EVENING, everyone.
Regular readers of this column, all eight of them, will know how exactly how this works by now.
But here’s a crash course for newcomers — a football match happens and I have 5 thoughts.
Here they are:
1) I spent most of the day watching The Walk of Life project online.
For those of you who don’t know what this is, it’s a website where some people have added Walk of Life by Dire Straits to the end of a load of films — The Shining, The Godfather, Star Wars, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid etc etc.
Their belief, which they’ve been vindicated on, is that it dramatically improves the end of every film.
I’ve no idea who comes up with this stuff, or how, but the world is a better place for it. Now I can listen to the song without having to think of that dreadful Walk of Life video with all the sports bloopers which are supposed to be funny, but never are.
Instead, I can now listen to it and think of Chewbacca getting his medal at the end of Star Wars.
2) Just before the game, the United fans in the corner opposite us showed us their flag game.
This consisted of them holding up about seven flags.
I’ll be honest, it’s the worst flag game I’ve seen since some Welsh lads went to Glastonbury with a “I hate Flags” flag.
3) My mate Big Kev showed the most remarkable restraint I’ve ever seen not to hit the United fan in the row in front of him who was goading him for 90 minutes.
When I get home, and work out how to do it, I’ll probably nominate him for the Nobel Peace Prize to be honest. Obviously he’ll be a surprise winner, not least among those who have brokered peace and ceasefires amongst warring nations.
However, once they show the picture of the United fan — his face contorted as he shouted “murderers” at us, his hair stuck in that terrible ’90s mod style — then everyone at the ceremony will be in agreement.
That Big Kev fella deserves this. Fair play to him.
4) Coutinho scored the best goal ever and I had half a cup of coffee in my hand.
The goal was good but the skill I showed in not spilling any while jumping up and down and hugging a bunch of strangers was impeccable. When it all calmed down I looked around and saw Alan Kennedy behind me.
I like to think he recognised the talent on display.
Either that or he thought: “Why is this bald man who looks a bit like Lenin staring at me?”
- Read – Manchester United 1 Liverpool 1: Match review
- Read – Manchester United 1 Liverpool 1: Player ratings
- Listen – Manchester United 1 Liverpool 1: Immediate post-match reaction
5) The match ends and, for some reason, everyone thinks it’s a good idea to let the Liverpool fans out at the same time as the United fans.
It’s total chaos — flares going off everywhere creating limited visibility and silhouettes of terrified horses in the distance. People are either scared or angry — nothing in between.
My coach is about five minutes away and, I’ll be honest, I wonder if I’ll make it through the mayhem.
Then suddenly, it occurs me. There’s only one thing for it.
Headphones on, press play: Walk of Life by Dire Straits.
“Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies…”
And that’s me, calm as you like, walking through the crowds and heading to the coach.
Again it’s provided the perfect ending, and this time to my own film — one about a dickhead who leaves the match listening to Dire Straits when everyone else is singing the Coutinho song.
Up the Walk of Life Reds.
“Why is this bald man who looks a bit like Lenin staring at me?”
Fucking hell, you DO look like him!
For the next article write a long polemic denouncing Mignolet for voting for war credits and destroying the 2nd International.
Completely off topic Martin, but I knew Stewart Lee in the early 90s. He lived with relentlessly dull proggers who enjoyed nothing more than a game of Uber Risk (a board game they invented by making Risk bigger). He listened exclusively to obscure indie and had a red Strat. He did not listen to David Bowie and is a lovely fella, the only nice comedian I’ve ever met.
We weren’t great tonight. Luckily we didn’t need to be. United are shite. 300m for that. Astonishing. Marouanne Fellaini makes Paul Stewart look like Socrates.
Really enjoyed this Martin,
Absolutely hilarious & a great addition to the after match regulars,
Many thanks.
Had to take a look at the WOL project and sampled a few films……you got it spot on with the walk out of the ground tonight, as I know what it can be like……maybe you’ll never walk alone might have been an appropriate headphone song! Respect to Kev!
