By George - Hilarious Tales from England's Most Fanatical Football Supporters. David Stanfield
‘That’s got to be Stan’s handiwork’, they thought, and followed the fire home, like the three wise men following the star to baby Jesus. The boys were shocked when they found the camp they’d left was now rave central. Bruce came up to me and said, ‘I’m going to sleep now, but if any of these birds are up for it, send them into my tent and I’ll give them a right good pounding.’ He got into his tent and zipped it up. Of course I then had a chat with Hilda about winding Bruce up, and she agreed. She went to Bruce’s tent, unzipped it and put her head in and said, ‘Bruce? I want to come in and fuck you, Bruce…’. We were all cracking up and waited for Bruce to drag Hilda in and give her in his words ‘A right good pounding.’ ‘Fuck off. I’m trying to sleep so just leave me alone,’ came the response. We couldn’t believe it, Bruce, who reckons he’s always up for the ride, was too busy sleeping? Surely that couldn’t be right.
I woke up at about 10am, fell out of the van and had a beer with Ian and Andy. Ian told us a story about Bruce from the night before, and suddenly everything fell into place. On their way back Bruce had been busting for a shit, but had nowhere to go and hadn’t been able to hold it in. Just like Chubb, he’d shit himself. We fell off our chairs backwards laughing – no wonder Bruce declined the offer from Hilda!
About 1pm, we all trudged out to the football pitch to face Sweden again. We all lined up to do the national anthems, but as Sweden were just finishing theirs, six riot vans turned up and all the coppers got out in full riot gear. Someone had called the police and informed them that there were two large groups of English and Swedish fans meeting on a field for a prearranged fight. Once Dave explained what was actually going on, the police stayed to watch the match. It all ended 2-2 again, just like the night before, and true to form England lost on penalties.
After the match Paul took the camper to fill up the water supply – but when he came back there was massive dent in the rear side boot door. He’d driven off without locking the door and had driven right into a big tow bar on the back of another vehicle. That was the deposit on the van gone, then. Later that day, as S.E.C.E.F, the Doni boys and the Army Lads sat round drinking, our friends Luke and Tony turned up and so did a TV crew wanting an interview. The interview started with me saying, ‘Day twelve in the Big World Cup house and England are still in it’. Cue the rest of the lads singing ‘WE’RE NOT GOING HOME’ while the camera panned around all of them. It was match day and our third and final group game against Sweden. Bruce and I Georged up for the match and although it was only a ten-minute walk from the train station to the ground, it took us nearly three hours to get there. It was endless; everyone had seen us on the TV and everyone wanted our photo.
Eventually we reached the stadium and went our separate ways as for this game we were not in the same area. I was supposed to be sitting on the third tier, but decided to try my luck getting into the VIP area. As I reached the entrance, I grabbed an English bloke who was with his son and said, ‘Does your son want a photo with me, mate?’ ‘Of course!’ he replied. ‘Let’s get one with all the German security, that’ll look great,’ I suggested. We walked towards all the VIP security staff, who stopped whatever checks they were doing and started pointing at the famous St George who was approaching them. I got to where they were all standing and said ‘Before I take my seat, could I please get a photo of the best German security staff with myself and my nephew?’ I was pointing towards the young English lad. I stood in the middle of about thirty security staff, who were almost fighting each other to get close to me. After several pictures, the lad went off with his dad and I turned towards the VIP entrance. They just let me through without asking to see a ticket!
I saw a spare seat in the second row. That would do nicely! I looked up to where I was supposed to be sitting, in the gods, and thought to myself, ‘what a result!’ Until, that is, I heard a voice say, ‘Excuse me mate, I think you’re in my seat!’ I looked round and this English bloke was looking at me. ‘I know I am mate, to be honest I’ve blagged my way in here. How about you sit down and I sit on your lap?’ I said hopefully. ‘I ain’t being funny, mate, but I’ve just paid a tout six hundred pounds for this seat and I ain’t paid all that money to have fucking St George sit on my knee,’ he said sternly. I thought that was fair enough, so I got up to look for another seat. I eventually found one, but true to form I spent the majority of the game in the VIP bar – and, true to form, England drew 2-2 with Sweden. We’d won the group and now faced Ecuador in the last sixteen.
