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Germany 2006 Episode 5
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World Cup 2006 - Dortmund |
Dortmund is an industrial town and boasts one of Germany's best supported football clubs, Borussia Dortmund. With a capacity of 83,600 of which 25,000 are standing - this club certainly packs them in for home games. Their average crowd for home games suggests that the appetite for football is very high - in 2003/4: 81,800, 2004/5:80,600, 2005/6: 79,300 (all stats courtesy of R. Gronwald Esquire).
Average entry price for standing is €18 and €40 for seats. But Dortmund is bizarrely carrying a huge debt of €80 Million. So there does seem to be two key differences between German and English football. Germans are still allowed to stand up at matches and admission prices are considerably cheaper than in England, especially if you choose to stand.
What seems to be common ground is that they carry debt as well as we do. Don't you sometimes hanker for the old days of standing and admission prices that were within most people's reach?
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Sybil, Ralf and new entry to the family Gronwald, Philipp |
We got to Ralf's place safe and sound, courtesy of our friend TomTom and were welcomed with open arms. Ralf is a very laid-back guy, and you would not have known that his wife had just given birth to their second son, Philipp, two days before.
Sybil and Philipp were due home that day and the in-laws were in situ and prepared. Ralf's brother in law, Peter, was coming to the match as well and his son, Denis, had been chosen as a ballboy for the game as a result of him winning a radio competition, so much excitement in die familen Gronwald!
Peter was not drinking, which was handy, so we drove into Downtown Dortmund to catch the Italy vs Czech game on the big screen in the Peace Platz, bang in the centre of town. There is a red carpet which starts at the Dortmund stadium and runs all the way into town, which is a really neat touch. In fact of the four grounds we have visited so far, the Dortmund stadium is the only one close to the heart of the city, perhaps reflecting the bond between Dortmunders and their football team. This seemed to be a city obsessed with football and today, obsessed with Brazil. I have never seen so many non-Brazilians in Brazilian shirts!
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'Ere, don't I know you from somewhere? Japan 2002? |
Ralf informed me that the Germans respect Brazil so much that they are almost their second team. This apparently goes back to the 1982 World Cup in Spain, where 24 teams competed in 6 groups of 4. Round two was a bizzarre round robin scenario where 4 groups of 3 contested semifinal places (if you recall, England went into a group with Spain and West Germany and drew both games nil nil, thus going out of the World Cup on goal difference without losing a game).
Italy, Brazil and Argentina were pitted together in one group and Brazil played a classic game against Italy - losing 3-2 with all the Italian goals being scored by Paolo Rossi, of Juventus, who had been indicted - he may even have been imprisoned - for match fixing. And they say times have changed. Evidently the likes of Zico, Socrates and Aliemao had inspired a whole raft of young Germans and there has been an affiliation with Brazil ever since. Mind you, it seems everywhere you go, Brazil are everyone's second team! Maybe it is their flair and style or maybe they win most of the time and people like to be associated with winners? Anyway, the Germans, Peter, Ralf and their friend Olaf included, particularly enjoyed bedecking themselves in canary yellow, light blue and green and more power to them.
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Kirsty, Andy, Ralf, Peter & Olaf - the boys from Brazil (apart from me) |
Kirst decided she needed a newbag on the way so we missed the start of the game, but it was obvious in double quick time that without any fit strikers (Baros has been injured all tournament so must have been wheeled out as a dire last resort) the Czech Republic were always going to be on the back foot. With Nesta going off injured, I momentarily feared the worst, but the Toffee legend that was and is Marco Matterazzi rose like a salmon to head the Azzurri one ahead and, as we know with Italy, if they get in front they are unlikely to yield the game easily. Pavel Nedved showed some decent touches, but the Czechs were toothless and I still remain absolutely mystified as to how Karel Poborski gets a cap everytime I see him play. I reckon that is it now for the Czech team, they have failed to really impress and go on in championships.
For their sake I hope that they do not go the way of other great Eastern European teams such as Romania, Bulgaria, Russia and Hungary. These teams lack the discipline needed to be winners. When the Czech got sent off before half time, you just knew that there was no way back. You would never catch a German player lacking such discipline. It is probably why the Germans have competed in more World Cup finals than anyone else. Italy run out easy 2-0 winners and meanwhile Ghana beat the Americans 2-1 and thus fly the lone flag for Africa in the last 16.
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Picking up fashion tips from the Japanese fans |
We moved between bars to watch the football, meeting a couple from San Francisco - Carlos and Isabel - who were in town to support Brazil.
They did not seem too fussed that the USA were going home, then again I thought I heard them say they were Mexicans. Confused? I was.
We tried to get tickets off the touts but after playing a game of cat and mouse, the cats won and my offer of 300 Euros for two tickets did not get a bite so we stayed outside and watched the game in a couple of bars near the ground. There were thousands of Japanese; at least 50% of the supporters are women and many travelling to the games in twos. This reminded me all over again of Japan four years ago. I am sure football is viewed as both sport and rock 'n' roll. The support for the Japanese team swings between an eager roar to hyperbolic squeals. Bless 'em all though, you could never wish to meet a gentler and more polite bunch of people than the Japanese.
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Not everyone is successful when auditioning for The Water Margin |
So all the Germans and Kirsty are dressed as Brazilians, and the Japanese were bedecked in their blue and white kits, Ralf kindly bought me a Borussia Dortmund floppy hat which I was sporting with pride, and who should show up, but loads of kilted Scots... it turns out that there is an affiliation between Dortmund and Celtic and I reckon there must be a load of squaddies stationed in the area, because I reckon I spotted 50 assorted Scotland shirts. The bar where we watched the second half was playing 'Ally's Army' and 'I had a dream', plus a medley of well-known Jock 'n' Roll pipe numbers. So we had all sorts! Oh yes, and the Brazilian girls we met in a bar were barely dressed; again, there are pics to prove it - if we can ever find a way of e-mailing them back home!
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Half a metre of bratwurst all round |
We met a lad from Bolton in the bar - nice lad, a little wet behind the ears, but a thoroughly good bloke, who was out for the football and the experience. Summed up what a true England supporter should be in my mind.
We waited for Denis, who was thoroughly made up given he had thrown the ball back to Ronaldinho and had enough new Adidas kit for about three football matches back to back, swarfed a few more beers whilst the police got round to opening the road up and, courtesy of Peter, drove swiftly back to Ralf's. Across the airwaves the unmistakable opening chords of AC/DC's 'Hell's Bells' crashed out and memories of our night in France once more came back to me!
Saturday 24th June (Kirsty)
Brazilian or Hollywood?
There's been a bit of a gap in updates due to the usual hectic schedule of football, laughing and drinking.
