Fucking Rubbish

So you know (and have probably laughed at) the score from last night. And in case you were wondering, no, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience. So much so that I petulantly decided that I was going to throw my Roma season ticket in the bin, or a least sell it for a few quid, and texted Spangles to call Roma fans ‘a bunch of pricks’. Not my most diplomatic move, it must be said.

It didn’t start so bad, mind you. On the bus from Piazza Flaminio I got chatting to a top guy who caught me texting in English to the missus. We started talking about the match and about the bell ends who cause aggravation on both sides and shared little anecdotes about his mate, who is also from London and is West Ham fan, with a Chelse supporting brother. A concept that fucks with my head somewhat. I can only assume that his mate was being kept as a pet troll to be wheeled out at birthdays and Christmas. Anyway we had a semi-decent chat, I felt good about casual shooting the breeze in Italian and after I got off I had a nice slab of pizza and lovely suppli (deep fried balls of rice and mozzarella, mmmm), and had a trouble free stroll to the away end from the Sud. It turns out of course, that I was one of the lucky ones, judging by the look of some of the people in our section. One particular young chap near me had a huge bandage on his head, apparently gained from fighting with a bunch of Roma fans and getting a smack on the head by a carabinieri stick. In fact I seemed to be surrounded by these sort of mouth breathers in our not even half full end, full of arse about ‘we went round their end and they didn’t wanna know’ and other such stories. About 25 minutes in another group of about 40 got in, after apparently being ambushed (surprise surprise) and holding off a gang of Roma fans armed with knives and what some guy referred to as a ‘big fucking ball and chain’. It wasn’t just our end that was sparsely populated though; the run of bad results obviously put off the larger Roman public, as it was a very poor crowd. The Nord was half empty, as were the two Tribunas, with only the Sud full:


The atmosphere was pretty rubbish as well. It was really hard to hear anything coming from the other end of the ground, and it wasn’t until we were three down that any audible singing found its way over to us. The lot in the Nord were pathetic, with about 100 fans singing ‘Chelsea vafanculo’ on a loop every ten minutes, before coming over to goad after each goal. They also had fun lobbing coins and anything else they could get their hands on, which was lovely. In essence, they were a bunch of pricks, and by the by the third the ‘boys’ in our end had had enough, and decided to break the line of stewards to bang on the perspex like big hard men, and ‘try’ to break down a fortified iron gate. It was a bit embarassing all told, although one bright spark did manage to take his belt off and get high up enough the barrier to whip a couple of them around the face. I have to admit, I was quite glad that a few of them got clumped, which is *bad* of me, but you know, fuck them in the ear, the snidey little shit wipes. I instead took my anoyance out by texting the missus that I was going to sell my season ticket, which I don’t think went down too well (but which I meant at the time – and am still unsure whether or not I want to go back).

Basically it was a dreadful experience, not helped by our shocking defending, and it made me question whether I can lend my support to a club whose fans act like such such a bunch of knobends. This is Roma I’m talking about, before you get confused, but the away end wasn’t much better. Apart from there not being anywhere near enough fans there, our singing was sporadic at best and never very loud, and the songs that were sung were just plain embarassing: ‘Lazio’ (to various different tunes), ‘Who are ya?’ (hateful rubbish sung by clueless provincials), and the National Fucking Anthem. Oh and I forgot; ‘Ingerlund’. I can’t find a way to justify any of those songs being sung at a Chelsea match, but on the off chance someone out there actually reads my warblings, certain things need pointing out.

  • Singing the name of another teams’ rival in the name of ‘banter’ is not on. Ever.
  • See above for ‘Who are ya?’
  • The Queen has nothing to do with, happy and glorious or not. And adding ‘no surrender’ in there doesn’t make you a defender of the realm, it makes you a twat.
  • Singing Ingerland in the country that won the last World Cup is beyond parody.

The 90 minute wait after the game crawled by, with most people just sitting there with a glum look on their faces, while our fallen soldier asked his mates ‘what the fuck am I gonna say to my mum?’ about his bandage and bloodstained jumper. Then we were herded onto buses but into the centre of town and I glowered at strangers all the way home.

Like I say, fucking rubbish.


Ticket News

Well after some faff and arsing around that involved getting my dad to go up the Bridge to collect my ticket and Spangles bringing it back from London, I’ve got my hands on a ticket for Roma-Chelsea in the away end. And here it is:

The token nod to security seems to be my Christian name scrawled on the back in pen. Hi-tech eh?

Nerves are starting to set in by the way.


In a move that is sure to shock the world, me and Spangles are watching the game together with Pizza. I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea.