Game report as told to Ricardo by Nelson the Cat.
We arrived at Berwick Rangers’ stadium and my carer casually asked whether the Vikings had been the week before judging by its condition for which he received a cuff across his brow. His mackem mate had wisely bought us 3 tickets to sit in the Main Stand with the Home Supporters as he knew that, being Roman Catholics, we were both ardent Celtic supporters, even though being Protestant, he followed the Gers. I was under strict orders not to wear my green, white and gold Celtic scarf or bobble hat which I had agreed to go along with.
‘That makes a welcome change for you to actually do something I ask of you. Are you ill?’ had been my LHC’s retort which I thought was a trifle uncalled for. I refused to be drawn into a catty exchange by this comment but courteously thanked him for his concern about my welfare adding…
‘No, as far as I was aware, I have neither cat flu nor rabies but you can be rest assured that you will be the first human to find out if I ever get the latter.’
I was able to peer into the stadium as we were waiting to be searched by the hundreds of policemen barring the gate. It was like a sea of hi-viz yellow which illuminated an otherwise dreary afternoon. I have to say that it was the most feline-friendly venue I had ever been to: there was a huge litter tray encircling the entire pitch which was very considerate of them but personally I would have preferred slightly more privacy whilst performing my ablutions especially as the game was to be televised live.
I thought Berwick played in black and gold so was surprised that all the supporters going through our entrance were all wearing blue. Perhaps they had changed their kit for this season and lamented that, presumably having played in black and gold since 1884, this was another proud old club that had thrown its heritage out of the ground. Perhaps they had been taken over by a rich Malaysian property tycoon though looking on the bright side, they may now be selling Satay Chicken with rice instead of pie and chips during the half-time break.
As we entered the ground, having assured a suspicious steward that the Topic Bars were to be used for nourishment not missiles, we read a sign stating ‘Away Supporters’. I could not believe it. Being in the bad books, and having a throbbing pain in my brow, I was obsequiously relying on Marco Polo and Vasco da Gama to choose the correct entrance of which there were but two. Yet despite these 50:50 odds they succeeded in wandering into the wrong entrance from which there was no turning back as the afore-mentioned steward said no-one in the away end was allowed to go into the home end. My worst nightmare was about to be realised: spending 2 hours in the company of 3,000 of Rangers most die-hard, rabidly papist-hating, loyalist supporters.
We found space at the front of the stand as far away as possible from the screaming hordes of Gers supporters which was approximately six feet. Despite the bitterly cold weather I was taken aback by the Rangers Supporters Winter Dress namely blue polyester Rangers shirt, faded jeans and Adidas sneakers. That was it. Maybe there was something in their Irn-Bru which had some magical insulating properties.
I think the entire Constabulary of Northumbria must have been packed into the tiny ground. The official match attendance was 4,476 but I think 6,476 was more accurate. I was tempted to ask the boys in hi-viz yellow if they had each paid £15 but didn’t want to get into the bad books of another 2,000 humans. The other strange thing was that everyone in the police contingent was standing looking at everyone standing in the away supporters end: a bit like when chimpanzees stare back with wonderment at humans in a zoo. Maybe the police were admiring the sartorial elegance of the Gers supporters or were drawn to their siren-like chanting which had commenced just before the game kicked off.
I did suggest to one Police Sergeant that it would be much better for all concerned if they were to all turn around and face the pitch otherwise they would miss the game which would be a shame and a complete waste of their hard-earned overtime bonuses in an era of huge cuts to the Police Forces budgets. I then wondered whether he was the grandson of the octogenarian Boadicea: Lewis Hamilton mutant in Asda as his ungrateful response was to stick his manic face into mine and growl ‘One more smart**** comment like that from you sonny boy and I’ll have you cuffed, escorted out of the ground and thrown into the cells.’
What is wrong with these people???
If I had been a Viking 1,200 years ago I think I would have raided somewhere else where the local population were a bit more cordial and the weather a bit less freezing. Maybe La Rochelle.
I was told by my LHG to shut up and not mention anything about Celtic which I duly obliged, largely on account of spotting the scrumptious blonde PC45. It wasn’t long before all 3,000 Gers fans were serenading her with a quaint little song, maybe a traditional Gaelic love song, though I couldn’t recall it being played at Celtic Connections the previous month entitled (I couldn’t quite make out all the words unfortunately) ‘Get your {something out} for the lads.’
She just put her pretty head down and smiled bashfully. It must have been nice to have so many compliments at one time.
After six minutes Berwick somehow managed to take the lead, though I thought it would be fairer if the goal be awarded to Rangers as it was their defender who glanced it into the net past his own keeper with the most skilful of touches. There was a faint ripple of applause and cheering from the Home Supporters. The much louder, foul-mouthed shouts of abuse from the Away Supporters berated the defender for his incompetence but I thought it was the deftest of touches that managed to outfox his goalkeeper.
Three minutes later Rangers equalised from a penalty and the whole ground erupted. White and blue streamers were suddenly hurled towards the pitch narrowly missing a very stern-looking Police Inspector. I had a sneaking suspicion they were being deliberately aimed at her. From this moment the Rangers Fans did not stop singing and 3,000 of the 3,003 residents in the Away End kept jumping up and down singing ‘Bouncy Bouncy.’ They even brought their own drummer to dictate the tempo.
