Blackburn Rovers (Part Two)
Date: Saturday 10th September 2005Up will pop the grass trapdoors of the Blackburn Teletubbies, stretching all the way from Burnley's witching borders to Darwen's moorland edges. Out will roll the inmates, three-day stubble purposely grown to totally intimidate the opposition (us) by it's very aura of tough macho-ness beneath the black, glowering brows of the stalking, Wellington clad Blackpuddians. Well, that's the women out of the way then. The ‘men’ will follow in due course when they have fuelled their tanks with aggro-juice and squashed a few grapes for practice. Like a scene from Braveheart, their blue and white painted faces will glower hatred of all things non-Blackpuddian as they scowl at every five-year old within sight of a Chorleycake. And, when they finally come in sight of Castle Reebok, a thunderous roar of "EEE BAH GUM, ECKY THUMP" (an anthem totally lost on all but a couple of Bolton's warriors as they won't understand the lingo) will roll across the Bolton Arena and the staff of McDonalds will quake in fear and begin chipping spuds and slicing barms at mach-one speed. The hour of reckoning is nigh! The blue and white army (334 at last count) is in town. The sound of ’Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling’ roaring from the tannoy will announce sight of the enemy and colt forty fives will be nervously loosened in their holsters by the ice-cream and hamburger van vendors, whilst inside the Jodrell-Bank lookalike edifice of Castle Reebok the home supporters will bay for blood. The gladiators of both sides are already practicing elbow strikes and head butts out in the arena (and it's only Friday yet) and Ivan is doing triple forward rolls in readiness for battle. A blonde, pony tailed figure is diving two footed at a sand filled dummy and a lone figure in poncho and sombrero leans against a goalpost and chews on a hot-dog sausage. A bewildered looking Japanese guy is taking photographs of it all. "Are they sacrificing Christians to the lions in there Mabel?" an elderly lady. passing by, enquires nervously. "Nah, it's that lot of nutters from Bolton and Blackburn playing football again. Think they'd find something better to do on Sunday afternoon". Oh, ladies, if only you knew. This is no ordinary Sunday.