Sick Boy was feeling better in the morning and we decided on a last minute change of plan and headed to Dortmund to visit Ralf and join the Samba street party that follows the Brazilians around. It was always on the itinerary to visit Ralf, however his wife Sybil had given birth early and was coming home from hospital the day of Brazil vs Japan so we naturally assumed that Ralf would have to stay home. However Sybil was amazingly understanding and didn't seem to mind a couple of English fans sat in her living room when she brought the new baby home and Ralf stayed long enough for a photo with his brand spanking new son Philipp and then we hit the town... ”After all,” he said “this IS the World Cup!”
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Three from Brasil |
Dortmund was well organised and the fan site in the centre had a great atmosphere; there were Brazilian colours everywhere and Peter very kindly presented me with a Brazil shirt so I joined the yellow and green masses.
The security at the fan site was tight and everyone was thoroughly searched by the able security team, all wearing their bomber jackets with 'Knob Lich Security' (insert your own Sid James cackle here). It really doesn't matter how old I get, I always seem to retain a schoolboy sense of humour (I still find flatulence funny too!).
We mingled with the crowds and amazingly Andy spotted Parksy and Trevor making their way to the stadium... how does that happen amongst thousands and thousands of people? We also sampled the speciality of Bratwurst, though what Ralf didn't tell us until he'd ordered them is that we were each having a half metre of Bratwurst. Delicious it was too...all 50 centimetres of it.
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Before the game |
By the way, we watched the Argentinian game the night before, though Andy seems to always want to call Argentina 'The Argentine'. As Millar pointed out, he'll be referring to Ceylon and Constantinople next. Anyway, I couldn't watch the game in peace as everytime a certain Argentinian player went near the ball (you know the one with no neck) then Andy venomously spat "Snivelling greasy little pig". Now he's not zenophobic or 'owt but he's taken a proper dislike to that particular 'Argentine'.
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Spot the one with the biggest tits |
My observations from the game concentrated on hairdos (that will make some of you whingers and moaners happy - you know who you are, though I'd like to point out that just because you're in possession of a pair of testiclops it doesn't make you a leading expert on sport!)
Anyway, I noticed that the Argentinian team either have copious amounts of unusual hair or none at all. It went from the Hair Bear Bunch to a Bobby Charlton comb-over with absolutely nothing in between. A good game of football though... when I wasn't being distracted by bizarre barnets and porcine insults.
So Dortmund was jumping to a Samba beat and after various negotiations with touts, right in front of the police who didn't seem to mind, the best offer was a pair of tickets for 350 euros... 20 minutes after kick off - ridiculous!We retired to a bar full of Brazilians with drums and the women were wearing the smallest amount of clothes without getting arrested for indecency.
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It feels like we're in Trumpton |
The outfits consisted of two small coin-sized pieces of material over the chest area, a G-string and an enormous great head-dress. I obviously had to thrust Andy into the middle of them for a photo opportunity and when Ralf, Peter and Denis turned up they had to make do with just photographic evidence as the girls had moved on - followed by hordes of salivating men.
They were playing a footy song medley in the bar and it's quite strange to see every nationality, whoever they support, all singing "three lions on the shirt" - everyone just loves that song.
However, my absolute favourite was a little reggae number that went “We're German German German German and we hope you like Germans too”. (To watch the YouTube video, click here) I rushed straight over to inform Andy that they were playing a hilarious cover of the 'Mob Barley' classic - a week with Betty Ford beckons.
Saturday 24th June (Andy)
Deutschland Uber Alles
Heading into Stutgart and you would think Germany are playing here, such is the frenzy of the local support. The Germans play the Swedes in an hour and I reckon that the fan power alone will sweep the Swedes aside. 2-0 Germany...
Full reports to follow.
Sunday 25th June (Kirsty)
Liverpool upon Rheine
After a lovely breakfast with the Gronwalds we hit the road and head for Stuttgart which, looking at the map, appears to be about six hours away, which means seven hours in 'Chez Payne'. I've offered to do the driving as I jibbed out the other day and slept while Andy drove.
We're heading for an out of the way campsite near a place called Pforzheim, it was the only place I could find though it looks good on paper and, despite being about 50k outside Stuttgart, we've been told we can get a train in easily.
After a long drive (though thankfully not as long as we were expecting) we park up in our allotted space on the campsite and head towards the pool bar for a spot of refreshment. Andy notices a table of sun pink hued gentlemen inudulging in a game of Texas Hold 'em with proper gambling chips and everything. On closer inspection and on hearing those dulcet scouse tones we discover Patto, Millar, Robert and Gary, now called the 'Brothers Grimsby' due to the fact that it took them three hours to get past Grimsby on the way.
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Patto & The Magic Millars - TomTom Bob, Sport Billy, Popeye & Patto |
Andy had already called Patto todetermine where they were staying but Patto wasn't exactly sure... lo and behold, here they are, two camper vans down from us - it's like finding Merseyside nestled in the Black Forest.
If you've been reading these reports it won't come as any surprise to you that we were now nicely set up for the day in the sunshine by the pool in a place that serves beer - much banter and hilarity flowed.
Everyone was given a nickname - Poker-faced Patto, Popeye Paul due to his hat which subsequently has been removed by the other 'Brothers Grimsby' (it was embarrassing them apparently), Sport Billy (he didn't like Goose Green Gary) and Tom Tom Bob because he was the navigator, though according to all sources, was often on the blink.
Then the whole Argentina or The Argentine debate continued and the analogy was Kirstina or The Kirstyne which conveniently provided my nickname.
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Hey! We know how to have fun... |
Andy didn't get a nickname but it was discussed at length that if something really serious and annoying would happen to him, he didn't bat an eyelid, though if he bumps into a hedge (as he did that night) or drops a sock on the floor then 'hedge rage' or 'sock rage' ensues and whichever inanimate object that has caused the misdemeanour is in serious trouble!
By the way, a quick change of subject as news has come in that it was rubbish day in Amberg - something that Swampy has been working towards for two weeks now. The rubbish imitating art installation on the kitchen floor was put out for the bin men and Swampy waited with bated breath to see if any of his bags were refused and any fines issued. We are delighted to report that Swampy passed and all rubbish has now been removed - we're so very proud of him.
So Liverpol upon Rheine has landed and apart from a change over from holding the 'whip' to holding the 'kitty' it's much the same as being with 'The Boys' though I've stopped being a cockernee sparra and turned into a Liver bird.
Sunday 25th June (Andy)
Patto's all you need.
An overnight stay just off Ralf's street and a relatively gentle knock on the door to summon us to breakfast at our host's residence. Already my mind is working out all the likely perms (and no I am not talking about Fray Bentos hairstyles) of the second stage and beyond. No real surprises so far; OK, the Czechs have gone out, but that was a tough group. As Ralf says, "It is only half time now Andy" and as ever they are wise words.
