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RTW - Reclaim The Wools

by Bernie Bostik


This is a call of arms... to all fellow like minded wools. Us wools who are sick to the high teeth of this new breed of wool coming in and stealing our thunder. We here at RTW want to get back to what being a proper wool was all about.


Us wools were at the forefront of  Kopite abuse for years. Then low and behold we cop for the big eared cup for the fifth time and us PROPER wools get put on the back burner, as the kop gets infested with this new breed of wool to mock.


The new breed wools of today have it so easy. They swan in on Ryanair, the 8:30 from Euston or their supporters clubs coaches, from far off places like Dublin, Essex and Devon. All comfy seats, toilet breaks and pit stops at Maccy D's. Where as when we made our wooly pilgrimage to Anfield we had to endure the wrath of the H2 bus.


The crusade started with a 3 mile ramble from our hamlet, up farmers tracks, over fields and finally crossing babbling brooks, just so we could jump on the H2 inside the Merseyside border. It was 55p if you got on in Cheshire and 15p if you were in Merseyside.


We ruled the roost of the back seat as the Cronton reds (knob-heads) got on. It was only when we had gone through Prescot and started making stops in Huyton that we started to keep a lid on our back seat bravado.


The Eagle & Child lot always took the piss. If it wasn't the haircut it was the jumper or the trainers. We tried to look the part but being wools there was always one of the gang who had an earing/muzzy/tattoo/perm that gave the game away. We would join in with the scousers in berating our beaut mate, that was until they got bored and turned there attentions towards you. And that's the way it went until we all jumped off at the Ice Rink at the top of Sheil Rd.


Next we would run the gauntlet down Sheil Rd as the guttersnipes would get onto our woolliness and make off with our half LFC half Celtic hats/LFC cricket hats. Then we would join the queue for the Kop and watch in silence as half of Breck Rd bunked in the queue in front of us.


We would take up our usual position (1/4 of the way up - halfway between the corner flag and goal-post on the right). Never in the middle we weren't that brave. We sang the songs as loud and proud as any scouser, then after the match it was back to the bus stop at the top of Sheil Rd.


Sometimes the away fans would get bussed past and we would join in with the local scallywags in lobbin' coins at them. And sometimes I would run out and collect the discarded shrapnel off the road and if I was lucky I would have enough for a fish cake. We would then have to fight in a mad scrum to get on the crowded H2. You see if we didn't get on we had an hour wait for the next one. It was always full of Saturday shoppers on there way home.


If you did get on it, it was usually standing room only all the way to Cronton. And if you had a jobworths cunt driver who knew that you only paid 15p and  kicked you off at the Merseyside boundary, I wouldn't advise hanging on the side banging on the door telling the driver to fuck off, because before you know it he's put his foot down and is doing about 40-mph and you will fall off, dislocate your shoulder and put a big rip in your Patrick cagoule.



Or the time when Andy N***** (the hamlets resident manc) turned up to meet us off the bus, after a disappointing draw against the mancs (the game when the manc team got sprayed with ammonia), in his brand new Escort Popular. He went passed beeping his horn and cheering, when he done a U-turn we were ready for him. His car got pelted with coppers, which resulted in his old man coming round to mine on the bounce, complaining about the chipped paint work. My old man told him to do one and said his son shouldn't of been down there goading them all anyway.



Oh those were the wooly days my friend.....



The main aim and number one priority on the RTW manifesto, is to take every new breed wool and educate him on proper wool traditions. Therefore we here at the RTW, suggest every NBW depart with there favoured mode of transport at the Merseyside border. Leaving the car/mini bus/coach at Burtonwood or jumping off the rattler at Widnes/Warrington/Wigan and for those flying into Speke they will have to parachute out the moment Fiddlers Ferry power station comes into view. So they can join up with us fellow wools and join in with our traditional match going experience as we take that magical journey to the ground on public transport. Only then, when they have experienced a full top deck wrath off a young moody firm of  Huyton Baddie Jnrs, can they then call themselves a PROPER WOOL!


RTW - the fight back starts here.




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