Fulham 2 Libpool 4; Der, der, der, der der, der, der, der ...
Trips to London in my match-going lifetime have never been good. Two arrests, various bad experiences, mostly shite performances, and knobhead fans in both ends have usually all meant that games in our Capital have been about as enjoyable as listening to some clown shout "EEeeegor" down your ear for the eighth time. So not very enjoyable at all.
Straight from a night out back to ours at seven bells and managed to, and believe me this was an achievment in the state I was in, get down to Limey for the 0810 train down to Euston. Three of us ended up going, with various excuses of sickness, money problems and bird troubles making sure some stayed in bed. The shithouses.
After a few cans on the train down, and a bit of something extra to keep us awake, the general feeling in the group was that if anyone offered us a decent sum for the ticket, it was getting sold. Last year we had some mad Japanese feller offering us £60 at another London away and being smart arses we tried bumping him for £80 until some quick lad decided he'd take that offer. The tube hadn't changed since Spurs. Grubby, overcrowded, boiling and horrible. "In your Liverpool slums" indeed.
Two out of three getting a free ride wasn't bad, although I nearly managed to rip my coat running through those things [you know what I mean]. Out at Putney Bridge we got into the "Eight Bells" pub, your usual awayday boozer. Plazzy cups, dear, watered-down ale and it's fair share of wally fans. We got a few bottles from a nearby shop and had a little bevvy outside, and a few usual faces popped up, and thankfully by this time I wasn't really gurning [or dancing] too much as the watered down foreign shite bottles started to kick in a little. As someone put it, you can't watch Liverpool and be sober.
We walked up to Craven Cottage and got in without any hassle, as the usual Cockney tradition of treating each fan as a suicide bomber didn't happen. Having never been to Craven Cottage before it was how I expected it to be honest, small, quiet and the worst place to be in the World for the first 45.
It was confusing to see Salif Diao and Djimi Traore in the starting lineup, and it did little to fuel any optimism I had of us getting our first away win of the season. A good atmosphere in the first few minutes was quickly ended when Luis Boa Morte scored with a nice assist from, surprise, surprise, Mr Diao. Five minutes later it got even worse when Boa Morte did the same after taking advantage of Luis Garcia's unwillingness to put a foot in. In other words, being a shithouse. I don't want to sound like a moaning arse, but the whole team didn't have any bottle, passion or any ideas. You might as well have gone back to last year, as every time a player had time on the ball the others would stand there saying "Nah not me, just launch it up to van der Saar for a change."
At half-time a serious discussion about getting the four bells train ended when we came to the conclusion that if it didn't improve we'd be off after 60 minutes. On the train down, every now and again you'd hear a Red start whistling the "Ring of Fire" tune, the "der, der, der .." one. By the time we'd got to Euston everyone had it in their heads, and of course this carried on into the ground. The Redmen, obviously hearing this battle cry immediately got into action as Baros' shot took a wicked deflection off Zak Knight, a feller you deffo wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, and looped over van der Sar. By this stage Rafa had taken heed to the advice the travelling Kop offered him and replaced Salif 'We play in Red?' Diao with Xabi Alonso.
This goal lifted everyone and it was like watching a different team after that. Alonso, the new favourite in the crowd, was pinging every ball to red shirts, and each pass was met with a chrous of his name, whilst Jay Carragher made sure every Fulham attack, the few there were, were unsuccessful.
The funniest moment looking back, bar the Biscan goal, was the woman behind me who seemed to be Mrs Sensible. Take when Pembridge got taken out by Luis Garcia, it was met with a few cheers and as one lad put it, "Make sure you break the sheep shagging Blusnosed prick's leg next time". But Mrs Sensible would claim it was a "rash challenge". Whilst everyone would shout "Just clear it Reds" for a corner, Mrs Sensible started her own little team talk. "Mark your space Reds, JC you're in Sami's area." I could just see Jamie turning round and going "Oh yeah sorry love." If you're reading, get a bit of a life please, rip into Biscan whilst he's warming up, or call Diao a twat or something.
Everybody in our end was convinced we'd get another, and after a good 20 from Cisse, who came close a few times, it was Luis Garcia's header that gave Milan Baros a chance to stab it home, and that he did. Cue mayhem in the away end, and bruised shins for the majority of people. Five minutes later Josemi was sent off, a bit rash but I'd rather see that than players shitting out every week. The fact that one lad only found out on the train home that Josemi got sent-off shows that we dealt with his dismissal superbly, especially Jamie Carragher. And no, the lad wasn't even [that] pissed.
With the away end booming the Reds kept on pushing and it was fitting that the man of the moment popped up to get the goal to put us ahead for only the second time away from home this season. A bit lucky maybe but well deserved, as Alonso's free kick deflected off Diop and ended up in the back of the net. I'm sure that Xabi meant to get the deflection, and the way he pinpointed every pass means that it would be hard to argue.
The next few minutes gave everyone the chance to get a bit of "Der, der, der etc" into the proceedings and with Fulham having little to offer, the two of us who were sitting together decided to call it a day and wait for our other mate to make sure we got to Euston in time for the 1800. Waiting just outside by the Burger Van we heard the cheers and saw literally hundreds run out celebrating wildly. You could just hear the odd "FUCKING BISCAN!!!" every now and again, as the other lad strolled out after the final whistle saying "Fuckin' ell you missed Biscan's goal". Last time the c*nt comes away with me.
After that, from the walk to Putney Bridge, the tube to Euston, the wait at Euston, the train to Manchester and then the train home, and after that the night in town, you never got five minutes without hearing someone singing, shouting or whilstling the Ring of Fire tune. We got to Euston literally minutes after the last Limey train, so we had to get the Picadilly one. A few cans on the way home, and we were joined by Georgie Best. Some feller a few rows back with a grey beard and about 12 [empty so it must've been George] Stella cans who was met with a few songs. After that a mate goes into the bog and is talking to me as I had just bought, okay "got" something from the shop onboard. The train driver sounded Jamacian and we'd been buzzing off it, so the lads sitting on the bog shouting through to me, in a sorta Scouse-Rasta accent: "I'll be stopping at Crewe man, anyone got some roach man". Funny if you were there, even funnier when a very nice young girl comes over and waits outside the door. She stood there waiting hearing a lad inside put on a Jamacian accent asking someone if they wanted a line of beak. Let's just say his slim chances of getting his end away went there and then.
Getting home the 39 hours awake, numerous drink, drugs and dodgy pasties had taken it's toll and the bus home was a battle to stay awake. Getting home I just about managed to get to bed for midnight, dreaming of Biscan, George Best and Xabi Alonso. Sad c*nt.
After the morning of some being hungover, some still off their kites and some just being themselves, it was a surprise to say it, but it was certainly one to remember. Now for Millwall a week on Tuesday ...
Der, der, der, der, der, der, der, der ....
© Report by Gary Ablett, Halewood Express 2004