From e-mailed reports in from Dave C, it seems that the Aussie's game with Croatia is swathed in controversy, with English referee Graham Poll booking some Croat three times and missing a couple of blatant pens. Seems like his 'star' is at last fading. What is it with this new breed of refs who seem to think that they are celebrities? Graham Poll has always been an egocentric 'administrator' and if I wasn't keeping this site acessible to one and all I would
tell you what I really think of him. So he may not get the final... that's life mate.
Jurgen Klinsmann has declared in the German press that "It would be a tragedy if Germany do not progress to the quarter-finals." As ever, the Germans feel confident that they will beat Sweden, and they also reckon that, should they play the Argentine, then they would be confident of beating them. The confidence in this young, bold German team is really starting to swell. I really wish we could get some confidence from somewhere, or it is just me with my West Ham mentality that prevents me from ever being at all confident when England take the field? Ralf also pointed to the physical condition of the German squad - absolutely tip top (as Ralf says). Apparently Klinsmann has hired a specialist from the US. Compare that to our lot, who seem to pick up injuries at the drop of a hat.
Sybil looks like she has been on holiday, not given birth a few days before, but we bid our farewells and thank yous and set off for the Stuggart area. We are aiming for a place called Pforzheim which we reckon to be 40km outside the city. Apparently there is a big camp site there with good facilities. I did try and e-mail Millar to let him know where we were headed, but that lot would probably be heading to some obscure city, such is their idiosyncratic schedule.
Kirst took care of the driving all the way - about 400km - and we thought we may have an outside chance of catching the Spain vs Tunisia or Ukraine vs Saudi Arabia games. As ever though, our faithful TomTom is brilliant at working out where to go, but less brilliant at predicting the journey time. It always seems to be about 2.5 hours, whatever speed you are doing!
Si J, called up and he is heading out with Lisa on Friday night. He is on the case with tickets, working with his German friend to track down tickets on the German eBaY. As when Si and I ever try and get anything together ticket wise, it gets overly complicated... there is a whole load of complications that arose trying to get hold of these and it sounds like Simon and his mate have spent two days on this project. Some bloke from Stuggart is travelling to Munich to watch the German game, but had only just arrived in from Majorca and his sister was dealing with the transaction and so it went on. Anyway, the long and short of it was that we had got ourselves some tickets sorted for circa 500 Euros or thereabouts, plus a courier fee and a drink for Simon's mate. But we had to collect them the day of the game. As Simon says, he always feels more confident once he has genuine tickets in his hands.
We eventually arrive at our destination. The International Campingplatz, Schellbronn nr Pfozheim. A really big site with all the facilities - big swimming pool, bar, huge gym (not that I will be using that) and restaurant. I thought I would suss the lie of the land and check on the rubbish disposal/recycling situation as the rules in Germany are so tight, and on campsites even tighter.
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There are only two Reds in this picture |
It was a blindingly hot day (we are now in South West Germany and actually south of Nurberg) so I thought I would check the poolside out for openers once the rubbish situation had been sorted. Lo and behold if it ain't Patto and the Millar brothers sat round a table playing poker. I swear this campsite is in the middle of nowhere, and quite how they a) found it with only a map and a Scouse map reader and b) actually booked it in the first place, I will never know. But on the edge of the Black Forest we have managed to bump into this lot, bare-chested and chipped up.
An afternoon of fun and jokes then played itself out. Millar decided to get his shirt back on once Kirsty had grabbed the camera. We managed to miss both the games that afternoon and decided to catch the France vs Togo and/or Switzerland vs South Korea. Patto announced that watching the game here was terrible anyway as the TV station insisted on showing three minutes of one game and then switching to the next three minutes of the next game. Apparently there was no way round this and we were set to watch both games, or at least half of one game and half of the other, that evening. I can't imagine anything worse when trying to follow a game live. You get no chance to get into the flow of the game, for as soon as you have got into it, the TV switches over to the other game.
Anyway, after watching France vs Togo for three minutes before switching over to see the Swiss and the South Koreans fight out what was a more interesting game, the general consensus in the bar was that the French game had more entertainment potential. So I simply asked the barman to get rid of the ludicrous switching of channels nonsense and just show one game. He looked slightly incredulous, but pressed a few buttons and we were away. The Merrymen from Liverpool - Paul, Robert, Gary and Patto - all looked on in disbelief. Gary now owes Patto 100 Euros as that was the bet that changing channels was not possible, not that Patto had actually challenged the theory of the bet of course!
It had been interesting observing the group and how they operated. Robert was the elder brother, although initially I thought Gary had the edge on him in years. Rob's job was to navigate, which apparently really meant that he would tell the driver that they should have done a 'left' or a 'right' a mile or so back every now and again when they were getting lost. All roads led to the next bar and there was never a rush to get anywhere fast. Gary was the middle brother and he had basically planned the whole trip, booking flights, camper van and the camp sites. He also had the professional sun tan, the others choosing a straight ahead bake-on tan, rather than they spray-on version. Paul was the yougest of the Millar brothers and also the tallest. He was there to tell jokes, pick out obscure facts from the past, hold the kitty, sleep and snore in equal doses. He also wore a series of comedy hats all of which were far too small for his head. Patto was Patto. For anyone who knows him, he leaves the work, the responsibility and risk to the others. Years of senior management experience have meant that he is a natural delegator and empowers the rest of his team wholly. The boys really grow in his presence, and I suppose they all look up to him as a mentor. Tom Peters has nothing on Patto's ability to assess any situation and make a 20-second elevator-style pitch/pronouncement which will see his team achieve the clear goals he has allowed them to set for themselves. If you are in a tight spot, all you need is Patto. Patto is all you need.
Predictably, France beat Togo (as if they were not going to do that) and prove, along with England, that having good if not great players does not guarantee an all-conquering team. Pleasingly, the French went through along with the Swiss who looked a good team and possess a miserly defence. Togo were appalling all round and prove FIFA's 'World Cup' to have faults of epic proportions right through its foundations. African football has come on leaps and bounds, but is yet to really break through the old guard. Apparently Togo were in continual dispute with their FA and had threatened strikes for every game they played. Predictably, their bonuses and not the pride of wearing their national shirt ruled the day. Pleasingly they got what they deserved. FA. South Korea on the other hand proved that their
progress four years back was not a flash in the pan. But without huge local and vocal support and a couple of bent refs, they are destined to be making up the numbers a little while longer.
Bedtime at long last, tomorrow I will slip into Stuggart and get tickets sorted out for our next game.
Monday 26th June (Kirsty)
Condiments for Goalposts
After a few beers with the 'Brothers Grimsby' and our own version of table football (involving fingers acting as legs, a screwed-up serviette as the ball and condiments for goalposts), we hit the hay and arrange to meet the next morning to head into Stuttgart and begin the big game hunt for tickets.
We're also meeting up with Simon and Lisa J who seem to have been on the road for days and then we're bringing them back to stay with us on 'Chez Payne'.
