Tag Archives: footy

An Epic Battle

4 Sep

When people mention great battles that have been fought through the history of time, there are a few that immediately spring to mind; David and Goliath, Gettysburg, Waterloo and Stalingrad to name but a few. However, there is one battle that leaps straight to the forefront of my mind; a battle that lasted almost an hour and a half and that left one man a worn, tearful but eventual hero. A battle that defines courage and guts; that shows what one man can do if he is determined enough. The battle I’m talking about is my mate Ashley versus his bowels, when he fought for 90 minutes to avoid shitting his own pants.

It was a Saturday afternoon and my brother, cousin, Ashley and I were playing football on the green outside the front of my house. I think I must have been about 14 at the time. We had two goals set up and were playing 2 on 2, using a very small football. Every now and again, I’d run across to the front window and peer through at the TV so I could check the latest football scores, which would disrupt the flow of the game. We also had to stop whenever a car went passed as we had a tendency to be a bit wayward with our shots. However, these small pauses in the afternoon’s fun were nothing compared to the waiting around we had to do when Ashley’s battle began.

As I ran towards goal with the ball, I saw Ashley approaching me, defending his goal. As I neared him, I thought about an early shot, but decided that I’d try and take it passed him before slotting the ball into the goal. I was a couple of yards from him, when without warning, and quite hastily, Ashley dropped to the floor and lay face down on the grass. He was stretched out, but he crossed his ankles and I could see that he was clenching hard. Despite witnessing him fall down, I scored my goal and celebrated before we all gathered round him and peered down.

“What are you doing?”asked my brother. “You could have saved that”.

‘Bllllllaaaaaapp-a-flap-flap-flap-a-bbblaaap-flap-flap’

Ashley responded with one of the wettest farts I have ever heard. His hands quickly went from being flat out on the grass above his head, to cupping his bum cheeks. We all burst into laughter, apart from Ashley.

“Oh God, I really need a shit”
“Go to the toilet then”, I said.
“I won’t make it”, Ashley whimpered, his face still sunk into the grass.

‘Blllllaaaarrmmm-bup-bup-bup-blaaaapp-flap-a-flap’

Once again, Ashley let out a wet, meaty fart.

“That must have been more than just air that came out”, I joked, but Ashley didn’t laugh, he stayed where he was and let out a silent groan.

For the next ten minutes we just stood over Ashley, trying to make him go to the toilet, but he remained on the grass. Eventually, he made an effort to move, and slowly but surely, he got into a crouched position. As we egged him on, it looked like he’d finally got the beating of his bowels, but then he let rip with an almighty air biscuit that threatened the safety of all of our nostrils. He collapsed to the grass again and rolled back onto his stomach at a rather impressive rate.

“What the fuck are you doing?” we asked.
“It won’t come out if I’m like this. If I move I’m going to shit myself”. By now Ashley was beginning to panic. My cousin probably didn’t help his composure at all;
“Well it looks like you’ve got two options. Shit yourself now, or stay here all night and shit yourself in your sleep”.

Again, we all chuckled. How nice it was watching someone struggle to hold in an ever-nearing poo, I was so glad it wasn’t me.

As the battle went on, Ashley got braver. He nearly made it to a standing position quite a few times, but on each occasion, he’d fart loudly before collapsing to the floor again as if he’d been shot by a sniper. The game of football had been ended, and we were all sat down, chatting idly, occasionally stopping to go silent and watch Ashley’s efforts to make it the very short distance to my house, and then laughing as he guffed and fell down again. After about an hour, his face was purple, and he had made an imprint in the ground from where he’d been laying for so long. Still he fought the urge to soil himself. Bored, we started chanting, trying to help spur him on,

‘ASHLEY, ASHLEY, ASHLEY’ we sang in unison, but it was no use, he was still unable to make many movements.
Just when we were thinking of going in to get something to eat and leaving Ashley where he was, he spoke. His face turned to look at us,

“Get me a large stick”
“A stick?”
“Yes, and hurry”

For some reason, none of us asked questions despite being intrigued, and we went to a nearby tree to find a stick. Peering back at Ashley, I saw that he was still in the same position. I wonder what people looking from their houses must have thought he was up to. My thoughts were interrupted,

“Found one!” said my cousin.

