FANS STORIES

THE RETURN TO PORTUGAL -Or should it be the re-return?

Well it just had to happen – after all the talk of going to the States, South Africa, Dubai and a host of other places for pre-season 2009/10 there we were – outward bound for Guimaraes, the scene of Pompey’s first taste of UEFA football on foreign soil.

Over the past 12 months it’s become pretty much a routine now. Tom and Marah sort out the essentials like transport and accommodation and off we go to rendezvous at Hairgel Teesider’s.

So it happened again on Thursday 30th July when 24 hardy souls from the Supporters Club (Central Branch) set off for Stansted overnight to catch the early morning flight to Porto.

Shortly before we left Hairgel’s there was a sign of things to come when Tom Hanksy’s shoelaces attracted the attention of the Teesiders’ new puppy. Tom – desperately anxious to escape the jaws of the ferocious bundle of furry fun was unceremoniously deposited on his backside and parts of his lower anatomy immediately became the target of the mutt’s inquisitive nature! Despite Tom’s reluctance to do so we had to leave.

Some of those who travelled to Germany in December 2008 will recall that one of our number had an extended stay at Bremen airport thanks to the Ryanair people. This time, dear reader there were no such problems and the flight was comfortable and ample provision was made for Mick Hyley and his son and his son’s best friend “Henry”. Actually, Henry isn’t his friend but a borrowed suitcase (“hand luggage only” remember) that looks like a small vacuum cleaner – hence the name Henry. Unfortunately it looked like a cast-off from Dale Winton or Julian Cleary and it definitely wouldn’t have looked out of place on any Campsite – but I digress.

We arrived at Porto and our numbers were swelled by the arrival of others also en route to Guimaraes. The superb bus organised by Tom and Marah was there waiting and off we went towards Guimaraes – and no, before you ask, it wasn’t Vision Travel’s. After a quick check-in I had an equally swift shower and off we went.

This time, when we arrived at “The Square” it was pretty much deserted. However, old friendships were quickly rekindled and I immediately fell for the charms of the Portuguesa blonde who I’d taken to my heart last year. It might be a silly name”Superbock” but she is absolutely stunning!

After lunch some weary fans decided on a return to the hotel for a quick snooze or wash and brush up and (as I later found out) others went to the stadium to buy their match tickets. It was early evening when Hairgel and I grabbed a cab to the Stadium and obtained our tickets before resuming where we’d left off earlier.

After sampling the Portuguese bar food (and more Superbock), into the ground we went and that’s when the harsh reality hit us. Spot the Pompey player! In fairness most of the hardy fans that had trekked to Portugal for the 3rd time in less than a year could definitely identify 3 or 4 but what a sham (or shame?). The team lost.

The highlight of the trip to the stadium was the refreshment bar staff. Two stood out in particular – one was the Portuguese double of Harry Potter. Well it could have been! So similar to the hero of our screens was this young barman that he prompted Pompey fans to chant of “There’s Only One Harry Potter”- much to the amusement of his fellow countrymen. His co-worker was a very attractive young lady who I later found out was “Telma”.

The scene at the refreshment kiosk at half-time – one 60 something years old Pompey publican, “You’re lovely, you are. How old are you?”

Bemused but still very attractive Portuguesa, “I’m 22, soon to be 23”.

Publican, “I’m 18”.

Shocked but still very attractive Portugesa,”Really? You have very nice skin. Very smooth skin”. The publican was beaming and looking extremely pleased with himself. She continued, “Yes, very good for 80”.

Laugh? One look at the Chairman’s face and I nearly wet my pants!

Anyway we left the game early and I stood agog as one of our number started rummaging through a waste bin before finding his unopened can of Red Bull which he’d had to surrender before entering the stadium. Another 100 metres or so and Simple was re-united with the open bottle of vodka he’d stashed before nearing the ground! They were both happy and we celbrated with vodka and Red Bull but there was no ice.

At the first bar we encountered the match was on the telly. Only Pompey could lose 0 – 2 and then lose the penalty shootout that followed! Sadly, as some of the guys wearing Pompey shirts went to take their pen the gathering in the bar sang as one, “Who are yer? Who are yer?” It was an indication of just how thin the squad will be unless something happens before the end of the transfer window.

