Sunday, 7th May.
Brucie Brucie what's the score?
Today was the final day of the division 1 season. Fulham were playing at
home against promotion hopefuls Huddersfield Town.
We arrived fifteen minutes before kickoff, and found ourselves a spot behind
the goal at the home support end. The other end of the ground was a sea of
blue and white vertically striped shirts. North Melbourne? No, too many of them.
In fact it was
the travelling support for Huddersfield.
For Huddersfield Town to qualify for the promotion playoffs, they had to beat
Fulham. Fulham, on the other hand, had nothing to play for except pride and
perhaps a contract for next season. The DJ at the ground was playing a
selection of crappy tracks from the 80s before the game, and that could possibly
explain the dire display from both teams in the first half. Fulham somehow
scrambled a goal thanks to a charitable display from the Huddersfield defence.
At half-time there was some sort of competition between two teams of Fulham
supporters. They had to dribble the ball between two widely-spaced witches
hats, and then have a shot at scoring past the goalkeeper. One team had
dressed up in costumes that might've been supposed to be traditional French
outfit (striped shirt, outrageous moustache, and they were all carrying a stick
of bread) the purpose of which was quite beyond me. One of them had a blonde
wig on, and a voice directly behind us said "Look, it's Warwick Capper!"
Bloody Australians are everywhere.
The match came alive in the second half. Fulham went two-nil up thanks to
a penalty, and the Huddersfield Town supporters started going mental. There
was trouble in the away supporters reserve, a great mob of flouro-clad
policemen raced towards the troublemakers. The match was stopped for some
time while the mess was cleaned up. A couple of the troublemakers were dragged
around the edge of the pitch by a gaggle of security guards,
past the Hammersmith Terrace where we were, and
did they cop it from the crowd! I can't possibly recount what they were
singing, as it was all far too rude.
The singing was pretty good today. Ripping it out of Chelsea, ripping it
out of Huddersfield.
DOWN WITH THE FULHAM
YOU'RE STAYING DOWN WITH THE FULHAM
DOWN WITH THE FULLLLLHAMMMMMM
YOU'RE STAYING DOWN WITH THE FULLLLLLLHAMMMMMM
The match ended 3-0 to Fulham, the Huddersfield Town supporters began
filing out of the ground well before the final whistle. A bit like
Collingwood supporters at three-quarter-time.
As we shuffled out of the ground after the match,
the bloke in front of me reached behind
his back and grabbed me by the wrist, obviously thinking me to be his kid or
something like that. (That's what I'm telling myself.) I said "No offence
mate, but..." He looked down and realised that his kids were walking next to
him, absolutely cacking themselves. "Better keep an eye on him," I said to
the kid, "he could be turning." The kid laughed. Probably ripped it out of
his dad all the way home.
(Before the match I received a text message on my mobile from my brother:
Blues by 65.