Chew, What a Scorcher!
Honours even in Kiev & gum's on the menu!
IN the middle of Kiev, 50 yards
away from the Khreshchatyk tube station is a restaurant/pub whose
name escapes me.
On the menu are listed the usual starters, main courses, desserts,
wines and half a page devoted to . . . chewing gums.
Five of them in fact - Airwaves Honey and Menthol (recommended
- tastes like honey Lockets), Dirol, Wrigley's, Orbit and Antipolice.
Yes, soon as we'd got there the first thing we found was a restaurant
with a chewing gum on the menu called 'Antipolice'.
ANTIPOLICE. What a great name for a gum eh?
Not that this fan's anti-police. Some close butties are coppers
etc etc and there were two among the travelling horde of 125 Taffies.
It's just an incredible brand name for anything isn't it? Socks,
carpets, tomatoes, Molotov cocktails. But the marketing department
of a chewing gum manufacturer got there first. Amazing.
We ordered four chicken Kievs, desserts and every chewing gum
on the
menu.
The chicken Kiev was lovely, the dessert another story in itself
(see later) and the chewing gums - well, would you believe it,
Antipolice was not there. They'd sold out. Which proves the point
about it being a
great name.
So I can't tell you if it was pork flavour (ha,ha). Or came emblazoned
with an anti-capitalist or anti-whatevermoanaboutinKiev message.
Or if it carried an 'as scoffed by Seattle rioters' endorsement.
But it would have come in very handy at the match in this elegant,
lush metropolis. Unlike the other East European cities visited
so far, Kiev's lovely, covered in greenery and straddling the
gigantic, ravishing River Dnipro.
Anyway, we got to the match, masticating our way furiously through
our Dirol (or was it Orbit?), and decided we were very pro-police.
A very charming officer escorted two of us to another equally
charming chap and we had a personal escort, cinema usherette-style
to our section.
The tone changed slightly as we realised we were mixed in with
Ukrainian supporters and, as always when that happens, you wonder
if the locals include a nutcase. Cos it only took one idiot to
start all the riots I've witnessed.
Early on, after a bit of bare-chested shirt-swirling three hefty
coppers swooped to order the offenders to put their shirts back
on. East Europeans don't like bare chests in public.
The ugly trio stomped up, all shark eyes and Labrador breath,
and commanded instant obedience. This really was when the Antipolice
gum would've been handy. We could have offered them a stick as
a surreal joke AND halted their halitosis.
Despite that, we warmed up with a glorious Gwyr Harlech for a
good 20 minutes. A sterling rendition of 'Teenage Kicks' by the
Undertones and a committed 'Vote Grigg' in aid of Richard Grigg's
Cardiff Central election campaign upped the pressure to fever
pitch.
But all the first-half effervescence came to naught. When the
Ukraine scored just before half-time I nearly retched up my Wrigley's.
Why does everyone seem to score before half-time against us?
It sparked impressive celebrations from the home crowd. Underneath
the scoreboard on the top tier, two blokes raced down the stand
holding the corners of an enormous flag above their heads.
They were unfurling a national banner kept hidden at the back
of the tier for goal celebrations. It shimmered impressively over
the top of 2,000 fans and was quite a sight.
The chant of 'Oooh-Kra-Eee-Na' reverberated around the Republikanski
stadium, even though it was half empty. Pre-match fears of a 4-0
drubbing started to play on our minds.
This was the moment the locals cranked up the decibels with their
buzzing devices. I know what you're thinking. But Ukrainian buzzing
devices involve blowing into a plastic cylinder, with a membrane
over one end. It rattles irritatingly and makes a low-pitched
droning bee sound.
Stung by the goal, the sound of the swarm engulfed us and we had
to endure the human beehive for the rest of the half. All we could
do was pray it would stay 1-0 until half-time
TIME FOR FAG BREAK (OR CHEWING GUM)
Thank you for not smoking. If you smoked, please refer to the
warning on the packet. If you had a good ol' grind (as us chewing
gum-mountain
consumers say), I hope you wrapped it up and threw it in the bin
and didn't stick it on the side of your PC for another day.