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Beckham's free kick technique reproduced in 1/8 scale |
We wake up to another absolute scorcher and the 'Brothers Grimsby' have decided to stay round the pool and lose some more money at Poker and get a bit pinker (apart from Gary who, as Andy says, sports a professional tan which the rest of the lads blame on him not working as hard as them, though it was pointed out that with them all being scousers they get away with a three-day week as it is!) ;o)
So Andy and I take a super fast white knuckle cab journey to the nearest train station. Every cab we've been in so far has had a female driver and this one was particularly trusting and left her handbag on the back seat next to me - I don't think she'd see that bag again if she was cabbying around London.
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TomTom Bob - any hole's a goal |
We finally made it to Stuttgart wedged on a train with thousands of German fans and the town was even busier - the German fans on their home turf give the English a run for their money in terms of volume and there was constant chanting throughout the city.
The heat out here is absolutely punishing and we find ourselves schlepping round various hotels looking for our man in the ticket know. Eventually, exhausted, we find the hotel in question just as Andy's phone fatally conks out taking all his contacts with it to the grave - it's disastrous!
I'm not sure how they did it without Tom Tom, but Si and Lisa found us and parked up outside the hotel for a well earned rest and refreshment. Mind you, I noticed that Lisa was particularly perky, though as Simon surmised this was probably because as soon as she gets in a car she falls asleep so Si had driven all the way from England with a dozing navigator\co-driver - Nicky Grist she ain't!
Andy successfully sorted out a number of tickets (he really is very good at this malarkey) and a German friend of Si's had very kindly arranged another four tickets from German eBay so all of us were fully ticketed up and we returned to base camp with good news for the 'Brothers Grimsby'.
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Lisa J boosts the WAG firm to two |
Over a few beers (obviously) and a bite to eat, an observation was made by Popeye Millar that almost any euphenism would work when referring to a homosexual man (I know my homosexual mates would join in on this one so I don't see it as non pc, though please e-mail me to give me a good telling off if it is offensive). However, this theory was put to the test all evening and it really does work. For example - "He stirs his tea to the left", "He likes mayonnaise with his fries" or "He has spatzle with his schnitzel" - none of the phrases make any sense but if you say it in a conspiratorial manner and add “If yer know what I mean” at the end, then everyone will indeed know what you mean.
So, a big day tomorrow and we get an early night in preparation. I hear Tom Jones's 'The Green Green Grass of Home' playing and I sincerely hope it's not an omen and we won't be heading for home tomorrow - come on England!
Tuesday 27th June (Andy)
Ticket red tape
Saturday morning, the day before the next England game and the day the Germans will sweep aside the Swedes and get to the last 8. I knew that they would do this; it was inevitable and predictable and, in some ways, opened my eyes as to why Germany are always good at football. They are professional, prepared, motivated and strong. They are loads of other things as well, too many strengths to list here. Above all they are confident in themselves and thus do not have to shout and be jingoistic. They quietly get on with doing what they know to be the right things and, more times than not, they get their results.
After discussing a noon departure from our campsite with Patto and his Millars the evening before, come the day, the lads decided a day by the pool and some poker appealed more than Stuggart on a German match day. It did make me chuckle. When I first met the lads out here they were desperate to 'experience the World Cup' first hand.
When I met them again yesterday, they were on the point of quitting this campsite "because it did not feel like the World Cup." I advised them that match days would give them plenty of 'World Cup atmosphere' and for men of their age, experience and calibre, camping on the free Fanfest campsite in Stuggart was probably not for them.
Relax and enjoy the lovely surroundings of the Black Forest - everything comes to he who waits.
So, it was just the two of us going into Stuggart to see if we could procure tickets for the lads and ourselves. We agreed a budget and ordered a taxi to get us to the nearest railway station, which was apparently Weil Der Stadt. Now this was a bit of a caper, given the lad we were asking did not really understand what we were asking for. He wanted to get us to catch a bus (apparently they go every hour...) and could not understand why we wanted a cab to the train station when a bus was cheaper and "easier".
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Road sign mimicry helps the time pass between games |
Eventually a woman appeared in the bar - I thought she was asking me if I wanted a drink, when in fact she was trying to get me in her cab. As Kirsty has pointed out, most if not all the cab drivers we have had in the daytime are women. They all seem to want to drive as fast as possible, with absolutely no regard for oncoming traffic. This particular lady had her seat as far back as she could, far enough for her arms to make a straight line from her chest to the wheel. Hands at quarter to three, she had obviously honed her driving technique as a tribute to Kraftwerk's 'dance' routines of the late '70s. 25 Euros and 55 chicanes later we were deposited at the railway station.
With the Germans playing at home, the place was overrun by Germans of all ages, all sporting 'quality' merchandise - big tricolour hats, Prussian helmets made in plastic, face paint, various shirts (official and the Karstadt versions) and plastic eagles. The mood was relaxed but expectant. You have to admire the quiet assurance that they have! The train journey was a classic. It seemed to stop at every station known to man and then wait until all those on the platform had actually purchased tickets to ride. Bizarre.
By the time we pulled up at Stuggart Hauptbanhoff, the cheering and chanting was amazing. The Germans have a chant which basically covers the fact that they are going to Berlin for the final. A pretty good bet, I would say. We emerged into the sunlight and once again the heat was searing. We had two missions to complete. The first was obviously to secure tickets and the second was to meet up with Mr & Mrs Jeffrey who were hot-footing it from England by car.
Plenty of time to kill as my contact had not hit town and the Jeffreys were behind schedule. So a squint in the huge Adidas shop became an hour. Kirsty made me laugh; she rather liked the little girly-style tops - all in different body colours with stars on the front. She singled out a "lovely light blue top with two stars on the front". Yes, it was a nice shirt, but it was one of six and it was actually the 'Argentine' shirt. For those of you who know me well, you know I have a special place in my heart for this lot. So, needless to say, unless Kirst was proposing to use this as a dish cloth, it was not leaving the premises with us! By way of compensation, I found a red shirt with one simple, yet lonely, star on the front and it was duly purchased by young K.
We got the call to meet at a local hotel, quite near the Banhof, so after a call into the tourist office to see where it actually was, we literally hot-footed it to the meeting point. Temperatures were now past 30 degrees C and Kirsty was finding it hard to keep up in her wretched flip-flops. So as well as being useless in a police baton charge, these were also useless in the heat. Maybe they are ideal if you wish to cross the Andes by frog.
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Stuttgart |
As we hit the hotel reception and I got my phone out to call my mate, a question mark came up on the screen and the phone died. Feck and curses! Just as I needed it, it failed me and has not worked ever since. We got a drink at the bar, where the German vs Sweden game was just about to kick off. Eventually Tom came down in the lift and we sorted ourselves out. Phew, tickets secured and half the mission accomplished. Kirsty had phoned Si and given him the address so the plan came together. About 30 minutes later Si and Lisa arrived - looking a tad jaded. Si had done most of the driving - I think Lisa had reversed the car out of the garage back home...
