Of Mice and Scummy Men

by
Saints' Top Boys rally the troops for a toe to toe with the hated Sussex Gayers

Saints' Top Boys rally the troops for a proper toe-to-toe with the hated Sussex Gayers

Here they are, the pictures I promised of our away win at Southampton last week (Sunday 15th). We started off in Yates’s Wine Lodge not far from Central Station. Not wanting or expecting a quiet drink, the Seagulls away fans started the day off well with a good few ales and plenty of singing. Of course the police were in heavy attendance outside, albeit in good humour and using nothing more than good-natured banter.

A few young Scummers were seen to be turned away from trying to get in close to the Albion crowd lolling in and around the pub, but the wife and I stayed on too long and had to join the police escort of away fans up to St Mary’s Stadium at about 4:10pm. Here (above) is the first effort of the so-called local “firm” trying to get in close and have a dig at the now very noisy and slow moving Albion crowd. The dogs were going crazy, but it really was handbags at ten paces at this point.

I love that scene in Black Hawk Down when the US Army Rangers are moving in file up a road in Mogadishu, all the while the militia are moving parallel to them along the next street. Well, a few determined Scummers were shadowing us like that too, popping their inbred faces up now and again at intersections and giving it the lemon. Silly buggers, look at them.

I knew it would kick off outside the Saints’ main matchday pub near the ground – the King Alfred – and right enough, the peelers were mob-handed here as all manner of knuckle-draggers bowled out to greet us as the “Al-bion, Aaal-bion!” chants went up. A  couple of Seagulls got their trews shortened by the Old Bill alsatians, a few digs (nearly) got thrown, and the “gay bastards” insults were flying. Oooh I could have ripped a paper tissue I was so excited!

We went our separate ways on the bridge, and you can see the roof of the ground by now. The handbags were folded into armpits for now in a Les Dawson stylee.

I’ve already reported on the match itself – WE LEATHERED ‘EM! – and we also drowned out their somnambulant “support”. After the game the two of us hurried back to the station, avoiding the police escort, so we could get the quickest train back to Pompey (a mate was putting us up) to celebrate our tremendous win.

Before

On the way and from nowhere (well, the University grounds) came a mob of about 50 hoodies, baying for the blood of the nancy Brighton boys. They terrified me, and they’ll be even scarier in 4 years’ time when they start shaving. I was getting pissed off with these sad bastards now, and felt like hitting someone myself. “Are you a Saint?” they were interrogating passersby, “No, I’m a Sinner!” I wanted to shout and then chin one of the little wankers, but the police rocked up again, video-camera lights blazing and they herded this…em, herd, against some wall.

During

We were off shortly after on the Fratton-bound train with a lot of happy, if relieved looking, Albion shirts and scarfers. A great day out, but Football Factory it certainly wasn’t. Silly Scummers.

After

After

Away

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