The Tale of Rock Steady 2: Racism and Twatness as Standard.


Okay, it has been a while since my last post, considering in relative terms since I posted 5 items in a few days. Certain things have happened since that horrible weekend of last with too much drinking. Namely, a more recent weekend of heavy drinking, but we will get to that all in good time.

Tuesday Night: Champions League

It now seems an age since the Champions League match at Celtic Park, but it is because I had very little time to write anything bout it, and unfortunately nothing much happened to be honest. Upon arrival I was put into the "reserve" team, where we sort of wander aimlessly around until we were needed. It being such an important night, with a full stadium, the ticket machine decided to pack in meaning that every fan wanting to get in would have to rip their own ticket and hand over the bar coded section, as the machine which reads them was having a break in Thailand. All manner of people entered in turnstile that I was put to after some frantic shouting over the radios, some of which were drunk, some of which were Irish, and some of which were trying to blag their way in. Like the little boy from Inverness who "Had lost ma dad's season ticket, but I know where my seat is". I explained that season ticket holders do not get their ticket for free, they have to apply for them (and possibly pay for them). The Police took him away.

Friday Night: Parkhead and the Captain of the Ship

t was Lyndsey's 21st party thing, and after the shenanigans of the Friday previous, Hyder had blagged an invite. We all arrived with bells and whistles on, heading into the Captain's Table, which is a hospitality suite in the middle of Parkhead. Very nice surroundings, with a fantastic view of the pitch. It was a free bar for a short while, and Hyder and I approached the bar wondering what to order. It became clear, and obvious, that the only thing on tap was Carling; Celtics main sponsor. Now, Carling is pish. Worse than what I was previously saying about Miller (see Horrific Friday), though to be fair these must be the premium Carling barrels as they only slightly made me want to wash my mouth out with shite to get a better taste. I got rather sauced, so it was a good night, though made sour after one of Lyndsey's friends got to go to the trophy room and touch the actual SPL trophy, and when Lyndsey asked on my behalf, we were told it was not allowed. Bastard and damnation!

Saturday: Italians and the International Sign for "Fuck Off".

was at Murrayfield for the humping that was the rugby. I was put into the West Stand, or the Main Stand, or "Purple" as the Edinburgh stadiums for some fucked up reason have colour coded sections to make things even more complicated. Initially, I was placed into Vomitory 17 on the lower section, meaning I was right at the tunnel. Once the turnstiles were opened, people rushed in to get autographs and the like. Being this was a rugby crowd, I was not too bothered. They were not being too annoying, the players were chatting and the stairs were not blocked. My supervisor thought differently, and asked me to move them off the stairs. Now, there is only so much you can say to an Italian who is covered in green, red and white paint, waving a flag and has a blue wig on. The supervisor went away... and returned with two other stewards and told me to go to Vomitory 13. I was being relived! I stood and watch the replacements struggle and eventually give up with glee. That bastard should have said something to me first, rather than make me seem (and feel) like a fool. It also became aware that not only was he a twat, but also a racist. The two stewards were working in 13 and 11, which means he missed out 15 when looking for help. There was a black guy working in 15, and even he noticed it. We exchanged glances later on after he got the Police in to send them back to the stands.

At night it was the turn of ABC again to see me and Colin get rather drunk. I was so canned in fact that I got the taxi to stop for me at Giffnock Police station so I could "walk home". What was I thinking...

Coming Soon...
The Interim Report: The Final Verdict
96 Dorchester Avenue: Rod Stewart