So, me an’ Mickey are reminiscing about the football, like ‘ow it ain’t what it used to be, back in the day, in the 70s an’ 80’s an’ that. “S’all about fuckin’ money these days.” I say.
“Used to be different.” ‘e agrees.
“Used to be about skill and passion and hatred.” I point out an’ ‘e nods sadly into ‘is lager.
Me an’ Mickey never missed a fuckin’ game an’ never failed to get stuck in. They used to search you at the turnstiles back then, for weapons, an’ that. They never took no notice though, if all you ‘ad was a pocket full of loose change, an’ you can do a lot of damage wiv a 10p coin, if you chuck it right, know what I mean? “You remember that silly cunt ‘oo let me in wiv me darts?” Mickey grins suddenly, an’ we both ‘ave a chuckle.
“Yeah,” I grin, “and that cunt what shouted ‘One ‘undred and fuckin’ eighty!’ when you ‘it that Gooner in the eyeball wiv one” an’ we both ‘ave a right laugh.
“Shame they never ‘ad camera phones back then,” ‘e says, “one to show the grandchildren, that would ‘ave been.”
“Yeah, that was fuckin’ ‘ilarious!” I agree. Neither of us can remember the score that day but we remember the look on that cunt’s face. Coins was the best though, ’cause no cunt could stop you takin’ change into the ground. Mickey come up wiv the idea of sharpenin’ the edges. ‘E was always a clever cunt, even at school.
‘Course now they got CC fuckin’ TV cameras everywhere, and you don’t get to ‘ave no fun at all. We don’t even bovver goin’ these days. All that money’s fuckin’ ruined football, know what I mean?