Priorities
By Steve Horton
From Issue 53, Autumn 2001
On Millennium Eve in a drunken haze I asked my
then girlfriend to marry me. Astonishingly she
said yes and two days later we went for the ring
as Liverpool played Spurs away. With spooky foresight
that I would be required elsewhere, I had decided
not to go for fear of road and rail chaos and
even Easyjet were quoting something like £80
return. That turned out to be the only competitive
game I missed in 2000 with the exception of Rapid
Bucharest away, as I made it quite clear from
the outset that the change from my bachelor status
was not going to effect my following of LFC. As
such our wedding would have to take place in June
2001, the only month when it was certain that
there would be no matches. 9th June was settled
on, a date agreeable to me as it is also her birthday
so I wouldn't have too much trouble remembering
the date of our anniversary, and I could also
buy a combined present.
Unfortunately, we soon found we'd have to pay
for most of the wedding ourselves. Costs rocketed
to the point where they almost matched a weeks'
wages for one of our fringe players. Mr R Parry
wanted about £30 a head for soup, chicken
and chips in a fancy sauce and some after dinner
mints so we decided to go abroad. Not a problem
I thought, and we settled on Sri Lanka. Then I
looked at the little weather bar charts they have
in holiday brochures and the rainfall chart for
June only just fitted on the page. There was no
other thing for it, we'd have to go in the season
and my hopes of getting to all 38 league games
for the first time ever were dashed. Damage limitation
now became the aim. I decided that I could handle
missing a home game as long as I made all the
away games. Careful scanning of the fixtures meant
that 2 weeks from the 6th March was best, as I
was only liable to miss the Derby County game.
As for potentially missing cup quarter finals,
I merely scoffed at the thought.
So bookings were made and while my intended looked
for wedding dresses and tiaras on Saturday afternoons
I set about the task of getting to every away
game during 2000/01. When the Bradford game was
called off panic set in, as I began to worry about
when it would be re-scheduled. My fears eased
when it became obvious that as long as we remained
in the FA Cup it couldn't take place while I was
away. As the season progressed I began to realise
that I would be getting married during one of
the most exciting periods in our club's history
for some years but the deeds had to be done. When
I became aware that should we beat Roma, we'd
play Porto in the UEFA quarter finals I was quite
relieved. Not a place I particularly wanted to
visit anyway, and from what I heard very few people
bothered going. The Tranmere game was one I'd
dearly liked to have gone to, but such is life.
Things in the 6 months preceding our wedding weren't
all sweetness and light. My request to go the
cricket was quickly rebuked and when I casually
mentioned that I'd like to go to the England-Finland
game she started packing her bags, being that
24th March was to be the night of our party. Still
differences were overcome and the plane was boarded,
instructions left with a friend to text me all
scores as they happened as I knew I could be entering
a news free area. He was also left with my Euro
Travel card, so certain was I that he'd have to
be on the phone to Towns Travel for me.
So on to arrival in Sri Lanka and the fact suddenly
dawns on me that I really was quite isolated from
the news grapevine. All the locals wanted to talk
about was cricket and although papers were printed
in English, no other sports were covered except
tennis. Unlike Benidorm, there was no Sky Sports,
no English tabloids printed locally and no people
arriving daily with news from back home. One of
the first things I noticed was the lack of football
shirts worn by people in the hotel. Not until
my second week did I see one, as a section of
the Barmy Army arrived fresh from the 2nd Test.
On checking the television in the room, I found
an Oz sports channel which gave me some optimism,
but this was soon dampened by a diet of golf,
golf and more golf. BBC World was all I could
rely on, but even then their sports coverage was
about 30 seconds an hour so I decided I'd just
have to live off the text messages. Then real
panic stations set in when I couldn't get a mobile
phone signal due to the amount of palm trees in
the hotel grounds. Going out of the hotel gate
didn't solve the problem, so the only option was
to go and stand on the beach, despite what looked
alarmingly like snake tracks appearing there after
dark, or sit in the corner of the hotel restaurant.
The first game I needed news from was the Porto
away leg. I decided it would be fruitless to stay
up till 3am just on the off chance some football
may be on the local TV so instead I drank as much
all inclusive lager as I could before the bar
shut at midnight and quite happily crashed out.
I'm quite ashamed to say that the next morning
I forgot the game had been played. It was my girlfriend
who took my phone down to breakfast and when I
heard the beep beep I feared we were being texted
to say we'd forgotten to bring our affidavits
or something. She then read what was a personal
text message and informed me that the game finished
0-0. Satisfied with this knowledge I returned
to the room to find BBC World showing highlights
from games at Alaves and Barcelona but totally
neglecting to mention our own game.