Big Kev should have poured your coffee over 90s mod’s embarrassing haircut.
Probably the best writer on the wrap this fella.
“Oh yeah the boys can play…..dedication….devotion….turning all the night time into the day”
Love this. The Walk Of Life Project thing is brilliant!
That photo of Coutinho at the top reminded me of something. I couldn’t quite place it, then it hit me.
It’s the boy running under the tree, on the cover of Masquerade by Kit Williams (late-1970s treasure hunt book, where you had to discover where the author had buried a golden hare amulet).
Uncanny.
Yes, but did anyone find the hare…..?
Yes they did. This video explains all. You can see the front cover of the book at 3.16 as well! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iU-qoG9Upg
These are my most favourite bit of the whole taw gig
Fitzgerald is cult
Match ratings, player ratings, then FFF, plus all the comments, especially the regulars = best 3 things after a win, love it all. Up the communal Reds.
Genius stuff mate. Loving your coffee wrangling game…
Going to have the walk of life on repeat in my head all day now but its completely worth it. Great stuff as always Mr Fitzgerald.
exactly :)…
Walk of Life stuck in my head whole day. And lots of mid 80’s memories ~ Dire Straits, cassette tapes (occasionally stuck in the machine), and the great Reds team.
Tremendous read and I will be honest, probably the most nervous I have felt before a match in a very long time, but in the end it was easy wasn’t it. Have to say I too would have been tempted to pour the coffee over the mancs head, or maybe a hot bovril.
Being based in Ireland with 3 little lads under 5, I don’t get to go more than 1 game a season but pieces like this help me get a proper feel for what I’m missing out. I was very nervous all day, predicted a pen for them and a sending off (like Hyypia few years back) but luckily was only partly correct with that and the wee Brazilian genius delivered the goods. If anyone from the club associated with half time music selection reads this then I bet WoL gets played at Anfield very soon. YNWA
you should stop attending association football games with wough boys who have fireworks
Your walk out of Old Trafford sounds like the Opening Scene in The Night Manager.
I fucking hate Dire Straits.
Hi Martin, LTNS.
Big Kev at the fitba?
Shurely shome mishtake?
An Imposter perhaps?
Little Kev
Excellent, really enjoyed that. Keep ’em coming.
Awesome review again… The games’s all about sakho for me. A foot in here, a toe there, he’s everywhere. Waiting for Can to flatten Mr elbow, though probably best he didn’t. And little Phil with a dream goal to send us on our way.
All in all a great 2 games but a bigger challenge is up next.
These aggro mancs need to chill the fuck out. We take the piss but don’t go all rabid eyed mental. I’ve seen these fuckers do it to kids and its embarrassing. There’s a reason why we hate these dick heads so much. My wife says that I am reasonable about most things and see the good in most people – but not this lot – complete twats! I also enjoyed moaning on the radio on the drive home – better than The Walk of Life any day.
Are you suggesting ‘Mancunians’ has a ‘t’ missing?
I have often thought so…
Meant enjoyed listening to them on the radio on the way home – sweet music.
The 96.
I gasp.
Aye, gasp. Singular. Tense? Doesn’t matter my friend. Mate I gasp because I understand. I gasp because sometimes something happens.
To me? Aye. Others too. They see it feel it taste it smell it scream it crash it and then silence.
I know now. They really are scum. Not a good word to them. Not got the time the reason the rhymes or that time. Time suspends and the lads are gasping. Murderers? Aye, you are my friends. I know now because I’ve felt it.
Last weekend I was there. On a table with my ears and eyes unobstructed but you see I can’t move. They are forcing something down my throat now because I gasp and that’s it. I’m crushed by nothing but I can’t inhale and now the terror brews. Percolates and I hear a sick gurgle from my chest and only my eyes can move and they see all.
Justice for The 96.
I feel something different now, I see something different in those words. Because now I feel a pain so exquisite that I cannot do it Justice.
