Haze's Pole Dance!
Tim Hazell (AKA DJ Haze) reports!
From Penarth to Poznan: Welshman Tim Hazell, now a DJ in Poland, had a unique take on the World Cup match in Warsaw he was part of the pre- and post- match entertainment.
"The Welsh guy's here," the security guard shouted to a harried-looking bloke in a suit.
"Ah, the Welsh guy!" I was beckoned towards the man, who handed me over to a shaven-headed man-mountain of a security guard, who in turn announced my arrival to a mysterious being at the other end of a walkie-talkie.
We took off at pace in the direction of the stadium, the burly security guard all the while keeping up a crackly conversation with his colleague. As we walked past the tunnel, I glimpsed the brilliant green of the pitch, and my heart quickened. I might have just hit 41, but the thrill of actually setting foot on a real pitch even if it wasn't quite the Millennium Stadium, or Stamford Bridge filled me with the sort of joy I thought had left me around the age of 12. When we actually started heading towards the pitch via a parallel corridor, curiosity got the better of me.
"They want you to say if the music they're playing is the Welsh national anthem", explained my escort. And right on cue, even before we emerged onto the pitch a trumpet blast of the first chord of the chorus came blasting out of the loudspeakers.
"Yes," I said. "That's it."
The security guard was reluctant to believe that I could recognise my own national anthem after hearing only one chord however, and took me out onto the pitch to hear it from the beginning.
While he was instructing the stadium DJ to play it again, I had a good look around me. The pitch was in excellent condition. The harsh winters in Poland don't do grass many favours and so when you see a piece of turf as green as this you know it's been tenderly cared for. The stadium was actually quite small, but in good condition.
After a few false starts 'Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau' started up from the beginning and once again I confirmed its authenticity. I wasn't getting away that easily though. "Would you like me to sing along?" I suggested.
"No, just say whether it's the right one." Do security guards ever have a sense of humour?
Eventually he acknowledged that I could recognise it without hearing it right through to the end and I was escorted back to the VIP tent, where I set up my decks on a stage at the end of the marquee.
Only when I had put all my equipment together did it occur to me that I could have told them I'd never heard their music before and handed them a copy of 'It's Not Unusual' to play before the match instead. That might have inspired our lads to the performance of a lifetime!
I was told to come back for a 'rehearsal' at 4pm which gave me four hours to kill in Warsaw after my arrival from Poznan. A friend of mine, a fellow DJ, was in the middle of a teacher-training course being run at a school not far from the stadium so I arranged to meet him for lunch
Anyway, after a very pleasant afternoon in a sun-drenched Warsaw (the ground is near the Embassy area of Warsaw, which is green and picturesque), I found my way back to the stadium. The marquee was now a frantic hive of activity: electricians, caterers, sound men all dancing to the shrill tune of Bogdan from the agency. I played a record and said some words into a microphone so they could check my levels and was immediately asked back onto the pitch. This time my job was to listen to the brass band play the anthem and give my impression on how well they played it.
My consort was a middle-aged lady responsible for the brass band in some way. So there I was again, on the pitch. Only this time the stadium was probably about a quarter full. After a brief wait, the band marched on and got into formation in the centre circle before me. The 'Welsh trainer' had listened to it earlier and had said it was OK, only a bit slow, I was informed. Before I could question the likelihood of Tosh standing on the pitch listening to a brass band, the tune started up.
It has to be said that I'm not terribly patriotic, and although I enjoy blasting out 'Mae hen wlad fy nhadau' with a few beers inside me at the start of a game, I don't tend to go all misty-eyed whenever I hear it. There was something a bit special about having a whole band stand in front of me and play the tune just for me though. And I have to say that they did play it really nicely, albeit yes, a little too slowly
After many years of living and working as a DJ in Poland I'm used to not being completely informed of what is required of me. A few years ago it would have caused me much anxiety that my exact role in that evening's entertainment kept changing from one explanation to the next. But now I just tend to smile and nod enthusiastically. Experience has taught me that whatever does happen on the night, it won't be what was planned so there's not much point getting worked up about it.
I had been hired by an agency to entertain guests of Telekomunikacja Polska, the sponsors of the national team, before and after the game and during half-time. My co-performer was a Polish actor I vaguely recognised from the TV, but couldn't name. He turned out to be a really decent bloke and an obsessive fan. He knew every possible computation of the effect of certain results on the qualification hopes of just about any national side. He was also madly behind Poland.
The time up to the kick-off was taken with me spinning house music to a tent full of Polish men intent on stuffing as much free grub and alcohol into their gobs as possible. My new butty the actor entertained them with Polish football statistics, the odd fact about Wales, and a few jokes at the expense of the DJ in the Wales shirt. None of them were funny.
His wireless microphone allowed him to wander around amongst the guests and solicit pre-match analysis. He also kept up a running banter with me, which made life extremely difficult as not only did I have to suddenly pick up a microphone while mixing, but due to two spotlights shining in my eyes, I had no idea where the sod was I just heard a disembodied voice firing questions at me in Polish.
As kick-off approached, both the actor and I became increasingly concerned we weren't going to be allowed out of the tent into the stadium. After a fair bit of hanging around Bogdan with dog-eyes, we managed to get some passes and were up those steps like a flash.
Of course the first thing that struck me was that I was the only person in a Wales shirt in the whole stand. The Wales fans were audible but not visible to me just at the beginning of the bend in the stand. The behaviour of the fans around me was exemplary however, and I received no abuse at all. Nonetheless, I decided it would be wise to not make myself too conspicuous and I spent the entire first half with my arms crossed tightly and my teeth firmly clenched so as not to prevent myself from jumping up and down and shouting.
The good mood and the passionate support of the Poles was a very pleasant surprise for me. It was about as far as can be imagined from the vodka-fuelled hooliganism of many club matches. Half time was spent entertaining the gluttonous sponsors and the second-half unfortunately was spent watching the match on a big screen in the VIP tent, though at least I was spared the agony of being among thousands of celebrating Polish fans when the goal was scored.
Once the mob returned to the tent, I was instructed to play an incredibly cheesey 'mega-mix' of Polish football tunes, which included mindless chants to the music of everyone from Queen to the Pet Shop Boys and Jennifer Lopez. At the same time all Poland's goals from the qualifying campaign were shown on the big screen with our actor talking the crowd through them. Each time a goal was scored an indoor firework exploded in front of me. Bogdan seemed to have overlooked one thing however, as by the seventh goal the amount of smoke in the marquee had sent the crowd surging out into the night coughing and spluttering. What with this smoke and the spotlights, I was now completely blind, but managed to stumble backwards off the stage and through a split in the canvas into the fresh air.
Mr Actor eventually got everyone back into the tent via his pesky microphone, though the party was obviously over for most folk, and I was soon on my way to my bed for the night at the drunken teacher-training DJ's house.
As I drove through the streets of Warsaw, images flashed through my weary head. It had been great to see a Welsh side of such dubious overall talent (to be honest, there were a couple of players I didn't recognise) perform with such tenacity and tactical organisation; and I had to totally reassess my opinion of Polish football fans; I was quite proud of the fact that I'd managed to hold my own in a Polish interview, especially as I had been virtually blind, deaf and had had extremely limited use of my hands; it was a shame I hadn't bumped into any Welsh fans, but the abiding image of the day was without doubt being entertained with a personal rendition of the world's greatest anthem in the middle of a Polish football stadium that I won't forget in a hurry!
DJ Haze is at http://www.djhaze.pl