We went back to Ashley and handed him the stick. It was about a metre long and five centimeters in diameter. Ashley rolled over onto his back and looked up at us.

“This is it; I’m going to make it now” he said, as if giving himself motivation. Still, none of us knew what he was up to but we watched excitedly, secretly hoping that he’d follow through eventually.
Ashley began to stand up again, and as before, farts flew out of him like he was a deflating whoopee cushion. Rather than collapse to the floor as before though, Ashley poked the stick through his shorts, into his sphincter and waited until he could move again. He was soon in a standing position, with the stick still held firmly in place and we were all in hysterics at what we were witnessing.

We watched as a determined Ashley waddled ever so slowly across the road and through my front door, punctuating his walk with farts that reverberated off of the stick. He was calm though, and taking his time, using the stick as a safety barrier. He had to stop every couple of paces and regain composure, but after an almighty struggle, he had made it into the house and to the toilet.
We cheered as the front door closed behind him, our eyes filled with tears of laughter. What we saw that day will never leave me; it was a true display of courage and determination. It was the talk of our group of friends for the next couple of weeks, and the stick was kept as a sort of souvenir – it rest on the green as a reminder of the event.

Escaping the Hooligans

2 Sep

One of my narrowest encounters with pain and fear is also one of the funniest things that I have ever witnessed. The scene was a pub in Shepherds Bush early on a Saturday afternoon. I was with my girlfriend having a quick pint before we headed into central London to do a spot of shopping. Around us there were quite a number of QPR football supporters, all in good spirits ahead of their home game later that afternoon. The atmosphere was jovial; a few songs were being sung and all the non-football supporting customers looked to be enjoying the upbeat mood in the pub.

 

We had nearly finished our drinks when we saw two men run through the door of the pub over to a group in the far corner. I heard one of them say something like ‘Leeds are here’. The group immediately stood up and started making calls on their phones. My girlfriend and I were sat in the opposite corner of the pub, on the same side as the entrance. Peering out of the window behind me, I saw about 30-40 grown men swaggering towards the tavern, and they didn’t look like they were going to pop in for a quiet drink. Other men inside started making their way to the door and the atmosphere turned from cheery to one of dread very quickly. I told my girlfriend that we’d wait where we were and to try keep out of the way.

 

“LEEDS, LEEDS, LEEDS, LEEDS”

 

The shouts got louder and more raucous as the hooligans approached. They were now in line with where we were sat, but fortunately, we weren’t the intended target of any impending violence. A few bricks were thrown towards the front door, and the blokes inside the pub were now spitting with fury, itching to get outside and do battle. My partner reached across the table and held my hand.

 

“Don’t worry, just sit here” I told her, trying to hide the fact that I was shitting myself at the prospect of getting caught up in the mayhem.

 

Suddenly, the QPR ‘supporters’ rushed from inside the pub towards the Leeds mob with a battle cry of “RRRRRRRR’s”

The two crowds met and started beating seven shades of shit out of one another. We stayed where we were, trying to stay calm, but this was incredibly hard when windows of the pub were being smashed around us. I went to ask my girlfriend if she was ok, when I saw her eyes widen. She wasn’t looking at me; she was gazing over my shoulder. I turned round quickly.
Coming towards the pub was a 20 stone Leeds hooligan, arms raised, with a manhole cover in his hands. He was laughing as he got closer, taking enjoyment from what he was doing. He kept motioning as if he was about to release the manhole cover towards the window behind which we were sat, but then gripping it in front of him. I’m not ashamed to say that I was too scared to move. I should have ducked under the table or moved: anything but stay where I was sat. The hooligan was now right up against the window, gurning with delight. He raised the manhole above his head once more and started making his way backwards.