There was nothing more to be done other than return to “The Square” so we did. This time it was full. Thousands of Portuguese people and visitors alike enjoying the evening and waiting for the firework display. We continued with the Superbock. Eventually their efforts began taking their toll and fans made their way back to their hotels. For me and 2 of my companions it was 0530! I’d gone to work at 0655 on Thursday and here it was 0530 on Saturday morning where’s my bed? Anyway, I leapt into bed just after half five and then was up and showered and into breakfast at 0900.

The first question I got was along the lines of,” What was the game like last night?” I hesitated before answering. I needn’t have worried, it wasn’t a trick question. Our Royal Male and his mate (Sherlock’s arch-enemy a.k.a No. 30) had been on the shant in the afternoon in The Square with us before going for a quick nap from which they awoke 12 hours later! Really, I suppose that had they know where we were still drinking during the early hours they could have joined us. All the way to Portugal and they missed the 1st game. Still, they hadn’t bought their tickets so they’d saved a few quid! They’d missed nothing either!

After breakfast Hanksy and Co decided on a cable car trip up to the mountain overlooking Guimaraes. At the summit they encountered one of those “Toy Town” special tourist trains – no prizes for guessing who became the Fat Controller as he sat upfront with the driver!

While part of the group where playing at Puff Puffs on the Choo Choo, Steven Island and I went exploring medieval castles and the like. I have never seen a football fan take so many photos – his camera eventually needed new batteries – sadly, the Island and I became separated after he’d cross the main road taking wedding photos. No, I kid you not – old Bathe It Daily has nothing on the Island man.

Eventually it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten for about 7 hours so I ventured into one of the bars recommended by the editors of the Portuguese edition of the fanzine. I sat myself down listening to a small gathering of Pompey fans discussing the merits of safe standing areas and the Supporters‘ Federation. Sat at the bar, I concentrated on my much belated lunch. Suddenly there was a guy alongside of me. He’d run into the bar and then pointed and “fired” his rifle at the bar owner! Oh my word. There was a loud bang. He did have a rifle pointing at the bloke but little did I (or the man from the Fed and his mates) realise it was a “friend” of the owner engaging in a bit of fun!

Anyway, after a couple more scoops I made my way back and eventually it was time for the Benfica match. It transpires that the Eagles of Lisbon are a bit like Man. Ure – a big fan base but not everybody’s cup of tea but they were reasonably supported and, having played about 15 more games than us, deservedly won the game.

In truth, the highlight of that Saturday evening was encountering Portugal’s Harry Potter Mk II. The smile of this junior Harry, sat in the lower tier with his dad, will remain with me the rest of my life – the Pompey guy next to me had taken off his PFC shirt and chucked it down. It ended up on the track but a security man picked it up and, following some directions delivered it to the happiest kid on the Iberian Peninsular. The kid put it on and looked like “Dopey” from Snow White and her 7 vertically-challenged friends. The cuffs of the long sleeved shirt hung about 6 inches past his wrists and the hem was near the kid’s knees but his face a picture of pure joy. I have no doubt that that little lad will never forget the kindness of a Pompey fan.

After the Benfica match it was business as usual and back to The Square. Apart from the hoards of Portuguese enjoying the festival there was little sign of PFC followers enjoying the Saturday night. Some were dejected by the team’s performance. Others, mindful of another early start and the fact that most had had little or next to no sleep since Thursday morning decided to take things a little easier. My companions and I had gone back to the Medieval Bar where 75 cl of Superbock cost the same ($3) as other places charged for 50 cl.

Oh while I remember – those who were with us in our first venture into UEFA will recall Hanksy and his encounter with a very steep grass bank (perhaps we should call him Banksy). Well, true to his Guimaraes form of last year, Hansky came off worse with yet another encounter with a Portuguese hill on his way back to the hotel. This time he landed in a bush! No, it wasn’t called George!