During the break a Ukrainian aged about 30 approached and said:
"You have the best fans in the world. You are a small country
with not many
people and you make more noise than all of us Ukraine."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I thought: "This bloke is
reading my mind. I left a Johnson's baby bud in my ear and my
inner thoughts have hacked their way through the wax and jumped
out while I looked up at the brains of that girl in the front
row of the top tier.
"Then they turned into a human being who's telling me precisely
what I'm thinking, using the same phrases that go through my mind.
It was uncanny. For two years 20 or so of us have chased round
the world watching one of the worst teams in Europe. We've been
to Qatar, Portugal, Belarus, Poland, Armenia and Ukraine for our
holidays. We've seen every type of concrete architecture in existence.
Five years ago, 2,000 of us sang all through a 7-1 thrashing in
Eindhoven, a game that could have been 15-1 and, however immodest
it sounds, most of that 20 believe we have proved empirically
that we're the best in the world.
But to have a stranger's first words confirm your own private
thoughts, well that's unbelievably spooky.
I waited for the bloke to spontaneously combust.
But he went on: "We had 180 people from Norway here on Saturday
and they make very little noise. You sing and dance and you have
come here. That is why you are so good."
I felt like kissing him but shook his hand instead, just to confirm
he was real flesh and blood and I hadn't OD'd on the chewing gum
(Dirol did taste a bit funny).
Anyone out there wanting to write nice e-mails to this paragon
of taste, contact me and I'll pass on his address.
The second-half was a belter - for me the best football played
under Sparky's tenure.
What was most striking was that players of the class of Rebrov
and Shevchenko didn't look confident - like us against Poland.
Pembridge's goal sparked the most manic celebrations of our World
Cup campaign so far.
And when Giggs, who else, fluffed a chance late on we were cursing
the missed opportunities over the entire campaign. Shortly after,
we were glad for the draw as the Ukraine screwed up badly. It
could have been 3-3 but a draw was a fair result.
By gum, another great performance by fans and players.
And all for the price of three weeks in the Caribbean! *
*Phrase copyright Mrs Gary Pritchard, Valley, Ynys Mon.
Highlight
Desserts at our chewing-gum trougher include one called 'Erotic'.
With a name like that I'm surprised anyone orders anything else.
("Erotic? Oooh, no, don't fancy that, I'll just have the
cheeseboard]
please.")
Our slavering, depraved minds ordered some and contemplated a
voluptuous, sensuous experience that would rival, say, Craig Bellamy's
winner against Denmark.
Five minutes later the waitress came back to tell us: "I'm
sorry, we haven't got any - we've run out of bananas."
My mind's still boggling.
Lowlight
My flag recovered from pneumonia (see u-21 report) but, immune
system flagging, contracted a deep vein thrombosis in the dragon's
tail (all them flights) and went into a coma. The trauma sparked
a pulmonary embolism and I revived it with a heart defibrillator
I just happened to have handy.
It recovered briefly but succumbed, fatally alas, to secondary
emphysema. Its last words (flags talk see) words were: "BastardJoeJordanAlexFergusonPaulBodinIeuanWynEllis."
I flushed it down the bog and it's floating down the Dnipro to
the Black Sea.
Fan of the day
Are sponsored swearathons a regular occurrence in Llandudno?
Barely a minute into the game and a volcanic torrent of phrases
erupted from the fan next to me. So much so, I panicked, thinking
I'd not been paying attention and we'd already let in two goals.
I turned, wondering if Robert de Niro had got a ticket for the
match, to find Gareth Bailey, aged 15.
If I lived in Llandudno, I'd swear a lot too. Many thanks, Gareth,
for teaching me four new and very useful phrases.
He did plenty of singing, mind. More than anyone else, no question.
All of it over my right shoulder. A rip-roaring effort from the
teen terror. Brought on my tinnitis something chronic, it did.
Best player
Pembridge. Reminded me of a shorter version of Peter Nicholas.
Tigerish in both this week's games, a good passer (Savage please
note) and the most underrated of all the underrated players in
a very underrated team. The underrated Mark Hughes should be given
credit for not underrating him.
Worst player
Anyone got a cure for my aversion to Speed. Not talking about
drugs here. Give John Robinson the captaincy and make Gary fight
for his place.
adecolley@hotmail.com
Special mention to away trip virgin Sam from Dinas Powys for lift
to Heathrow. Cheers drive.