FANS STORIES
POMPEY IN EUROPE - A fans view
Now that the European adventure is just a fading memory and the FA Cup epic of 2008 cannot be repeated, I thought I might share with you some of the happenings from the European Tour
POMPEY’S EUROPEAN TOUR – STARTING WITH PORTUGAL PART 2
I hadn’t set out to write about our excursions into Europe – after all, the first episode had been witnessed by around 3,000 fans plus those who watched the game (or the highlights) on the TV. The Braga game however was witnessed by around 800 Pompey fans (according to The News) and didn’t merit being televised so I thought I’d write a few words to give a flavour to those unable to make the trip.
I’m afraid that I am a great believer in the old adage “What goes on tour, stays on tour” so - for those of you hoping for a bit of gossip – you may be disappointed. Furthermore, In order to protect the guilty I have changed a few names. It should be noted that any similarity between characters mentioned in this account and any living person is purely coincidental.
After our fabulous trip to Guimaraes, I hoped that Pompey would be drawn against SC Braga in the Group Stage. Nothing to do with football you understand, purely because I had enjoyed the local culture so much! UEFA made my dream come true so, once again, I contacted Tom Hanks of Hanksy Travel Ltd and set the wheels in motion. Hanksy’s wife Marrah (the real power behind the throne) set her marvellous organisational skills in motion. Bit by bit it all came together.
The night before the game saw the majority of our little band of intrepid travellers meeting for a nocturnal noggin in Hairgel Teesiders place. Fortified by some fine ales and his wife’s splendid chicken curry off we went to rendezvous with our Gatwick-bound coach. The journey was quite uneventful. We collected Eric and Joan outside Copnor Fire Station then it was up to Cosham and our select group was complete. We arrived at Gatwick with plenty of time to spare and could be observed enjoying more pre-flight drinks with Hanksy at around 0340 in the morning!
The TAP (Air Portugal) flight was smooth and pleasant. Breakfast was served around 7 am and I noticed Hanksy getting tucked into a can (or was it more?) of Sangres (a Portugese lager) whilst I ate my cheese and tomato pannini and drank coffee and orange juice.
At the airport we were met by 2 of the 3 guys who had driven us some 3 weeks earlier and we were safely delivered to the hotel before 10 a.m. A quick shower and change then off to explore Porto again.
I won’t bore you dear readers with lurid details of Pompey fans sunning themselves on the banks of the River Douro in 20+ degrees of autumnal sunshine. Suffice to say that the little inner glow I experienced by knowing that I was assisting the local economy was enough reward for me. After the partaking of some refreshment the time for the coach to pick us up to go to Braga was suddenly upon us. Travelling in a super, modern and clean double-decker coach off we went (before you ask – no, it wasn’t Vision Travel) to Braga.
Clever old Hanksy had previously arranged for us to drink in Braga before the Guimaraes match so, for those of us lucky to be there again, it was definitely a case of déjà vu and another opportunity to re-visit the town square. This time of course there were a number of other Pompey fans there too.
I saw John A P F C Westwood and his entourage plus scores of others taking the opportunity to help the Portugese try to get over the credit crunch – a sort of re-distribution of wealth I guess. Eventually we had to make our way to the Stadium. Mindful of the fact that only 0% beer and soft drinks are allowed at UEFA Cup venues, the resourceful Pompey fans did their best to ensure there would be no need to drink alcohol-free drinks. Outside the stadium were a number of makeshift “places of light refreshment”.
It was at this particular stage of the proceedings that the best laid plans of some of my travelling companions started to unravel. When asked to sell a large vodka and tonic the vendors’ inability to understand “tonic” became apparent. The result was that one very large vodka had another very large vodka poured on top of it - meaning that the lucky (?) drinker had something approaching over half a pint of neat vodka to sort out.
The aftermath was amazing. Harry Harrington required the close attention assistance of Hairgel Teesider and Masher Menfield to get into the stadium. That Hairgel managed to get his charge into the ground speaks volumes for the man. Personally, having seen the state he was in, I would not have given Harry Harrington any odds on his getting into the Stadium at all!
The authorities didn’t mind where people were sat or stood so we took the only nearby seats still available to us. There were quite a number of PFC flags already hanging up on display either taped on to the glass panel or lovingly laid out on the seats in front of us – it was a great sight.
