english disease' had spread out of control, no longer was it about stealing scarves or taking end's, the whole game had spiralled out of control, the hooligan's were more organised, outwitting the old bill and roaming this sceptered isle unchecked and even worse, europe, violence, beamed directly into mr and mrs joe public's home, the majority of the grounds were relic's from a bygone age, no segregation, terracing and crush barriers, not even proper toilets, people pissed where they stood, the grounds packed to capacity, you couldn't move until the final whistle, it's a saturday, people are having a beer, the whole atmosphere was one of violence and intimidation, i remember travelling to away games in the '70's by intercity trains or the infamous 'football specials', we were treated like cattle, herded onto out-dated rolling stock, no lightbulbs, broken toilets, ripped seats, beer cans and vodka bottles rolling up and down the aisles, we were like an invading army, you always had that sense of trepidation as you pulled into a faraway station, the whole train would go quiet as we approached the platform, then, as one, a whole cacophony as to a man we let them know 'we are derby, we are derby...' mounted police, dog's and missiles from the opposition greeted you on arrival, thing's had to change and they did, mr's thatcher's government brought in draconian laws aimed at suppressing the football fan, cages built around the terracing to prevent pitch invasions came back to haunt the game at bradford and hillsborough, even travelling to a match became difficult, lesson's learnt in the miner's strike were used to harrass the football fan, all seater stadiums became the order of the day, mascots and the emphasis on 'family' entertainment, football was taken away from the working classes, we were not welcome anymore, then, money came into the game, it started to be run by business men, my own club was one of the first, we were taken over by the newspaper magnate, robert maxwell, [who met a rather unfortunate end falling off his private yacht, excuse me, i've come over all emotional-not], sky sports entered the fray, no longer was the game saturdays and wednesdays as the fixtures were juggled to suit tv ratings, with the tv money came the high player wages that have seen the game reduced to it's knee's, club's in insolvency, rich, greedy journeymen football players driving bentley's and bitching and moaning about 'it being a short career', save your tear's you wanker's, i don't want to see you kissing the badge, you don't know what it means to support your team like we do so don't fucking insult us, you would be off in a flash if some other club promised you another two hundred and fifty thousand pound's a year more, yeah, things had to change, but you know what? not alway's for the best, i'm going to stick my neck out here, i miss the old day's, the crack, the banter, the lad's out on a saturday, you didn't take your missus to football, you didn't clap the mascot's or take pictures of the players cars in the stadium carpark, you went to football with your mate's, had a beer, it was war, walking down shaftesbury street, the terraced houses with boarded up windows, the smell of hot metal and sand from ley's foundry, the aroma of cheap hotdogs and fried onions, beery breath and swearing, baiting the opposition and dodging the nut's and bolt's, [i kid you not], i'm a dinosaur me, football's sterile and corporate, we got beat two-one today, but, we've got forest at home on tuesday, our hated local rival's, 'if your tired and weary.....'

1 comment:

  1. Lovey . . . fucking impressive, informative and bloody edgy stuff mate, one of your best yet !! Love it when you've got your dander well and truly up !!! Going back to re-read it now . . . btw, massive post on Adam's Apples, once again, well and truly enlightened man, thanks mate . . . "you are, you are, you are the man"