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?
19 thoughts on “Tales of the City: Gutted (STRONG LANGUAGE)”
Ha! This is my new favourite story. I think you should try publishing your tales of the city at some point.
Thanks Mara. Delighted that you think that 🙂
I love football it makes me sad when some people get carried away and give the game a bad name or cause people to worry.
Totally agree Charlotte. Thanks for stopping by 🙂
Oh, I was so disappointed to find you don’t really sound like that. Nice dialect and the guy telling the story was interesting… full of rage and beer. Way to take a humorous story to make a serious point.
Thanks Ted! I can switch it on whenever – hehe. As a non Scot, did you find it readable on this platform? It’s hard to know how easily the dialect translates?
I could understand and enjoyed the words. My son-in-law- is from Dublin and he made a conscious effort to lose his accent when he came to the US. He can sure switch it on when he wants, and I’ve seen him do that when he wants to charm someone. I forgot to tell you I liked the photo.
Haha, the charm of the Irish, to be sure! Thanks Ted, really helpful feedback on the dialect and of course the pic – it’s a random street snap from the top of a bus in Glasgow 🙂
I love everything about your story; the voice, rhythm, flow…and the dialect translates beautifully!
Many thanks Wizard, really useful feedback on the dialect!
As a non Scot I could imagine it, but then again at the Olympics in ’96 a Scotsman and I had some ‘words’ about what he thought I said and what he intended to do if I didn’t apologize. Back in those days I wasn’t one to say sorry to some shlub in a bar.
Anyhoo, I really enjoyed your story.
Thanks Jack, hopefully you don’t think we’re all aggressive drunks. Some of us are really rather nice 😉 thanks for stopping by and glad you enjoyed!
I know from experience that most of you are very fine people.
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I really love your story 🙂
Even though every child (hyperbole) in the U.S. plays soccer (football to the rest of the world), it still isn’t that popular of a sport to cause any fights. I don’t go to many sporting events, so I haven’t actually witnessed anything at a game. However, Philadelphia fans (I used to live in Philly) will destroy Center City if the baseball team wins the World Series. I must admit, I watched it on the news. I had no desire to be in the midst of chaos. If you ask me, that is a strange way to celebrate. They would probably celebrate that way for all of their sports teams that win first place.
Thanks Robin and also for the interesting insight from stateside. Soccer violence in Europe is rife. In the UK, the gangs are known as “casuals” and are extremely well organised with their mission statements being to go out and reek havoc on match days. In the 90s, before the police clamped down, my mother wouldn’t let me go into the city centre of my hometown (Aberdeen) if the football team were playing Glasgow rangers on a Saturday. Scary! Thanks for stopping by, hopefully chat again soon 😉
I had trouble at first, but by the sixth paragraph I’d fallen into the rhythm of the dialect. I was struck at how universal your narration is. Change a few words here and there and it could be a conversation outside an American football stadium.
I’m pleased you got into it Nate. I guess we are all human after all, sadly 😉
A few years ago they acknowledged there was a spike in domestic violence after Old Firm games – although they haven’t been a problem for a while. Won’t be long now, and I acknowledge that as a member of the other (green!) side.
Absolutely. I find this a terrifying stat. I don’t think train travel is quite as bad as it once was now that they tend to ban booze sales when a big game is on, but I’ve been on many a train in my time where this kind of menace was real. Puts an interesting perspective on Corbyn’s “women only” carriage suggestion anyway! Thanks for reading!
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