 

‘This is the one’ I thought. I knew that this time it was coming through the window.

 

“Get under the table”, I ordered my girlfriend. Little did I know, she was one step ahead of me and was already in relative safety, tugging on my trouser leg, trying to get me to join her.
I sat and watched as the beast moved another step back, and then another, with the manhole still raised above his head. He took one more step backwards and then…collapsed! His leg had gone straight down the uncovered drain and I stared openmouthed as 20 stone of twat hurtled towards the floor, smashing his ballbag onto the corner of the drain hole. The manhole cover crashed to the floor, narrowly missing his head. He now had one leg resting horizontally on the pavement, with the other one dangling down the drain. It was one of the biggest senses of relief I’ve ever felt. I slipped down from my seat and under the table, pissing myself with laughter.

The police arrived 5 or so minutes later and we were escorted to a taxi once they’d dealt with the thugs outside. I look back at how close I came to getting showered in glass, but all I can do is laugh about it. It was fucking funny watching him fall down a drain which he himself had uncovered. The scumbag.

Bum is the answer…

8 Jul

Like many of my childhood stories, this one happened in the Summer Holidays. I’m not sure what it is about them that meant that as kids we felt compelled to get up to mischief. Perhaps it was the sense of adventure we felt, spending all day in the park and woods, with no other cares in the world.

 

My brother, cousin, our friend Ash and I were all heading up to the woods. It was the norm for us to bare our backsides at passing cars as we walked along the roads and today was no different. Quite what the drivers and passengers of the vehicles that we flashed our pale white arses at thought of us is anyone’s guess, but I doubt many were impressed. Ash in particular was having a ball, taking the opportunity to be a real daredevil and keep his bum exposed for as long as possible.

 

The road on the hill leading up to the entrance of the woods we were going to was (and still is) very steep, so our jovial antics ceased whilst we walked the mile or so up it, mainly because we were too knackered to run away should a car stop. We walked in single file, deliberately trying to trip one another up; when from behind us we heard a car coming. We stepped off the road and onto a grass verge so that the car could pass easier, but the car didn’t pass, it slowed right down and then came to a complete stop a few metres ahead of us.

 

We were all thinking the same thing. Was this some disgruntled driver that we had exposed ourselves to that had come to tell us off? We carried on walking, heads bowed, in silence.

 

“Excuse me boys, I’m looking for the Plough pub. Do you know where it is?”

 

Phew! I felt relief at the fact that we weren’t going to get a bollocking. I looked at the driver, it was a middle aged gentlemen. Being the oldest I stepped forward to respond. I knew exactly where the pub was, it was only a few hundred yards up the road and on the right hand side. I was about to open my mouth when Ash sprung forward in front of me.

 

In one swift motion, he dropped his shorts and pants, bent forwards so that his crumpled ring piece was facing the driver, and pulled his bum cheeks apart. They were spread quite impressively.

 

“THERE’S YOUR ANSWER”, he bellowed, his beaming face looking at the driver from between his legs. The rest of us were already at full pelt, running for the sanctity of the woods. Trying to run whilst you’re pissing yourself laughing is a very hard thing to do, but when running uphill, it’s even more complex.

 

My brother, cousin and I made it to a small path just off from the road and waited for Ashley. We were all in hysterics, in awe of what we’d just witnessed. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably closer to a minute, Ash arrived; out of breath, but in good spirits, waiting to receive our plaudits.

 

“What did he say?”asked my cousin.

 

“Nothing. He just sat there and looked a bit shaken” said Ash.

 

We lingered where we were for another five minutes, hoping the car would drive pass, but it never did. After a while, we braved venturing out and we walked the rest of the way to the woods. I’m not sure what the driver did, I can only assume he turned back on himself. One thing I often wonder though is what the fuck were we doing? I do miss those times.

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