The day of the Tranmere game we went to see some
of the local sights and a museum guide asked if
we were from London. In response to our answer
he said 'Ahh yes, Liverpool very famous football
team'. To hear this so far from home in a cricket
obsessed country made me very proud, especially
as he professed to know very little about MUFC
except they were European champions a year or
two ago. That day I saw my first football ground,
just an unenclosed pitch with a hut serving as
the main stand, even though it was a top flight
club's ground. By now I was getting very sentimental
and a documentary on Liverpool bands of the 1980s
shown on BBC World at teatime meant I was really
excited about hearing more news from home.
After dinner and some beer 10pm came and the first
of the nights trips to the beach was made as I
went off in search of the score. No message yet,
so I had another beer, downing the 600ml bottle
in ten minutes as I excitedly wanted to get back
to the beach (which was only 20 seconds walk away
but still an effort in a hotel where staff would
turn on the taps for you to wash your hands after
going to the toilet). The bottle of beer followed
by a beach trip was repeated three or four times
as 11pm came, a full hour after the match and
still no score.
Fuelled by alcohol and heat by now, I had to take
action. 'WHATS THE SCORE YOU DAFT BASTARD' was
keyed in and sent, by mistake, to my mum. An apology
was then sent to my poor mother and the message
then sent to the intended recipient. As that was
being sent the late incoming message arrived.
He thought he was doing me a favour by sending
me news of the draw and West Ham v Spurs as well.
TRFC 2 LFC 4, Wycombe in the semis, I could hardly
contain my delight and wanted to kiss the patrolling
security guard, who had become more and more bemused
by my visits to the beach.
For the Porto home game I worried a bit. We were
going out at 4.30am into the jungle looking at
elephants and I was concerned about getting any
signal at all. At 4.25am I made one hopeful trip
to the beach and no message. All sorts of things
crossed my mind. They could be playing extra time,
or he may be getting pissed celebrating the result,
how would he know I'd be up at 4.30am. At 5.15am
the sleepy mini bus was awoken by the Nokia message
signal. Not one football fan amongst my fellow
passengers, who could not believe I was so keen
to find out the result of a European quarter final.
The mischievous friend, who had spent most of
the afternoon in the Arkles thought it would be
funny to send me a text saying LFC 0 FCP 2, followed
by an 'only kidding' and the real result. What
he didn't realise was that Sri Lankan telecommunications
are a little slow and the real result arrived
first, so the joke backfired and my phone wasn't
thrown to feed alligators which may have happened
if they had arrived in the right order.
I heard the semi final draw while being driven
through the jungle by a Sri Lankan Jan Molby who
was determined to get us back before they stopped
serving dinner (at one point he overtook a car
which was already overtaking another car - on
a single carriageway road). Did I want to go to
the Nou Camp - stupid question. I was by now married
and after consultation with my other half ('sorry,
can't take you to Aintree on Ladies Day, I'm off
to Barcelona') I gave instructions to book me
on whatever trip they decided to go on. News came
through the next day that Towns were relieving
me of £229 for a day trip but I didn't care,
for the first time this season I was going to
a European game where I would happily see the
stadium and nothing else.
This just left the Derby County game to come,
one I always thought wouldn't go to plan, our
team being oh so predictable. Sunday night came
and I finally had some intelligent conversation
with a Sri Lankan about football. He knew all
about Michael Owen and his goals against Roma,
but hadn't heard of David Beckham! As per usual,
I made trips to the beach every 5-10 minutes or
so within 15 minutes of the final whistle. By
now Sri Lankan telecoms had gone totally berserk
and all that I kept getting was the UEFA Cup draw,
about 15 times in all.
At 35p to receive a message, I was beginning to
wonder if I'd be spending a large chunk of my
Barcelona money on paying off the phone bill instead.
Eventually I gave up and switched the phone off,
by now getting my first dodgy belly as a result
of a chicken burger which tasted more like lukewarm
fish. My wife gave me some pills to close my arse
up which was the worst thing she could possibly
have done. The dodgy chicken was knocking so hard
to come out I could feel myself expanding to Gazza
proportions until it eventually turned round 180
degrees and decided to come out my mouth instead.
The whole of Monday was spent in bed and I didn't
find out the score till Tuesday, 1-1 not surprising
me in the slightest. I also got informed of the
UEFA Cup draw three more times as well.
Now we are home, my wife has set about re-arranging
what was my house and is now ours. My signed 1981
ball, my league champions 1964 mug, signed Shankly
photo which are all proudly displayed are now
the subject of intense bargaining as she wonders
where to put some crystal we got as a wedding
present. Normal service is resuming however by
way of attending matches in person, even though
I still won't get to every away league game this
season. I found myself unable to take time off
work for the Sunderland game. Having missed one,
the lure of arranging a stag night to remember
then tempted me from Filbert Street on 3rd March.
But now I'm back, I'm ready to get cracking again,
in fact we brought back £500 in unused travellers
cheques from Sri Lanka. That's about the price
of a flight to Bangkok. Aren't we playing there
in July?
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