Aye, so it was aboot twenty, twenty-five minutes to go afore Waverley and I was starting tae get that close to boiling point, lads.
Try being the one green shirt tossed into a carriage full o’ Jambo supporters, and ye’ll ken whit I mean when I say that I was aboot tae lose my cool in a very public fucking way.
I mind, a loud cheer went up and then the rancid stench of Jambo spew was upon us.
What a bunch of arseholes.
So anyway, that’s when I first spotted her and her pack standing further up the carriage through the maroon and white haze.
I just didnae need the aggravation, lads.
At first, I wasnae even sure if it wis her.
I kent that if she eyeballed me, she’d no doot be waltzing o’er tae gloat aboot the winning header – just to get a rise fae me.
She was raking for something in her bag. Def-in-ate-ely pissed. I ducked as she turned to hand her pass to the conductor. Close one.
I looked up in her direction, no’ movin’ a muscle ‘n just watched.
Same old routine: flirt with conductor, pass back in bag, make up out of bag, make up on.
She looked like she’d been left oot in the sun for oors tae fry wi’ a large glass o’ cheap chardonnay and a fag.
I was definitely way out of her league these days, boys.
Mind, there was a time when I fancied her like mad, n’ I used to feel well chuffed to have scored such a stunner.
She’s shacked up with some rich old boy now.
So ma pal Davie was telling me down the pub last week anyways.
I mean, I should have seen it then. Poisonous bitch. God knows how I didnae What. A. Mug.
So, I guess whit I’m sayin’ is.
At’s why I went o’er.
I dinnae care whit naebidy says, she took me for a prize mug and so it’s only fair that she should hae tae explain it to me every time I see her, just so she kens how it feels.
I wanted to see that shame in her eyes one mare time, mare than anything.
Today was her lucky fucking day.
I had seen her first, so why not? Game on. I waltzed over, keeping it cool.
She didnae even look round when I called her name.
“You deaf, ye silly cow?”
“Just get the hell away from me Mick, I dinnae want a scene, no here” she says.
“I’m nae the one making a scene, love.” I says tae her.
And I wasnae. If anything she done me a favour getting me oot my seat afore I smacked someone.
Look, mate, just take these handcuffs off for five minutes, aye?
It should be her lifted for assault, nae me.
She waved the blade at ME.
I wasnae just going to stand there and take a gutting fae a bird, ‘specially no that tart.
On the day that the football (soccer) World Cup kicks off in Brazil, I thought that I would publish this Tale of the City, which was inspired by my observations of a large group of drunk football fans in a train station pub in Scotland.
Although this incident is fictional (and I’m not in any way suggesting that the teams described here are particularly notorious for it), it is not uncommon to witness violent outbursts in Scotland’s cities on match day.
Whilst only a minority of fans are involved, the worrying facts from researchers at Lancaster University suggest that incidents of domestic abuse rose significantly during the last World Cup tournament. Specifically, levels rose by 26% when England won or drew during the last three World Cups, while there was a 38% spike when the national team lost. I don’t have the equivalent stats for Scotland (as they haven’t qualified for years!), but have heard similar figures being spoken of for cup finals etc.
Here’s hoping England do well!
Have you ever witnessed a violent incident, sporting related or otherwise? What triggered it?