been alone. Everywhere you looked, every paper, every radio and TV
programme, free posters, free magazines, free pull-outs, commission free
exchange rates for the Euro - and for what? Mencap¹s summer jamboree in
Seville, that's what.
My lady of the moment has been very understanding. A keen student of
current affairs, she is a bit of a news junkie but big manly me put his foot
down. News time was switch-off time, just to redress the balance, and as
kick-off time drew near on Wednesday night this wonderful woman really
excelled herself.
She had laid on a very agreeable spiced rum and coke tea and suddenly I was
in fine form. Sure, I did a wee bit of effing and blinding but nothing too
extreme. You know the sort of thing, muttering about a cup with no handles
and contemplating the possibility of Mickey Mouse putting in a surprise
appearance to personally hand over his trophy.
Somewhere in the middle of my musings, the lovely lady slipped off and I've
since been told I began to think aloud a little less eloquently, especially
when they rehashed all the old Lisbon crap for the squillionth time. Just
as the teams emerged from the tunnel, I heard her call from the top of the
stairs.
"Shouldn't you be watching The Bill?"
"Are you trying to be funny?" I growled.
Always quick to comfort me, she was quick with her reply: "Well, switch that
shite off and get yerself up these stairs."
Far be it for me to portray myself as a bit of a stud but normally such an
offer would have me leaping up the stairs three at a time but something made
me hesitate for a moment or two - or three or four! After just a couple of
minutes it is clear there is only one fitba team on the park and it ain't
Septic.
"I'll be up in a minute or two," I lied - and I sat back and watched them
getting run ragged. My only worry was that Porto were not turning their
superiority into goals. Hey, it was almost like watching Rangers!!! But
when it came, the opening goal was well worth waiting for. A brill chip
from Deco, an Alenitchev volley, Dropsy flaps at it and in steps Derlei.
Pick it out, muppet!
And the half-time break was almost as much fun as the game itself. Its
handbags at ten paces on the way to the dressing room. Nope, the Scum don't
like it up 'em. Then John Fartson gives Chick Dung has verdict. "Our only
problem is the referee, he is giving them all the 50-50s and the Porto
players are very clever." Whatever happened to no excuses? Ah well, some
things never change.
It all threatened to go pear-shaped early in the second half when a flurry
of goals brought the score to 2-2 but I never had any doubts. Honest! The
Commentary Box Cheerleaders were going OTT about never-say-die Sellick but
with so many hod-carriers in their team they were always going to test the
ref's patience. Night-night, sleep tight Bobo.
I'm really disappointed Porto did not go for the jugular when they had an
extra man but who cares? Dropsy played patacake one more time, Darlei said
'Thank you very much', 3-2 for the blue and white stripes (fancy their strip
for the Cup Final, Mr Bain?) and it was time for much weeping and wailing
among retards everywhere.
Unfortunately, it is sad to report that more than a few of the
afore-mentioned retards were on the BBC's payroll. I'd love to watch a
video of the game all over again to give a detailed analysis of the
commentary. But guess what? I can't do it - coz I taped The Bill!!! Can
anyone loan me a tape? Ho-ho-for goodness sake-ho!
Suddenly feeling upbeat about life, I decided to join Kilwinning's finest
for a wee shandy or two - they had sold out of port! - and I got another wee
surprise when I walked into the pub, which doubled as the Portuguese Embassy
in Ayrshire for the night. Leading the singing from her usual barstool was
my lovely lady - remember her? - who had clearly got fed up awaiting my
presence upstairs and slipped out all on her lonesome for a small
refreshment.
Never mind, it didn't take us long to kiss and make up. Well, it was that
sort of night, wasn't it?
LITTLE BOY BLUE