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Ulternative Alster Fan Club
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Ravenhill Nights 4 |
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'Turkey shoot'.. A funny thing happened on the way to the forum, well Ravenhill actually. Friday evening 2 weeks ago, the air was balmy, the remnants of hurricane Gordon had departed north, leaving a gentle breeze wafting on the air as I wandered towards the hallowed old ground. A quarter past six and a heady 17 degrees C, I half expected to smell the sweet perfume of barbecue wood chip and glimpse the languid wisps of white fluffy smoke adrift the evening air. Twas not to be, but my barometer was already sensing a largish crowd for this Ospreys match. The tell tale signs where there at the outset, my traditional parking space missing, presumed filled, the large numbers of folk trekking towards the ground, an hour or more before kick off. It was an unusually rare occasion, this one, for the Ulster supporter, so long enamoured to the joys of Friday night rugby. The sweet taste of success last season heralded the demi god that is the media and it's wherewithal ensured we would be adapting to the vagaries of Saturday afternoon into evening rugby. The beer tent as expected had a ‘healthy’ looking crowd consuming pints of Magners. "Magners isn't the same without ice," I ventured. "We had ice in ours at Edinburgh," countered GB2, failing to consider I had missed that particular adventure. As we ruminated on the inadequacies or otherwise of the presentation of Magners in the beer tent, the lone figure of Cables could be seen ploughing a steady North by Northwest passage through the gathering crowd. Even as HSS Cables disappeared from view, the paparazzi arrived and demanded we raise our glasses. We dutifully obeyed, though I couldn't see a thing until I realised he meant the Magners plastic pint pots. Colin stood deadly still, his camera moved not an inch but unnervingly the little orifice at the front twirled a few revolutions, whirring in and out like a gadget from Secret sam case. Colin was looking for Cables. As luck would have it HSS Cables could again be seen steering a steady south by southwest course through the thickening crowd. I raced over causing him to abruptly change course. Too late though, by the time we'd steamed back the irrepressible Colin had departed our shores. As the remnants of Colin’s camera flashlight cleared from our vision, Queen Goody with Princess Mini Craft made her entrance to the beer tent. As she passed she offered her cheek for a quick peck. Planting a kiss, I glanced around quickly to see if anyone was watching in case they should think there was more to this than the traditional male Ulster supporter's greeting for female fans. So far the Ravenhill rumour mill is strangely silent….. Princess Mini Craft was dressed to the nines. At Edinburgh the talk of the match had been the big hirsute one turning up for the game in a suit and no corporate entertainment within 10 miles of Murrayfield. Now Mini craft looked like she was on a night out, which to a certain extent she was but it was a rugby match for heavens sake, not a candlelit dinner. It was time to fight my way to the Terrace before the game started and indeed if the beer tent wasn't bulging at the seams, it was only because many supporters elected to soak up the last rays of wan evening sunlight. Descending by the second barrier to my traditional spot amongst the riff raff I was hailed from a distance by a commanding and broadly smiling figure. It was MUM of course. He was keen to show his newly amended Ulster shirt, as he pivoted 90 degrees I could make out in bold type, 'Mid Ulster Maestro', festooned where a younger MUM had once sported a big No. 5 "Hello MUM!!" I yelled above the noise of the Terrace riff raff. If you are the kind of supporter who follows the fortunes of your team in an emotional manner you should pause a few moments and spend a little time in MUM's company. Great therapy, like Dr. Robert he'll pick you when you’re feelin' down, perennially cheerful an antidote to those match day blues. Next time your on the Terrace pen a poster with, 'Hello MUM' on it and wave it towards the second barrier up near the commentary box and MUM'll give you a wee wave in return. As the match kicked off, I found myself on the Terrace adjacent a former UR messageboard stalwart El Monty. Monty is at the same spot every match day with the full monty of a family and is often in fine voice. Justin Marshall was exercising his democratic right on the pitch to argue the toss and every other aspect of the referee’s decisions with the crowd. He got no change from them and when the second Osprey departed for the sin bin, to Mr. Marshall’s obvious disgust, El Monty yelled, “you’ll soon be on your own Justin!” Mr. Marshall’s reaction has not been recorded for posterity but it can be assumed he was probably postmuthously apoplectic and beyond therapy at this stage. At the end of the first half I filed away to the loo and passed the second barrier where the cap’n was as usual armed with a camera and shooting like mad. The Original Kimble stood almost on the yellow steps and I paused briefly for a chat. The resulting conversation is classed “COMMERCIAL IN CONFIDENCE” though polo shirts, and numbers were mentioned in passing. Should you find yourself beside some female supporters on matchday the following conversation could ensue amongst them. “Oh my gawd, look at no. 22’s bom!” gasped no.1 female fan. “Who’s no. 22?” queried the no. 2 female fan. “Tommy B***!” retorted no. 1 fan panting loudly. “That’s Irish conditioning camps for ya,” I confided, wishing for a brief millisecond I was 22 again and just back from an Irish conditioning camp, before the freezing nuts scenario rudely interrupted that thought. “Don’t care,” replied female fan no. 1 still panting loudly and aiming a mobile phone camera in the direction of player no. 22. With the match petering out into a turkey shoot for Ulster I hurried off into the night to find my car and return to the sanctuary of the bunker. My thoughts centred on the brief return of Friday night rugby, the buzz round the hallowed old ground, the banter in the crowd as a once legendary All black’s reputation dropped a notch or two and his opposite number, a once wannabee All Black showed him how the game’s played. Standing beside female fans can sometimes remind you of the mortality of oul age. I wouldn’t swap it for frozen nuts. Give me a pint of Magners, the wind in my face and a spot on the Terrace with Ulster humiliating another big name and I’ll settle for that. Roll on Toulouse!!. |
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