So we watched the Germans sweep the Swedes aside, predictably, and then set off to get back to the camp site to catch the Argentina vs Mexico game. Navigating back from Stuggart without the trusty TomTom would have been decidely tricky, even though I managed to make a few wrong moves, much to the female back seat drivers' amusement. Reunited with Patto and the Magic Millars (aka the Brothers Grimm(sby), we had a civilised night outside in the open air, supping beer, watching football and laughing at each others' jokes. Argentina sneaked past a solid Mexican team with a wonder goal; they do look beatable and I fully expect the Germans to edge them out in the quarter final on Friday. And so to bed, with an early start in the morning and four sleepers on Chez Payne we hoped Sunday would bring us joy.
Tuesday 27th June (Kirsty)
We're not going home!
A bright and early start as we need to get on the road to pick up promised tickets and it's a five o'clock kick off which doesn't give us loads of time to run around organising. We seem to spend the whole time rushing to meet deadlines, searching for tickets and trying to meet up with people - it really "ain't a holiday".
Simon and Lisa are ensconced on the bunk beds and they've both managed to get a good night's sleep and recharge their batteries. However when I 'prepared' their sleeping area the previous evening (preparing entailed just scraping off various garments and dirty washing that were littering the bunk beds) it was dark and I neglected to notice a black G-string of mine lurking at the head end of the lower bunk! Simon awoke innocently to find his head entangled in the offending article, which we all found absolutely hilarious (you really can't beat a 'pants on head' gag) and the poor bloke somewhat drily informed us that he was pleased that he had provided us with so much entertainment - even though it was at his expense.
After haring round in the car picking up tickets we found a suitable place for S and L to leave their car near the stadium as they were going to have to hit the road back to Blighty directly after the game. We then headed into town to try and meet up with the others; another bit of ticket jiggery pokery entailed us meeting someone at the hotel where the England team were staying, which was easier said than done as the crowds camping outside the hotel to catch a glimpse of the players and tight security meant we didn't really stand a chance of getting in. Andy said that it wouldn't be a problem at all and that he'd be 'swagging in'. That seemed to entail just marching through security like you own the place and, if challenged, act indignant and push your way in anyway - which is precisely what he did, leaving us standing outside in absolute awe of his 'massive front'!
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Daddy Lampard, a true West Ham legend |
We watched Andy's dissappearing back whilst some poor sod who was actually staying in the hotel couldn't get in as he didn't have any ID (his passport was up in his room) - he was sent back into the masses and refused entry to his own hotel just as Andy came back and in an authorative manner informed the security men on the door that he demands that his wife and two friends be let in... I spotted a chink in the defence and bolted through the gap in security guards with S and L hot on my heels. Mr.Security obviously followed us and asked us to leave but we refused and short of making a scene by physically picking us up and removing us, there really wasn't much he could do about it. He retreated mumbling something about not leaving the bar area, thouroughly defeated.
Obviously the German security agencies that are supposed to be protecting the England squad really don't know what they're up against as all four of the 'Brothers Grimsby' and all six of 'The Boys' plus Dave and Uncle Nelson all successfully 'swagged in' leaving hordes of screaming fans on the street. We settled in for the afternoon, organised our whips and kittys (according to which end of the country you come from) and waited to wish our boys luck as they came past us to board their coach.
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No pictures please - I've got a game to go to |
We bumped into Ray Winstone again and also roaming around were Frank Lampard Senior and the lovely Sir Trevor Brooking. Ramon Vega wandered through the bar at one point and recognised Andy and I from the Sky box so hellos and hugging were in order - what a thoroughly nice chap he is. Anyway, enough name dropping. It seemed to be getting close to the time that our boys would be coming down the stairs and through the bar to get the coach to the ground as security was stepped up and men with earpieces were 'guarding' the sweeping staircase to make sure that no one got anywhere near Becks and his boys.
We'd already spotted a clutch of them on the landing including Rio, Gerrard, Becks and Walcott. As all eyes and cameras were trained on the staircase there was suddenly activity and we looked up to see Andy descending down the stairs through the 'guards' to huge cheers and flashing cameras from us lot! He'd simply taken the lift up past the guards, roamed around the landing and come down the stairs. The so-called security were none the wiser and probably thought that Andy was someone recognisable. Later on Dave and Uncle Nelson both did the same thing but also managed to grab some of the sandwiches laid out for the players on their way through. I really hope someone doesn't have the bright idea of knobbling the England squad with food poisoning inspired by the Tottenham vs West Ham game, as it would be ever so easy to do.
There we were waiting for the England team to come down the stairs, the coach had already pulled up and there was excited screaming from the crowds outside every time one of the players wandered near the window. Lisa, Swampy, John and myself had planted ourselves in a prime position at the foot of the stairs and stood there with cameras in hand ready - our drinks were brought over to us and there was absolutely no way we were going to miss being within touching distance of our boys as they passed by.
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Uncle Nelson & Dave smile for the security guys and cameramen alike |
Well we stood and we stood... and we stood. All of us needed a wee desperately but didn't want to leave our prime location and miss them. After about an hour and a half of security activity that made it look like they were about to depart, John got bored and gave up his spot to stand back at the bar, then Swampy really couldn't wait any longer and had to excuse himself as his bladder was under serious pressure.
No sooner had he disappeared than the team started to descend the staircase, cameras flashed and you could almost smell the excitement - I however had a camera malfunction and was too busy fiddling with it to enjoy the moment when the whole England team walked right past me, so close I could touch them! Swampy came out of the toilet to find us all cheering and laughing and the England team long gone... I gave my camera away to Andy - funnily enough I've gone right off it.
John, however, managed to shoot the best footage from the bar and caught every player plus Sven on the way past, whilst I was so starstruck that I turned into a blithering berk that couldn't work a camera.
We all headed off to the stadium and it was suddenly a very sobering thought that all of our World Cup hopes could be dashed in the next ninety minutes - I really really don't want to go home yet, I don't want the bubble to burst.
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Here come the boys, and Sol |
The heat was absolutely searing by this time and tempers were getting frayed as kick-off rapidly approached. I went off to battle with the crowds to get Andy and I something to eat and whilst standing in the queue an Aussie voice behind me pipes up “Oi mate, you've pushed in”. I turned round and found a horrible little man in a bandana poking his finger at me and accusing me of pushing in. I informed him in no uncertain terms that I hadn't and a small argument started. I was too hot and bothered to mess about with this imbecile so I told him to go in front as long as he would just shut up and stop moaning, after this he turned round and said “I was only joking, mate - you poms really can't take a joke, can you?”