Still, Aqua Cars’ little ambassador “All Right Son” (a.k.a. as ARS) was still going strong. Another was the mighty drinker from Gosport who had attempted to demonstrate how he could compete with Simple & Co. I saw him fast asleep at around 1 am, head on the table and totally oblivious to the rest of the planet. That man has form and, true to his previous, it came as no big surprise that I learned on Sunday morning that he had spent time in hospital. Paul – you should be nice to that man from the Fed. He’s campaigning for “Safe Standing Areas” – if The Square had had them perhaps you wouldn’t have been a medical emergency! See what can happen when you’re set upon by a cobbled road?

For my part – well I was Superbocked (and Vodka and coked out) and called it a night around 0230 leaving Harry Harrington and his mate to explore the nocturnal sights of Guimaraes!

Sunday morning – wow! I’d had nearly 5 hours sleep. After breakfast one look at Hanksy and it was obvious that he had forgotten the lemonade top on his lager. There were other fragile cases but the boys and girls from the Ibis arrived and soon it was onto the (very well-organised and lovely) bus to Porto. Yes, it had been decided that we should enjoy a “rest day” along the banks of the River Douro – another example of kind-hearted folk from the Hampshire region redistributing wealth amongst the bar owners of the area!

On our way there we had time to stop and look at FC Porto’s ground. Unfortunately we were too early and it was closed. Mind you, we are talking Pompey here. Despite it all being chained and locked, 2 PFC fans (who shall remain nameless (but one’s name rhymes with Balshey) were spotted doing cartwheels in one goalmouth. Other merely took the opportunity to get more souvenirs from the Club Shop.

Eventually we re-boarded the bus and continued our journey to Porto where (surprise, surprise) more Superbock was consumed. I’ll own up – PK and I went on a river cruise and most enjoyable it was too. From our waterborne vantage point we could see that several of our party had not even moved from where we’d left them over an hour and a half earlier! (Note: If you ever go to Porto and want a decent meal visit the Chez Lapin – it may very well have a French name but PK and I had a lovely meal there. I think Masher did too).

Our last evening in Guimaraes was quiet enough and then a 6 a.m. start for the journey home and, guess what? Nobody left behind this time! With his pal Henry tucked up in the overhead locker Monty was able to look after Mick Hyley pouring his vodkas with precision – don’t forget Ryanair sell them in “doubles” sachets and it’s BOGOF with them. Hairgel was soon into action with the little sachets of spirits. Mind you, after his “severalth” he did forget he was on vodka and asked for gin and the “sachets” had been re-named “Shash-ees”. The funniest thing was Hairgel, having got the trolley dolly to stop with her wares, couldn’t make up his mind what to buy. By the time he’d cross-examined the poor girl a queue of 4 had built up – stuck one on side of the trolley with the toilets (tantalisingly close) just 3 paces away on the other side.

PK and I contained our mirth but the frustration of those queuing for the loo was about to get worse. Hairgel finally bought his duty-free goods. The trolley dolly moved her cart backwards to unblock the aisle and let the (by now) desperate women get a view of the loo – just in time for the pilot to put the seat belt sign on! Damned turbulence. The 4 ladies were distinctly crestfallen as they trudged back to their seats. Mission unaccomplished!

Soon it was 1115 and we were over flying Portsea Island and what a sight Spinnaker Tower and FP looked in the summer sunshine. Then it was on to Stansted and the coach trip home. Hanksy (being Hanksy) got the driver to make a pub stop before we carried on home. Tired but happy.

I did suggest at the AGM that we should consider a long weekend away next year but without the football. I’ve lost count of the weekends where I’ve been really enjoying myself only for it to go to pot with PFC. Perhaps we could manage a break in Spain (or wherever) between May 9th (end of season) and June 10th (first game in 2010 World Cup)?

Despite supporting PFC since 1968 I must say that these past 2 years (Hong Kong and the Asia Trophy), winning at Old Trafford and then the 3 visits to Wembley plus 3 trips to Portugal and another to Germany have been beyond my wildest dreams. However, today I have to admit that that wonderful feeling has been replaced by a huge sadness that is quickly changing into anger. I’m getting angry. Angry that our beloved Pompey has become a laughing stock. Nearly 3 months have passed and we’re no closer (it seems to me) to a new owner and the promised transfer kitty. For all of our sakes, somebody, somewhere get it sorted!

Kind regards,

No.79