Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Outside the Green Door #3

Twomowers…It’s so plausible I can’t believe it!
Outside the Green Door

This is our town that wants to be a city

Did yers all see them ‘contemporary’ and ‘innovative’ “this is our city” ads pasted up all over the place? The marketing genius behind it is a London based blue season-ticket holder from Timperley called Julian who reckons it’s a poster that’ll make you smile whether red or blue. Now I know that Julian will say that any mention of the ads means they’re a success because they’re provoking debate so here I’m giving the blue ponce what he wants. But I’ve got to admit I smiled at the smart rotating one on the A6 in Stockport centre and smiled again when the one near Grey Mare Lane market got sorted but me biggest smile was for the one next to the Star and Garter on Fairfield st. near where prossers hang out. On close inspection it had a used joey bag stuck to its bottom right hand corner.

A bridge too near
These local away matches are right up my street, no not literally but metaphorically, but some of them are literally round the corner. However, Trevor, watch out if you’re going to these small towns giving it the big I am. You could, as our Kid (aka Jellmo out of unsigned layabout band Hedz Jellmo) found, be shitting on your own doorstep. When FC United forced Cheadle to play at Ashton (sic.), he was rubbing his hands together at the thought of a cheapo awayday out on the razzle-dazzle. He hit the chemic at 11 in the morn and by 5 in the afto is out of the game. Me mam who had just been to Cassons on the indoor market to return a pair of badly fitting slippers spots him on a bench with his head in his chips ‘n’ gravy and had to sort him a lift home – he’d have got the slipper but she’d opted for a refund rather than an exchange. Stalybridge native and UWS king of music Conrad Murray had a similar probleemo when FC had a pre-season friendly in his home town. Swaggering about Vegas like he owned the place with a can of Scandia Super in one hand and a king size Peter Stuyvesant in the other he was booting over bins with his cherry red docs in Staly bus station when his mam got off a 236 and promptly marched him home to bed. Luckily she let my bessy mate Connie out the following Wednesday to do his GMR show with bessy mate Tex Christian.

The Great FC’UM Bank-Roll Swindle
Anyways I’ve had enough of these FC United fookers. What a corrupt bunch of bazturds they turned out to be. Punk football? Well I wouldn’t be shocked if someone told me Malcolm McLaren was behind it all – a personal cash cow for a few mavericks behind an anti-establishment façade if ever I saw one. Grass roots? Fookin flash suits more like. The cracks started appearing when United’s marketing director Peter Draper exposed that the only difference between FCUM and MUFC was ‘scale’. It worried me a bit; the bloke obviously knows his marketing onions and then I start to read about the arrogant bully boy tactics, the team running out to Patti Smith’s Free Money and the truth behind FC – that it is based on a hybrid Stalinist/Abramovich model. And I start to worry more. Then a mate tells me he’s in this pub where the board are having an informal meeting and they keep going to the bogs together and reappearing with traces of sherbet dib-dab down their shirts. Spotted in Tesco Droylsden – a board member buying salmon with members’ bugs. To top that Eccleshall’s secretary finds a horse’s head in his bed forcing his titchy club to move their fixture with FCUM to Stafford. I wasn’t happy with this but needed to investigate further. After the game at Stafford the UWS editor smuggled me into the players lounge and it was like Booze Britain and Caligula all rolled into one. Players were buying drinks with cash from a shoebox clearly marked “MEMBER’S PLEDGES”. Champagne corks were popping after a 0-0 draw and Margy was strutting around in what looked to me like a ¾ length minx fur coat, like the one Tony Wilson used to wear in the Stretford End. There was more jewellery on display than a Beswick Hen party. And that’s not the end of it. For team bus read 14-seater stretch limo, 4 of, to cart around the squad and its massive entourage that makes J- Lo’s look like Syd Little’s. Don’t be surprised if you see these Derek Nimmos parked outside your local prosser parlour. To top the lot, the next day, I swear I spotted FCUM supremo – moneybags Andy Walsh speeding down Ashton Old Rd. in a brand spanking Fiat Punto looking like the cat that got the cream and almost running over a single mother and her pram on the pelican crossing outside kwik save. Yes FCUM, take a good look into the MUFC mirror and you’ll see yourselves, albeit smaller, like a wobbly dwarf, a bit like them mirrors on Blackpool Pleasure Beach.
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