There’s no Justice to be had when the life is being crushed from your chest and you want to protest but they stabbed a needle right through into your soul.
Injection of pure adrenaline into my, heart. Now I realize that it’s stopped and I cannot will it start. I gasped already, and now there’s no more air and everything is fading and going fuzzy to black, I’m not yet 33 and this is it lads, it was only hours ago I was plopped in front of the TV enjoying a rollicking footie match but then it got hot.
I remember that, it’s all spinning clear now this is me my life my mother’s tears and I can’t say goodbye. It’s an emotional release to realize your panic is about to end while the edges flicker and flare and eyelids weigh more than Atlas ever lifted.
The Bastards. The cowards. The sick.
I flirted with death from aphsixiation, mates. Just like a number of that ghastly number I thought it was done dusted and I was never even going to have last words. Because so very many didn’t.
But mates I fought. I refused to give in I was brave and all that.
Ach, I was lucky. I was at Johns Hopkins in the ICU. Man forced oxygen back into my blood, then he had mercy and I felt nothing else. Let me tell you and anyone else who will listen what those Reds knew. There’s no glory or heroics in death because when suffocation leads to your end you go with nary a peep. And now I imagine that massive moan, no wailing for them, no last calls to be answered a silent rage trapped in a hundred crushed throats.
There may be nobility in death but not at 32. Not at 13. Not pressed up against some metal fence because now I understand.
I died twice last weekend. I should have been celebrating but football turned nightmare cum opium fed bewildering dreamscape. But make no mistake I escaped.
Luck.
And now I feel a searing rage about those chants and banners and the scum who dare call themselves people.
Those vile words made hardened and callous and the fresh pain. Wounds never opened now the tears come. The survivors, the traumatized and the scarred.
You wallow in the filth you do with those songs. Watch your beloved club lose.
2-0? You’re cowards and I’m ashamed to not know your names because you’ll likely never hear my story or feel the same. You think you’re getting one over?
Lies.
You’re just causing more fiery tears. You’re crushing pain out where none should ever flow again.
I was not crushed, aye I was lucky and I was blessed to feel my mother’s warm embrace. I was blessed to watch another game.
And I weep. Not for the 96. Not for the 96,000 who bare their own wounds.
I weep because I know the evil and now I’ve had a tiny taste of the misery you’ve wrought.
I lived. I clawed my way back and f*ck anyone who calls me heroic.
The sad fact is there are no heros left here besides the ones who keep on. The invisible scars, the ones that still bleed.
End it. You lost you won you made your point.
Now be gone. I may be a young Yank full of the piss, tell me what I don’t know.
But I know.
End it, be done and let them rest, let everyone rest.
Breathe in rather than out, let it all go. Save yourself. Yourselves. JF96 because now I understand. Now end it, those chants and songs have brought shame on us all.
End it.
Another classic piece, Matt. Thanks.
Johns Hopkins wow….along with Mayo, Cleveland, Loma Linda etc :) cheers
Thanks mate, I was extremely lucky. Allergic reaction to a medication left me with something called serotonin syndrome. Just like I said, eyes and ears working couldn’t breathe or move. Absolute nightmare. Never had any real personal connection with Hillsborough before but my god. How anyone can turn to mocking the survivors of something like that over something as petty and insignificant as a child’s game…utterly disturbing. Was absolutely made-up over how we reacted. No point in wallowing in the filth.
I couldn’t breathe, reading that…
boss
Great post as usual.
United fans who sing about Hillsborough (and Liverpool fans who sing about Munich) only do so because they can’t think of anything more offensive to bawl about. They want to be superfans and define their level of success by how much they can prove their loathing of the arch-enemy.
For most of us, this sort of behaviour was left behind in the school playground. Some people go through their whole lives without progressing into adulthood though. The same is often true of their parents. It’s why you see men in their 50s still dressed like kids. Grey haired men, still in sportswear
I’ve yet to see anyone singing these vile songs, while wearing good shoes.
I suspect you are right .