After the success of the Wearside League game the previous week, I thought I’d take my grandson Harry along to a Boro match. I bought tickets for Block 62 in the South Stand on the basis that my son Tom is in that section and it meant that I could spend a bit of time with him too.
We all travelled down together in my car. Apparently, Tom usually parks near some college right next to the ground these days and my choice of along from the Westgarth Social Club meant a much greater walk than he was used to.
I’d been to the Westgarth a couple of times in the last ten days. At the weekend we saw Withered Hand and Billy Liar, whilst the week before we watched The Nightingales and Shrug. The latter are as Teesside as lemon tops, parmos and a chip on the shoulder. They put on a good show, despite not playing Archie Stephens Birthday Party.
Unfortunately, I left my phone in my car and so whilst I was able to borrow Tom’s for a photo outside the ground we don’t look sufficiently alike for me to fool the facial recognition once inside. That will make this post mercifully short.
At half time the there were lengthy queues of young lads waiting for the toilet cubicles. I suspect that it was more likely to be for a toot off the cistern than a dump in the bowl. In the second half a fight broke out in the row immediately behind us that spilled over the seats and nearly sent us crashing forward. It might very well have happened partly because the participants had artificially enhanced both their levels of confidence and fuckwittedness.
Harry, as ten year olds tend to be, was quite excited by the disturbance but at fifty-seven I was less impressed and next time we’ll be avoiding that area of the South Stand. On the pitch we ballsed it up again by throwing away a lead in the final quarter of an hour to end up with nothing. That’s the Boro for you.
Tags: Middlesbrough FC, Preston NE, Shrug
Trail of the Lion King 
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