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Euro Red - What the Fuck's a Euro Red?
By Bernie Bostik
My mate Curly is a Euro Red. When ever Liverpool are in the Champions League. You will more then likely come across his sun-blessed kipper, gleaming white smile and ever increasing egg in the nest around some stadium or other - failing that you will hear his mad hyena like cackle of a laugh.
What's wrong with him going to Liverpool's European away games, I hear you say. Well you see Curly is a blue, a blue that secretly yearns to be a red. A blue that laughingly passes himself off as a "Euro Red". His strange affliction manifests itself from the early 80's, when it wasn't uncommon for reds and blues to march across Europe together on mad grafting exploits while taking in eachothers games. As the trips into Europe became more sparse for the blue brethren and with Curly needing to scratch his Euro away day itch, there was only one thing for him to do, become a fully fledged Euro Red!?
So there I was after quite a pleasant 10 hour car ride - back seat all to myself skinning up duty and Dylan's Desire pumping out the stereo. We arrived at 11pm in Bordeaux with no hotel booked. Most were chocca but we stumbled upon a rather pleasant little number slap bang in the centre. It was while I was unwinding in my room ( cock in hand foreign smut on the box) that I heard that unforgettable hyena cackle and upon looking from my prime twitchers spot of first floor window ( A spot that Bill Oddie would butcher ten badgers for). I had perfect view of the ostrich egg nestling in the top of Curly's nest. Pleasantries exchanged Curly headed off on the ale and I returned to the smut
I bumped into Curly the next morning when we were trying to find another hotel, due to the one we stayed in being full for that night. With all the Hotels in the city being full we reserved a suite at some big fuck off Chateaux 40 minutes outside the centre. Curly jumped ship from his crew and came with us. With the room booked over the phone we headed off for a mooch of the main shopping drag.(1 Bordeaux trackie for the bin lid and 1 Bordeaux basie later) we get to the end of the street and went on the ale.
We headed off to meet up with a few more lads in a quiet little bar around the corner from an Irish Boozer where all the Sam Dodders were camped out. A few hours of idle chitter chatter were had with a little nugget about Leo trying to climb Paddy's Wigwam popping up. We found out one of the lads had a room for four at the Holiday Inn booked that was empty so the Chateaux got swerved. After endless pints/sripes/green it was time to get off for the match. With my two driving companions dropping out, Bee's for medical reasons (the beak had knocked him for six) and Big Ed who was another Euro Red, let the side down and stayed in the boozer to watch the game.
We jumped on the already crowded tram for the three stop journey to the ground. The tram pulled up a stop early due to overcrowding and everyone was told in French to disembark. Me Curly and a couple of lads spilled out onto the cobbled stoned street and began our march to the ground. Curly was spotted by a few 'go everywhere' reds and copped for a bit of jovial banter. We got in the ground and lost Curly in the crowd - thank god. I detest watching Liverpool games with most blues I know, It's like having a parrot on your shoulder, "These are shite"............."you should be beatin' these"........"youse aren't up to much " SHUT UP and let me watch the fucking game will yer!
With Curly nowhere to be seen , we settle into the usual pre-match ritual, obtain what ever liquids are on sale, find decent spec and roll a sticky green grub-stake. With the Hellish shouts of "WIDE PLAY IT WIDE FOR FUCKSAKE" "WIDTH LIVERPOOL WE NEED WIDTH" and "PASS AND MOVE LIVERPOOL" in a multitude of accents ( Yorkshire/Irish/Nuneaton ) ringing in our ears, we decamped to the back of the stands to get stoned.
When Crouch scored the header I was glad Curly had gone AWOL coz he would of only been giving it his usual "I told ya (insert goalscorers name here) was goin to score for youse tonight" type blarney. After the game I walked back to the hotel and had a well earned pint and spliff. Curly and Big Ed turned up with tales of losing Bee's somewhere. Big Ed went straight to bed as he's got the staying power of a chocolate cock ring. We stayed in the hotel bar till they threw us out. Curly copped for some more flak off an old school chum, who reminded Curly that while he was sitting in double maths he was boarding the special to Rome in 77.