He's right - I can't take a joke when England are about to kick off and I'm having to deal with an idiotic buffoon who's stopping me getting back to my seat. When it was his turn to get served he started chatting to the girl behind the counter and asking her for the correct pronunciation of 'Guten Tag' (obviously to wind me up further, which wasn't hard); at this point I decided that enough was enough and told him “This is not the time for a German lesson,” barged him out of the way and ordered our food - to be fair, he was smaller than me so it wasn't that hard. I made it back to my seat for the end of the national anthem, no thanks to the horrible little excuse for a bloke. He should pick on someone his own size - if he can find anyone who's four foot six.
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Andy with the Ecuador supporters, who are in fact Colombians |
Kick-off and the pace was slow which was no surprise in this heat and no sooner had they kicked off than the Colombian guy in front of Simon stood up and Si shouted "Sit down" at him; the Colombian didn't looked amused which then spurred Si on to shout "Sit down" to him throughout the whole game, but then grinning massively when he turned round to complain, which disarmed him. Everyone was finding it funny - apart from the Colombian.
England yet again were uninspiring but managed to scrape a win from Beckham's free kick. After all, set pieces are what he's here for so he's earnt his keep (though I reckon Andy would beg to differ). Rooney played brilliantly (imagine what he'd be like if he was fully fit) though there never seemed to be anyone up front to help him out after he made all the running. It wasn't the greatest game of football and both teams played poorly, but I don't care that we didn't win with style and panache - we won! England are now in the last eight, which is the main thing. I don't know how we did it but we did (aided and abetted with a lucky draw) and we're not going home for at least another week.
So back to the hotel bar where we had started out and 'The Boys' all very southern together with 'The Brothers Grimsby' all very scouse were an absolutely hilarious mixture which at one point had Popeye Millar jumping about holding imaginary braces singing “Cor blimey black mariah” and calling everyone "Guvna" in broad mockney.
Colin very kindly presented Andy with a really nice World Cup bracelet to thank him for sorting out the Sweden hospitality tickets - it's really nice and it also fits me... Andy needs to keep his eye on that!
We finally admit defeat and wave goodbye to 'The Boys' as we won't see them for five days now. They're all heading home and will fly back out for the game next Saturday. John, Shaun, Al, Steve (swampy), Col and Kenny - face ache friends.
'The Brothers Grimsby', Andy and I head back towards the campsite, stopping on route for pizza and kebabs in Pforzheim. Gary (Sport Billy) ordered the hottest pizza known to man that seared the roof of your mouth with chilli and obviously we all had to have a go.
We made it back to 'Chez Payne' safely in two pieces (me and Andy) and we're looking forward to a week of normal holiday things and relaxing - thanks to Becks and the England team.
Wednesday 28th June (Andy)
Luck, pluck and one smoking barrel...
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Sir Trevor lurking in the shadows |
Sunday morning.... Now we are into the proper business, the knock-out stages. 90 or 120 minutes and the hopes and dreams of the last four years can be scotched and supporters and team alike could be despatched from Germany quicker than a undersized Bratwurst in a convent. I have been here so many times before, and yet people around me still expect me to be relaxed and jolly on match day. Add the fact that tickets are still being moved around and prices are changing up and down quicker than the Frankfurt Dax on Black Monday. So Mr Payne is not in the best of humour, I will admit. We need to get a sharp start to the day as we are due just outside Stuggart to meet with Haio, a friend of Simon's, to procure four tickets from two sources from eBaY. We have our trusty TomTom, but the journey is longer than we expect and we do not land at the rendezvous until 10.45am, having first needed to stop and find a Sparkasse (bank) with an ATM to draw out the hundreds of Euros needed to get our eBaY tickets sorted. It was one of those weird banks where you swipe your credit card to get in. Already the temperature was hitting 28 degrees; as you could imagine it was like being in an oven money machine. For one moment when we tried to leave, the door did not open and Simon and I looked at each other, our faces laced with dread. As the door eventually opened, we joked that we would have been the only people to have to break out of a bank rather than breaking in!
Haio and his wife made us really welcome and a round of beers and German brioche helps us get over our early morning hunger. You will have read about Simon's slumber with a used G-string; it got better as the family Jeffrey came equipped with authentic suede Lederhosen. Lisa never actually got her kit on, but Simon looked like a comical extra from 'Allo Allo' when he sported his Lederhosen commando-style top and bottom. Go back 60 years or so and he would have caught the eye of Mr Rohm and his SA buddies for sure. Berlin circa 1933 eat your pants out.
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Here comes Stevie G |
We bade our farewells at Haio's and hit the road. The plan was to dump Si's motor at a station close by and get the train into Stuggart central. Everything went to plan and we landed at the Hauptbanhof about 12.30. The boys had all travelled in from Nurnberg and had arrived about one hour earlier. Patto and the Magic Millars were travelling in behind us, very much as a second wave. They decided to get a taxi to Pforzheim station from the campsite, but it seemed to take them forever and the trains were infrequent to say the least.
A false stop at another hotel before actually finding the right hotel (Von Zeppelins or something) to meet Tom was required. Basically the tickets I had secured the day before needed backing as the old contemptibles had decided to play the last minute open market. Cash was starting to get tight all round, and a hundred Euros or so difference per ticket was now a significant amount of dough. We got to the hotel only to find it was the hotel where the England team were staying pre-match. Kirst wondered how we would ever get in, but obviously having been in these situations many times before, I knew exactly the right way to get in. Straight through the main front door.
With no further ado I got in and located my mate. A swift transaction and all was well again ticket-wise and I was a relieved man. All ticket business was concluded to everyone's satisfaction and I could relax and enjoy the run-up to kick-off, although the game itself is never enjoyable is it, especially when watching England?
Next mission was to locate the boys and get Kirsty and the Jeffreys in to the hotel. It would be nice for the girls to see the England team after all!
Ray Winstone was in situ again, and it was nice to tap him casually on the torso, not look at him and whisper "Alright Ray, you sorted for tickets?," to which he volunteered, "'ello son, good to see you. Yeah, I'm OK thanks, but thanks for asking."
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Here comes Michael Carrick in the 'holding' the suit role |
So out through the front door, with an authoritative tap on the shoulder of the hotel manager to tell him I would be back with my wife. I see Kirsty and Co. and gesture them to come over to the door with me. The hotel manager did not want to let the three others in, but persuasion is a particular skill and before he could reason why, Kirsty, Si and Lisa were all aboard.
Next stop was to find the others who were in town, just not quite sure where. A couple of phone calls later on my 'new' phone courtesy of TomTom Bob (never easy when you have few numbers and do not know who is calling you!) and it turns out that the boys are in the adjacent bar, which is actually connected to the hotel. John came swaggering through before the doorman could say or do anything, quickly followed by Steve, Al, Shaun, Colin, Nelson, Dave and Kenny. The team were sucessfully back together again, and yes the England team was upstairs, one floor away, having their pre-match meal and briefing (whatever that entails).
