Gareth Southgate had missed his penalty. Grown men were outside crying, couples arguing, police circling, and me, putting my foot through a shop window...
My relationship with the England team these days is a funny one. As a half English half Welsh mongrel, the yells of both Granddads still ring in my ears about who to support and international football, to me, is a chance to watch the best of the best and get excited about young left-backs and number 10s. I will, of course, watch England v Sweden tomorrow evening, I may even pump my fist when they score, but I’m pretty sure I won’t fall through a window.
I was about to turn 18 in 1996. Like most people in small towns across the country we were gripped by Euro 96 fever. I didn’t break my lifetime habit of never having owned an England shirt, but I did go to the pub for every game and ended up in plenty of booze-soaked group hugs with my mates. Life then was football, girls, narcotics, booze, music and books, in any order you fancy.
After Gareth Southgate had missed his penalty, we slowly filtered out into the street. Grown men were crying, glasses crashing to the floor, couples arguing, police circling. We’d been lumbering along the high street eating large kofte from fees, stopping every now and again to lament Gazza’s pause and the other talking points.
We got to a certain shop and, as it started to rain, huddled in the doorway to eat, smoke and moan. My mate who, I’d bet could knock out a horse with one punch, suddenly got angry and what I saw was him punch this shop window with all his might. Nothing happened, not even a wobble. So I kicked it, not even hard, just a little toe-punt. Imagine my surprise, then, when my foot shattered the huge front window and narrowly avoided being severed when the top half crashed down.
I saw the blood instantly, from a cut right along the bone on the inside of my ankle, it gushed into my trainer. I was wearing a pair of blue canvas adidas and within a minute the right one was red.
I saw the blood instantly, from a cut right along the bone on the inside of my ankle, it gushed into my trainer. I was wearing a pair of blue canvas adidas and within a minute the right one was red.
I saw the blood instantly, from a cut right along the bone on the inside of my ankle, it gushed into my trainer. I was wearing a pair of blue canvas adidas and within a minute the right one was red. “Fucks sake,” I said to J. “What happened, I thought you twatted it?” “Nah mate”, he said, “I went to and pulled my fist away at the last minute.” “Great,” I replied, “I thought it was fucking security glass.”
Now I was in a bind. I couldn’t go back to the pub as the coppers were there. I couldn’t walk throughout the high street as my limping, bloody foot would be easily detected. I had to go cross country. Down Cartway I went squelching with every step. I hit the steps up to the church, limped on around past the scout hut, over the gate and through the school and powered on over the bridge to Marijuana Mansions, the local flats.
I knocked on Ps door. Steve came to the door. I’d known Steve since I was a kid but he was trouble. Possibly for this reason he knew what to do, took off my sodden shoe and sock and whacked the three inch cut under cold running water. Then, he wrapped it in a towel and dragged me back outside. “I stole a motorbike before,” he said, “I’ll thrash down the hospital walk and hope the coppers don’t see us.”
So that’s what happened. Me and S on a stolen bike, no helmets and bleeding like a stuck pig. I got lucky at Casualty as I knew the nurse. She knew what I’d done as the police had been in but she kept scrum and stitched me up. Next morning when I woke I not only felt like the world’s biggest twat, I also felt a twang every time I took a step. I’d only fucking severed something. By the time I got the nerve up to walk down town, the window had been replaced and it was like nothing had happened. Six arrests had been made that night, how I wasn’t one of them I’ll never know.
If you liked this, try these…
Karel Poborsky – Manchester United’s Euro 96 Signing That Didn’t Go To Plan
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