Harry Harrington was carefully put into his seat and (somehow) managed to nosedive over the backs of the seats in front of him and into the flags laid out there. Masher and I retrieved him. His spectacles became the first casualty of the night. The right arm was bent at something approaching 95 degrees and the left at just about 20%. In truth the angles were irrelevant.
When the swaying Harrington tried to put his glasses back on they promptly fell off. It was as though he had no ears. Again he moved to re-site them and again there was nothing to arrest the descent. Giggling Harrington couldn’t fathom out why it was happening until Masher finally got through to him that the arms of his glasses were bent.
The game progressed and everyone knows it wasn’t great and that perhaps one player in particular has now passed the last chance saloon. The riot police had got involved when (allegedly) a little brotherly (non) love got out of hand and their presence, coupled with the goings-on on the park, led to an uneasy atmosphere.
However, I’m getting away from the exploits of my fellow travellers. Hanksy, as in Hong Kong and various other places had done a really sterling job escorting Mick Hiley. Alas, it appears that poor old Mick had also fallen victim to the dreaded vodka and “tonic”. He staggered forward and pitched onto the concrete floor. Other Pompey fans (no doubt concerned by the plight of a fellow fan) rushed forward to help. Unfortunately it isn’t clear whether the “V and T” had got to them too or whether it was the old Super Bock 6.4% lager but, because Mick is a big old chap, they struggled with his weight and fell over too. It was like a human skittles match. The riot police – thinking it had all kicked off again rushed towards the tangle of arms and legs.
Eventually an uneasy peace broke out again. Meanwhile, my friend Masher felt the urge to pee and, assuming Harry Harrington to be OK where he was, Masher went to the toilets. Unfortunately, Harrington had been called by some of his friends further back in the stand and decided he would join them. He rose from his seat and took 2 tentative steps before falling over in the row. Undeterred, he reached the end of the row and turned into the aisle. Two more steps and crash, down he went again. His face was a picture. It was a combination of total bewilderment and amusement topped off with his specs perched at a crazy angle. Manfully he battled on. Two more steps and (ouch) he fell again. Eventually, aided and abetted by others, he disappeared from my view. Masher returned and enquired of Harrington’s whereabouts.
After the disappointing game we left the ground and made way to our waiting coach. Axel (the Hampshire PC) had been called to one of the Football Club’s coaches where (allegedly) one fan had proceeded to head butt another).
Hanksy offered Axel and his companion a lift back to downtown Porto on our coach. We arrived back at the hotel whereupon Eric and Joan made their excuses and retired for the night. (It is understood that Eric’s promises to the long-suffering Joan were forgotten once his head hit the pillow ZZzzz!).
For others however, the urge to re-distribute Europe’s wealth was uppermost in their minds and off they went into the night. I recall speaking to Hanksy at around 1.30 a.m. when he was sat outside a nocturnal place of social activity wearing shorts and complaining of cold legs whilst eating his hot dog!
It wasn’t much later that I called it a night and returned to the hotel. In the lounge was the Welshman Dilwoo (and friends) having a sort of indoor picnic. Wine by the carton (just like longlife milk), glasses nicked from the hotel bar and, of course various little nibbles.
The morning eventually arrived and off to breakfast. Hairgel Teesider was already there with a few of our intrepid group. After a decent nosh-up it was out into Porto again. It appears that despite our most valiant efforts the previous night supplies of Super Bock were still available. On the banks of the river, Eric and Joan were accompanied by Uriah and they renamed my son Chris – amazingly he answered to his new handle! After lunch in a restaurant close to our hotel some further refreshment we were eventually delivered to Porto airport.
Checking in directly in front of us was JAPFCW and his musical troupe. You should have seen the state of Pimple! Pimple Pieman had a sort of grey, ashen complexion – he looked like an extra from the “Night of the Living Dead”. Immediately I began to feel better and actually plucked up courage for a few Super Bocks. As we waited, Dora Herd’s little lad was seen chatting to a young lady who was actually tasked with trying to persuade travellers to taste the local wine.
Not wishing to see get into trouble with her boss a small group of Pompey fans decided to help her out – she was soon saying things like ”That’s the 3rd bottle in 20 minutes” – memo to her boss “The girl did good”. A rather uneventful flight back to dear old Blighty followed.
Oh, thanks for asking – I didn’t get into too much bother during either of the trips to Portugal but I did lose my PFC rain jacket at Gatwick Airport before Portugal Trip No. 1. I think I left Mick Hiley to look after it while I went to the bar to look for my favourite Belgian blond “Stella”!
Alan
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