The ensuing wait for the team to prance down the stairs was frankly tedious. Chris Kamara was hovering around the lobby so, as is his custom, John grabbed him for a picture session. I said to Kirsty, "That was the bloke who broke Frank McAvennie's leg on the opening day of the season, when he played for Stoke" and Kirst gave me a look of thunder as she was convinced he had heard me say it. Later that day, apparently TomTom Bob asked Chris if he had been in the Jackson Five, much to his and the ex-footballer's amusement. So all's well that ends well, a laugh and a joke are never far away.
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The Jeffreys complete with grassy knoll footwear |
Meanwhile the girls and Steve had pressed themselves up against the glass stair rail awaiting the highly paid superstars, their cameras poised and their breath bated. They were joined by an Oriental lad with an England shirt on, who was cameraless, but had a big sheet of white paper and a pen. I thought he will be lucky - to get any of that lot to stop to sign autographs would be a chance in a million.Anyway, in a small way, the four of them resembled a pastiche from the 60s - Beatlemania was back, alive and well in Stuggart.
Steve tested his camera for lighting and position. Inadvertently he got a picture of some security blokes behind and upon further inspection (picture evidence to follow) it looked like he had a major accident in the underpants department, his grey suit having patches of brown liquid in the danger zone. As Popeye Millar quipped at the time:
Trip to World Cup - £1000.
Ticket to England v Ecuador - £500.
Being caught short waiting for the team to come down the stairs - priceless.
I thought it was time to test the security systems and see how easy it was to get up those stairs. Rather than go up, I reckoned it would be better to come down them. A short ride in the lift to the 2nd floor, then a hop down the emergency stairs and voila, I was on the same floor as the team. So a quick wink and a wave and I came down the stairs much to the amusement of my lot and the bemusement of the security chaps.
Frank Lampard Snr, Sir Trevor Brooking and other official types came down first. Shortly afterwards, Brian Barwick came to the bar for a drink. Nelson asked him if he had any tickets for sale, to which - to be fair to Mr Barwick - he did give a humourous riposte. Later David Dein was 'operating' around the bar, and Nelson again asked 'Mr Dine' as he put it, if he had any tickets spare - 'Mr Dine' was less amused.
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"Sit down" Or else it's two fingers versus one thumb, and the fingers |
Eventually, the team came down the stairs and John filmed the whole lot rather brilliantly on his camera. David was the only player to raise a smile; the rest were more interested in their iPods.Michael Carrick carried a suit carrier that was bigger than him and Rio had some sort of mad vest with no back, in England livery. Where does he get his fashion sense from? Lisa wondered if England would be playing in these vests, as it was hot. Simon failed to see the amusement in this comment for some reason.
Sven also waved and smiled, bless him. The really telling thing was that the lonely figure who trailed at the rear some way behind the rest, after the applause and yelps of "Come on you Irons" and "Yiddos" had died down, was Steve Mclaren. Barely a whimper for him, poor bloke. Maybe it shows just the lack of esteem that he currently carries amongst the fans. Sven may be an enigima, but Stevie seems like he would have trouble spelling the word.
A few moments after the England team had left, Patto and the Magic Millars arrived on the scene. Popeye was hugely impressed by John's video, so much so that he insisted we re-run the 'descent of the stairs' one more time, substituting all of us for the players, Rutles style. A touch of inspired brilliance.
The Jeffreys had their collective eyes on strange football-shaped grass and floral displays. They resembled the grassy knoll that featured heavily in '63. Lord knows what they actually were supposed to do, even 'decoration' may have been stretching the definition of the word according to modern-day style acorn Lawrence Llewellyn Poncehead. So three of these grassy knoll boots were purloined and the Jeffreys were happy.
We headed for the stadium; it was baking hot (again) and spirits were high. Gradually the boys had been picking up tickets and it was John who held out longest, with a bid of 250 Euros securing the last ticket known to man.
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Two happy Captains smile at each other |
The game was a frustration. We all know this. So far we have played 4 teams and for all but one second half versus the Swedes, all of the teams have put all of their men behind the ball, concentrating on not conceding rather than scoring. We are probably getting the same type of treatment that Man Utd, Arsenal, Chelsea or Liverpool get when they play in the FA Cup, against so-called 'lesser opposition'. Not supporting these teams, I am of course making an assumption. But as with the FA Cup, when do the best two teams ever contest the final? West Ham, Millwall, Southampton? In fact do the supporters of any club side really give a monkey's about performances in big (cup) games, when the result is everything? We have not yet played a true top-drawer team, Sweden being the closest to us in ability. The other three teams were frankly rubbish. None of them scored against us and we scored four. So maybe we should start to look at our international football from a different angle.
We never will have the ball skills of Brazil, the defensive nous of the Italians, the panache of the Argentinians and the organisation of the Germans. Every time we play in a major tournament the UK press decide that we are not worthy. Remember the 'bring 'em home' outcry at Italia '90 after one game and a 1-1 draw with the Republic of Ireland? Then a 0-0 with Holland, followed by a weak 1-0 against Egypt? A lucky 120th-minute winner against Belgium in round two, a narrow 3-2 against The Cameroon, with two pens by Gary Walkers and the eventual 'glorious' loss against the Germans on pens.
From being a bum who could not organise a piss-up in a brewery, with players who seemingly 'did not care', Bobby Robson was hailed as a God and went onto bigger and better things. The media did all the hailing and the baiting. Not the fans. They just accepted that he may have got some tactics wrong, but the players seemed to respect him and in the end we gave a good account of ourselves. We played our best game against the Germans and lost. We were truly below par for all the other matches. I wonder if there is a parallel fable building here with Sven and his boys?
Anyway, David nailed the only goal - the winner - past a pretty decent keeper and that is what he is on the pitch for, 'to kick'. You can't argue with that. At the top level if Beckham can give us a goal or make a goal each game then he is worth his place. Carrick had a good game; as ever he is cool and calm on the ball, plays the way he is facing and wastes little. As for him being a 'holding' player, I am not so sure. His skills are creative and positive, but a Makele he is not. Frank Lampard is on a poor run of form. He needs a goal and all will be well. I would keep the same team against Portugal (as we now know it will be) and smother their midfield. Rooney is getting better each game, and showed why he is the fans favourite with his determination, running and downright anger when things don't work out for him and the team. If we had 11 Rooneys then we would be unbeatable. Other than that, Terry had a few shakes, Rio was a bit too casual, Robinson looked shaky again, Hargreaves filled in well at right back, Gerrard was OK, Joe Cole was not at his best, but Ashley Cole was probably our best player along with Rooney. When Lennon came on for the last five minutes, Sven got the signal from David that he was 'injured' - he looked exciting and a threat. Lennon and Rooney together would be interesting.