We passed Kelly Dalglish on the way to bed who was being hassled at reception by a couple of Devon hardcases (gel head- earing-club top-3 quarter length nike shorts - adidas goodyear) . Curly asked her "Alright Kelly how are ya girl?"
Kelly "I'm fine thanks"
Curly "How's yer arl fella? tell him I was asking"
"I will do ...erm.." as she walked away from the beauts
"it's me Curly, don't yer remember Crazy Crab restaurant Barcelona , you were with yer dad"
Kelly trying to blag it but not quite pulling it off "Oh yeah I remember now......How are you....erm ...Curly?"
Curly "Fine thanks Kel, off to bed now you fancy joining us?....only joking girl...you gettin' in this lift or what?"
The lift ride consisted of Curly blabbering on and Kelly in tears of mirth until Kelly got off at her floor. As the doors shut Curly turned to me and said "stick with me Bernie lad and yer'll get ta meet all the stars"
"Great" I whispered to myself as I pondered which stars had came into contact with Curly today: a quick hand shake on the way to the ground with Peter 'sex in training shoes' Hooton - lead singer of ace band The Farm, Dave Hewitson - author of excellent book Where de get yer Tranies From (cheers for all the ale Dave) and now Kelly 'me arse is bigger than me dads' Daglish. Previous trips with Curly have been just as fruitful. Danny Baker & Danny Kelly sat infront of us Eng V Ger Euro 2000 - Curly pinched Bakers baseball hat when Shearer scored and he was to scared to ask for it back. Same match half time Curly told one of the kids to spill coke all over Nick Hancock because he told them he'd bad mouthed scousers off on the telly. The whole of the England Team and wags on numerous occasions during the World Cup in Japan. Eusebio & Sven having dinner in a Lisbon restaurant, he sent a small group of young guttersnipes over who disrupted the Swedes starter for ten minutes while the snipes took it in turns to get Sven to talk on their mobiles to fellow snipes hanging around the Barries back home in West Derby. The Milan team in the Juan Carlos Hotel Barca before a CL game. Paul Mariner/Ossie Ardilles/Slim Boy Twat/Nick Hancock (again!) World Cup Japan.And numerous more that have slipped my mind but I'm sure Curly will be on the blower to remind me once he reads this.
The room was just big enough for four beds but that was it, we entered and found Big Ed grunting,snoring and scratching his bollocks sprayed out on one of the bed like some big silver back lying asleep in the undergrowth of the Jungle. Cones were rolled as we scanned the channels for porn with non available we opted for CNN. Sleep overcome me and I was woken a few hours later by Bee's booting the door in. On returning to my camp bed my sleep was further interrupted by Bee's mad shouts followed by his evil devilish giggle all the way through the night.The next morning Curly jumped ship yet again to another gang for his lift home as we weren't going his way. We said goodbye and with the shout of "see yer in Istanbul" he disappeared out the door.
The return journey I was the designated driver. The 10 hour drive wasn't too bad apart from my two companions deciding to apple tart all the way home. Trying to swerve some Spanish boy racer in his supped up Seat Leon as he pulls out infront of me, doing 200kmph with one hand on the wheel can be quite difficult, especially as the other hand is scrambling for the window button trying to supply some much needed fresh air. They were silent but deadly so you never knew when they were coming, the only indication was when your nasal hair began to singe due to the dead dog vapour. The main ponderer on the way home was the amount Curly must have extracted from his wallet to fund his trip? After a while Ed piped up with the answer "24 Euro......must of been....only ever seen 'im put his hand in his pocket once...when he bought them four pints in the Hotel Bar.......6 euro a pint"
So there you have it 'Euro Red' definition = a tight wad balding blue, follows LFC in Europe hoping to envelope himself in the buzz of boss mad away days that obviously his own club can't provide, friend of the stars and all round good egg.
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