Due to their heavy Glaswegian dialects, I couldn’t understand much of what they were singing but the Police were so impressed that they started filming them. Perhaps this was so they could show the rest of the lads back at the police station who were unable to get tickets for the game.
After about 10 minutes of being recorded for what I presumed to be the ‘Songs of the Northumbria Constabulary Choir and select friends 2013’ the Rangers fans felt suitably honoured to start singing ‘Yer ken stick yer (unintelligible) camera up you’re a***’ though I don’t think you will find this amongst Pavarotti’s Greatest Hits.
Rangers duly took the lead on the stroke of half time: 3,001 residents in the Away End went mad with unbridled joy whilst one went berserk with unbridled rage screaming abuse at his smart phone whilst belting it with his remaining Topic. The remaining other resident had to that admit he missed the goal having become besotted with the beautiful blonde PC45.
‘If only she was a Chartreuse’ was my lament of which the Bard of Ayrshire himself would have approved.
I see Rangers lost at home to Annan Athletic today.
Even I can now see that has implications…
Nelson, you have been on my mind some of the day since I read this homily to a cat (another one!) in the very most early hours of this morning. I admit to wondering myself were you a little off colour because it seemed to me you were less Nelson than I expected of an animal of your kind cast into tough surrounds at each paw step. Step up, Nelson, I wanted to say when I wondered you seemed swept up in events and increasingly less assertive with every step further from the get up you left at home. I could not avoid making some small comparisons with the discussion had at the bar one day about the prospect of wearing the Pigs Arms t-shirt down the street casually but that’s another story of timid dispositions under the fur.
I myself wouldn’t be seen dead in any parts in the Celtic costumery as I only traditionally turn up for The Miners, not even a tourist gesture of a Celtic’s scarf handed casually to me (or caringly), not wrapped in tissue paper neither even powder pink tissue paper topped with a single red rose and a small card embellished with the elegant, discrete word ‘Nelson’ would induce me to wear a green, white and gold Celtic hat. I mention this because it did happen to me travelling that I was sad just to illustrate that I lost my smart grey beanie with Billabong scrawled – casually – on it that I was offered a Townsville (Queensland, Australia) Cowboys cap never mind it was worn out by mine host proudly. Thanks be I could concede I liked the colours. I thanked him of course and his wife told him he was kind but little could make up for losing a grey Billabong beanie. I also concede I was ‘away’ regards pride he evidenced naively in an idea I would be comforted by the colours wearing a Cowboys cap. Goodness me, Nelson, I’ve never been to a Cowboys game even let alone could be seen to be seeming to snub the club of my own family’s alleigance. We’ve been with the Rangers since 1880. I should clarify this it occurs to me. I am speaking of the ‘Beath Rangers.
I was saying you seemed less Nelson than Nelson in the situation, but then of course you realised you might be in a situation bigger than both of you when you went the wrong way. It is the same with The Miners. I can point out to you, Nelson, you had already gone the wrong way with the green, white and gold.
PS: I researched, Nelson, I had to, to understand what you were speaking on. I knew nowt about football when I read Part 1. I have been forced to scale up using Wikipedia my participation in order to read your scratchings. I offer a small movie I recalled reading this in the wee hours. My ain father might well have attended this match at the age of 15 visiting his maternal grandparents, nearly the only statement about Football Clubs and matches that might be true of the offering I make to display I read your stuff and took it on board sincerely. So I could follow your yarn and learn, brother.
Dear Mr Sandshoe,
I am delighted that I have helped you appreciate the noble game of football which is the sport the Duke of Wellington was referring to when he stated that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton. Watching that old footage of the mighty Cowdenbeath brought a tear to me eye as my Great-Uncle Willie was the feline companion of the part-time Team Masseur whose full-time occupation was Milliner, Despite scurrilous rumours and any incriminating footage, he did not abuse his position and make his fortune by selling flat caps to every supporter as a condition of entry to that magnificent old stadium.
Nelson
PS My match report above concluded at half-time after which my day went from bad to worse to worst.
Dear Nelson
My manners are down at heel. Please forgive me. Dear Nelson seems so appropriate now, too. The Beath family cat, Hamish, we lent to the draper for ratting was well familiar with your Great-Uncle. Regarding “my friend at the hatters”, Hamie remarked often, “Wullie is a priceless act.”
My grandmother told me and all laughed so.
No need to unpack ‘act’. Who could suppose those families had more than a genteel tavit. No, that story about the caps was never repeated on our family watch. I concede in Dundee perhaps by street cats. Our Boot Shop there supplied Fifeshire drapers in that time frame with hand made boots and by the by, we supplemented them from “The Hub Boot Shop” in Aberdeen. Yes, yes, staff and we sold a few caps to accessorize, but every sort of boot. I’m a remnant.
“So many more boots than caps”, Hamie was known for quipping. He put on that silly cat grin with the corners of his mouth turned up and totally long whiskers with fine teeth,
‘Shoe.
PS Terrible trauma, Nelson. You’re still such a gentleman’s cat.
Brilliant!! The Policewoman on the far left is actually PC 45!!! I was stood about 20 metres to the left at the front!!!
Small world, Richard. I found the photo just by googling images. The kids standing on our right of the police are a bit of a worry. Just who is protecting who ? And how apt is the message on the back of their jackets !
I know nothing about any sport, but I’d like to ask TT who does thos lovely drawings on the frontpage, the spoon, the cup, very beautiful…are they yours?