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Kirsty shows her approval. 1-0 to the England |
Anyway, enough of all that, I am sure the British press is full of bile about Sven's tactics, motivational skills, Beckham's form and so on. We lived to fight another day. David's goal probably cost me and Kirst about 2K in extra costs - today Mr & Mrs Payne you have won another week in Germany courtesy of Sir David's right blue boot!
We headed back to the same hotel bar. I have now found out what it was called - The Steigenberger - Graf Zeppelin to catch the match (or should I say fight) between Portugal and Holland. What a game, something like 16 yellow cards and 4 reds! We were willing Portugal to win; after all we owe them from two years ago. I am sure that they will target Rooney's foot - or more specifically that Carvahllo will do. But bring them on - if our team are a team of men, they will be up for this game more than against any of the four previous opponents.
The bar was packed and Steve and Colin were up to tricks, mainly winding each other up. Steve managed to catch Colin with a well-timed Kung Fu flick kick in the place where it really hurts, only to then be chased around the bar in a Tom & Jerry style (copyright 2006 Popeye Millar). These two are lifelong friends, but do like to wind each other up. And up and up. We despatched Steve, Al and Colin back to Nurnberg, leaving Kenny, who had taken a shine to a cake slice (he really should not be allowed near sharp things!), John and Shaun to stay in Stuggart.
We decided to get a cab back to Pforzheim to a bar that TomTom Bob knew. The taxi ride took ages, and cost more. Kenny had devised a ready reckoner whereby distances in taxis were not expressed in kms, but in Euros. Thus our ride was about 100 Euros. We found a boozer still open and caught a re-run of the 1st half of the England game before they closed up. We then seemed to spend hours in a kebab/pizza place next door, which served the best pizzas of all time and saw Kirsty lose her doner kebab cherry. Somehow we got another 6-seater cab back to our campsite. It had been bucketing down all evening (it started raining just after the final whistle, by the way) and I even said a polite goodnight to the unfriendly hedge from the night before. England are through, I made up with the hedge and all is well.
Wednesday 28th June (Kirsty)
A Spell in the Cooler!
We didn't so much wake up as get shaken awake at about nine o'clock by the 'Brothers Grimsby' who had packed up and were ready to leave. I was actually relieved to discover it was nine as they said they were setting off first thing, so we imagined six or seven in the morning. Obviously there's something tempting about a camper van containing sleeping people and it must be impossible to resist the urge to shake it almost off it's axle - I wished I'd thought of it the night before as I've had the pleasure of a 'van shake' three times now but haven't yet had the obvious immense enjoyment of returning the favour!
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Popeye and his beloved flag |
It was sad to see them go as we were just getting started and I know we hadn't even scraped the joke surface yet... there's plenty more laughs where they came from. But we had to wave goodbye to Poker-faced Patto, Sport Billy aka Sun Tan Sam (Gary), TomTom Bob and, last but not least, the baby of the litter, Popeye Paul. For the last day or so Popeye was bereft of his hat which had been hidden by TomTom Bob, apparently due to it looking ridiculous. Popeye Paul looked absolutely everywhere for it, even up on the roof of the van (apparently I have to call it a winnebago 'cos that's what they've told everyone back home, but really it was a plush camper van - don't tell 'em I told you though) and just before they were about to leave he found it. Bob had done a brilliant job of intricately folding the hat concertina style and secreting it in the camper van curtains which happened to be an exact colour match - how PP ever found it is beyond me, but find it he did and peace was restored on the Bootle Bus.
Before they left, they brilliantly stocked up 'Chez Payne' with left-over beers, muesli, toilet roll and most excitingly two throwaway barbeques - I've been searching all day for something to burn on the barbie but to no avail; the search will continue again tomorrow and rest assured I will manage to incinerate a bratwurst or something similar beyond recognition.
The best news is that they've had such a great time that they are going to try and come back for the England vs Portugal game on saturday - I hope they make it and then the banter will continue.
I've had an e-mail from Mitch saying that the football widows have been renamed the 'Desperate Housewives' (can't think why?) by Jack and that they all gathered to watch the game on Sunday ably assisted by copious amounts of alcohol - apparently the school run was done on a rainy Monday morning in footballers' WAG style shades.
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It's been a hard day's week for Sport Billy & Popeye |
So Mitch and the other Desperate Housewives eagerly await the return of their menfolk and, in true Great Escaper style, a baseball mitt and baseball are ready and waiting for Swampy McQueen to use in the recreation yard. Mitch doesn't have a cooler so she's cleared out the shed in readiness - I've got a feeling Swampy McQueen will break out quite easily without the need of a tunnel.
As Tiffany once said, "I think we're alone now - doesn't seem to be anyone around" and it's now a Payne family holiday for a few days before the onslaught of ticket hunting and liver battering begins again. So you may ask what the Paynes like to do on a Payne family holiday... we go to a bar to watch the football, of course!
Tonight we have the pleasure of Australia vs Italy and the Swiss vs Ukraine. Andy said to me before kick-off that Totti would score the winning goal in the dying minutes and how right he was - though I can't say too much as I've married into an Italian family (fingers crossed that Andy's Mum, Nunzi, isn't reading this, though Andy tells me that she can't go near his Dad Geoff's PC without supervision, so Geoff may censor it for me if I'm lucky?) but what a giant cheat Fabio Grosso is. He managed to go down like he'd been shot without anyone actually making any contact with him whatsoever - you've got to feel for the Aussies and the injustice of it all (apart from one horrible little short-a***d antipodean in a bandana).
Then onto the Swiss vs Ukraine and our first penalties of the tournament, I had a conversation with a bloke next to me who was really excited at the prospect of pens and hoped that as many games as possible went to penalties, even the England ones! I begged to differ and said that in my humble opinion penalties didn't always reflect how the game played out and if he was a West Ham fan having witnessed the FA cup final, then he would maybe feel differently about it (or for that matter any England game that has seen us cruelly put out of a major tournament on penalties).
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"One nation, one trophy, eleven..." Can you guess the rest? |
As I've been asked not to talk about football by a couple of know-alls then I'll obediently move on to hairstyles again - why was it that all the players that you would expect to be Swiss with lanky blonde locks turned out to be Ukranians who'd obviously been a bit heavy-handed with the bleach bottle. I was very happy to see that the only player with a sensible hairdo was called Tranquillo Barnetto which was very fitting.
During the evening I received a text from Simon J asking if he could "possibly sleep with Andy's pants next week". I assured him that would be fine and I'll hold off doing the washing until then and he can take his pick of either pair.
We amble back to 'Chez Payne' safe in the knowledge that the 'Brothers Grimsby' won't be shaking us awake, bless 'em, though I'm already looking forward to them coming back. I just know they'll make it - as Gary said, "Scousers can get where water can't!"
Coming soon...