I left the stadium and met Bruce, Lee, Dave and Ian. ‘Where were you? I kept calling you, but you didn’t answer!’ Ian shouted. ‘I blagged my way into the VIP area, what the hell are you talking about?’ I replied. ‘You twat,’ said Ian. ‘All the WAGs were sitting in the seats where you were supposed to be!’ I couldn’t believe it – all of sudden my VIP blag didn’t seem that great an idea. I could have had the world’s media at my feet, surrounded by the Wives and Girlfriends of the England team. Gutted.
Dave and I got off the tram in the city and the boys carried on going towards the campsite. We met up with Nessa, Paul, Kev and Army Andy; they were all steaming and it didn’t take me and Dave long to catch them up. I spoke to a Swedish bloke and we swapped shirts. ‘Nice gesture, Stan’ said Dave, but actually I’d swapped because my shirt was soaking with sweat and his was dry. It was fine until Paul flew at me, trying to rip the shirt off my back and screaming, ‘What are you wearing that shit for? Get it off you wanker!’ Andy grabbed Paul, but he was insistent. I’d also been given a blow-up hand with the Swedish flag on it, and Paul grabbed the hand and launched it into the direction of the Swedes. He completely missed them, of course, but he did knock half a dozen drinks over. He was going mental – he jumped onto a table where a bloke was dancing, took his shirt off and threw the geezer off the table. Paul raised his hands like a boxer winning a fight. Dave told him to calm down, but Paul just got Dave in a headlock and started choking him. He eventually let go and ran up to a woman in her late fifties. Surely he wasn’t going to start on her? He didn’t – instead he tried to kiss her and she tried to kiss him back. She was as drunk as Paul, though, and neither of them could properly stand up straight, never mind plant a kiss on the other.
We staggered back to the site at about 7am, and I noticed that all the army tents and the Army Lads’ minibus had gone. ‘Andy, where’s your boys? They ain’t gone without you, have they?’ I asked. ‘No mate, were leaving at two in the morning,’ Andy replied. ‘Andy, it’s 7am…they’ve gone without you!’ I told him. ‘Oh SHIT. Oh well, I’ll just have to stay with you lot!’ Andy announced.
We got to our camp and found some German guy pissing on a tent with an English flag on it. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bastard?’ I screamed and started chasing him through the campsite. I only chased him for about ten seconds, mind you, as I could barely walk, never mind run. I went back to our camp and Paul and Andy we’re standing by the tent laughing. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Dave’s shagging Nessa.’ Paul answered. It was so funny, each time Dave pumped himself into Nessa the tent moved. We stood and watched for all of thirty seconds and then it was over. Dave must have had some Viagra to last that long.
We opened the camper door and there asleep on the sofa was a lad from Caddington called Anthony – but we called him Scuz. I didn’t even know he was coming over. Andy got into the camper and was soon asleep on the sofa opposite Scuz, and seconds later I too passed out. I was woken by Ian going mental outside shouting, ‘Well if he don’t get up in a minute, were going without him!’ I thought ‘Shit, we must be on the move again’, so I opened the door and said ‘It’s alright, I’m ready to go!’ and got into Ian’s motor. ‘What are you doing, Stan?’ Bruce asked. ‘I don’t know. Where are we going?’ I answered. ‘Well we’re going home and you’re staying here,’ Bruce then told me. They were actually trying to get Kev up! I got out, flopped onto a deckchair and passed out again. I woke up and to find Andy sitting next to me looking somewhat the worse for wear. ‘Will you get into trouble for being late back to base?’ I asked. ‘I’m in deep shit,’ he replied. I then said, ‘We’re driving to Dortmund today, why don’t you come with us and then get a train back to your base?’ Andy agreed. Dave came out of the camper and said, ‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Stan. You’ve already kidnapped a Bulgarian and now you’re going to