Match Day (2/3) By Andy Carrington

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3).

Luckily, we made it to the St. Stephens shopping centre unscathed, although I had collided chest on with a policeman running in the opposite direction. It looked pretty impressive from the offset aswell: 40 acres of square development; spanning the length and breadth of the curved street, mostly notable for its glazed canopy structure, which provided natural lighting to shoppers throughout the day. Still, it was nothing new in terms of originality, and I had to be content with River Island to buy a shirt. It was kind of a disappointing climax to our diversion.

I could have gone to the same shop, with the same clothes, anywhere I wanted, and in a sense I felt cheated. Fair enough, no-one forced me to buy the shirt but in all honesty I didn't have much choice, which is probably the reason I tend to buy most of my clothing from ebay nowadays anyway. I've never been that big a fan of cities. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I always interpret a sense of snobbery, whether it be Leeds, Sheffield or here.

There was one man for example in the middle of the town centre preaching to passersby about Almighty God, and how everyone must confess their sins in order to increase their chances of getting into heaven. I'm no bible basher, but some of the disgusted looks the people gave him, quickly followed by the sly whispers to their partners, showed their opinions quite clearly I think. Snobs. At least he was fighting for his beliefs, which says a lot more to me than the mentality of the football hooligans. I'm sorry, but I've just never understood those set of arrogant bastards.

There's nothing political about what they're doing. It's not like they're fighting for any reasonable means in society. Pure and simple, it's all about them having a good ruck on match day and stereotypically enhancing their status as a man in the world. It's pathetic, and quite frankly it makes me sick sometimes.

I was beginning to ramble. Lee was quiet. Too quiet. He was never quiet. I'd have probably carried on, but couldn't help becoming instantly distracted by a man dressed up as Beetlejuice at the side of me. Bemused, he was close to seven foot in size, and drooling black fluid from his lips, and quite frankly he scared the shit out of me, especially since he thought it would be funny to jump right into my path and make some sort of snorting sound with his nose, which I'm guessing was a similar sound to the actual character in film.

More astonishingly was him then asking me, ever so politely, if I would like to donate to cancer research, in his squeaky child-like tone of voice. Declining, I thanked him, hurried my steps and continued walking towards the exit of the shopping centre before he decided to pester me further and not take no for an answer.

By now, the majority of the home supporters had assembled a group around the huge TV screen that was situated in the middle of the main city square. It was showing the game of course. How generous of the council to heighten the atmosphere, just when we thought the city would quieten down from the offshoot of away supporters making their way to the venue of the game. It was approaching 2.45pm and bottles were already being thrown around, and this was only for the fans to amuse themselves further. Just imagine if it developed into an act of violence.

Even the poor market stalls had been converted into seating and were now victims of stamping and other acts of vandalism from the whimsical following. Those market sellers were going to be pissed in the morning.

Continued .... Next Page (3/3)

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