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The Cyber Thugs
by Dave Wiggins
by Dave Wiggins
me, you will no doubt have bellowed with pleasure at the recent headline
news about Polish hooligans planning all manner of mayhem at the
forthcoming World Cup. It’s
the same every two years, of course (it always happens in advance of the
European Championships as well), whether it’s England’s top boys –
led by some ‘General’ or other from Market Rasen – planning to run
riot across sleepy Belgian towns, or Latvia’s main faces, mobbing up to
surprise unsuspecting Dutchmen in jester hats (the Dutch wearing the hats,
not the Latvians). And as long
ago as 1970, rumours were rife, beforehand, that a tasty little Peru crew
were all set to do Brazil at a flared kecks and stack-heel straightener
just north of Albuquerque. It
never happened, in the event, and, as we all know, 99% of this
scare-mongering shite never accrues.
here we are, in 2006, and a new menace is all set to blight our national
–nay-international – game. Yes,
the insidious shenanigans perpetrated by the Internet hoolies.
Those bedroom-based warriors, are already in the throes of
attempting to wreck the forthcoming showpiece spectacular that is
‘WM06’ (remember those boss WM74 stickers, orange adidas tee shirts
and Gerd Muller? Sparwasser
1-0, etc, etc). Message boards
across continents have been rife with who is going to run whom, and which
German hamlets are to be turned into cauldrons of hate.
But what drives these lunatics, who clearly aren’t football
supporters, to get involved in, at best, overtly anti-social behaviour?
In the interests of investigative journalism, ‘SWINE’ sent me
undercover, to track down some of the denizens of computer-led tribalism.
I uncovered a shocking world of empty threats, repetitive strain
injury, regular ‘self-love’, and an attempt to smash the system from
inside by living with one’s parents.
was introduced to a lad called Jonathan, from
asked Jonathan why he chose cyber-hooliganism over some old fashioned
plastic chair-throwing, and standing with your arms wide open, looking
like a twat, on a Mediterranean street.
‘Look mate’, he said, it’s the buzz.
Some people might like to have a girlfriend, or go to a rock
concert or the cinema. For me,
and others like me, you can’t beat the rush that comes with virtually
running someone across hyperspace. I
was offering ‘Hammer_til_I_die’ out
on a West Ham board the other day, and you could smell the fear coming
from his office PC. In
fact, I offered to meet him face-to-face, next time The Iron play
At this point, things were getting a bit heavy, as he started to question me in return. Who have I worked over on a Message Board? Where do I post? Did I fancy an attack that he was planning on the Tranmere site ‘Shit Sellotape’? Luckily, just as I was thinking up a response, his mum shouted down that it was time for his tea. He gave me a look that indicated it was time for me to leave. I had, though, achieved my first objective. I had made my way into the inner-sanctum, and just in time for the World Cup. Declining his ma’s offer of a cup of Earl Grey and a Fruit Club, I asked Jonathan when we could meet up again. He ushered me past his dad’s study. ‘Come back next week’, he said, ‘there’s a few of us going on the Germany Fan’s site, ‘Over icht line – mein arsen’, and it will be going off big time. I’ll text you’. And with that, he was gone. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had made immediate contact with probably the main face in internet hooliganism, and this was only the start. I did, though, fear for what is going to happen from June 9 onwards, as computers of all types are plugged in across the world. I predict cyberspace carnage. Still, it is probably better than arranging for that German bloke, Arwen Meiwes, to eat you, or a joint suicide pact with somebody from Bruges. And with those dark thoughts swirling around my head, I made my way to Southport station, hoping against hope that a load of ASBO ninjas wouldn’t get on before I reached Bootle. The little gets.
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