Volume 5 Number 2 - 15th. October 1999
![[D. McNiven]](/Colosseum/Stadium/4377/pic52-1.jpg)
CHAIRMAN'S EDITORIAL
CHAIRMAN'S EDITORIAL
What a turnaround can happen in just seven days. England make the playoffs (see our tribute to Sweden), Latics win their second game and move up to 21st., Tranmere drop back to bottom of the First Division and we enrol four new members.
I have also been communicating with Alan Hardy, Chief Executive and Secretary of OAFC, over some concerns that disabled supporters had with their seating arrangements at Boundary Park. Many thanks to Mr. Hardy for bringing a satisfactory conclusion to a delicate problem. I received a letter of thanks from Anthony, the supporter who brought my notice to the problem, and he is delighted with the outcome. Well done to the Latics. Supporters are the life and soul of every club and should be treated correctly. Without the supporters there is no club.
A new search engine has been added to our website which is much more efficient than our previous one. Now you can search all the past programmes and links for key words if you need any information about a specific topic related to the team. Try tying your name in and see what happens. Radio Latics is back on line again after a couple of years in the wilderness. If you visit our site at http://latics.cjb.net and click on the ‘Radio Latics’ link you can listen to the goals and interviews with the players and manager. A wonderful experience. Try it.
One more thing before I conclude this editorial. Christmas is coming. It seems only like a few weeks ago when Ernie was all stressed out but it was a long time age. This is my question. Are we having our annual draw? If so let me know and I’ll get the ball rolling, so to speak. For the benefit of new members the annual draw is done by donation of gifts. Ernie gets busy and everybody is entitled to win one gift only. The times of the draw are pre-listed and you must be present at the time of the draw to claim the gift.
The Chairman
The long-term benefits of alcohol have been consistently misunderstood by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own drunken experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your alcohol tolerance. You will not understand the power and beauty of your alcohol tolerance until it's faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself puking in a gutter and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much alcohol you drank and how fabulous it really was. You are not as sick as you imagine.
Don't worry about where the next beer is coming from. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to pull a Page Three model after 15 pints of Stella.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your drink-addled mind, like the unexpected lack of ale in the fridge on some idle Tuesday. Drink one thing every day that scares you.
Sing badly and be reckless when buying other people drinks. Don't put up with people who are reckless when buying yours.
Don't waste your time on shandy.
Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only to the bar.
Make up compliments you received. Return the insults. If you don't succeed in doing this drink more beer now.
Keep your old ring pulls. Throw away your old cans.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know when you might dry-out in your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 when they would sober up. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still haven't.
Get plenty of kebabs. Don't be too kind to your liver. You'll hardly miss it when it's gone.
Maybe you'll pull, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll get some bird up the duff, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll enter rehab at 40, maybe you'll dance the nude conga at your 75th University Reunion. Whatever you do, congratulate yourself far too much and berate others.
Your choices are half alcohol influenced. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy someone else's body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what the lads might think of it. It's probably the only time you'll ever pull.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but on the street with a can of Special Brew.
Ignore the directions, don't ever follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines, just cut out the pictures and put them on your wall.
Get to know your parents. You never know when you'll have to tap them for some cash.
Be nice to your barman. They're your best link to the bar and the person most likely to stop you getting your head kicked by a bouncer when paralytic in the future.
Understand that favourite drinks come and go, but with a precious flammable few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in strength and consistency, because the older you get, the harder it will be to neck ales like when you were young.
Live in London once, but leave before it makes you a ponce. Live in Liverpool once, but leave before everything you own gets stolen.
Accept certain inalienable truths:
Beer prices will rise. Bouncers will throw you out. You, too, will get a hangover. And when you do, you'll fantasise that when you were young, prices were reasonable, bouncers couldn't catch you, and hangovers were NEVER as bad as this.
Respect alcoholics.
Don't expect anyone else to buy you a beer.
Maybe you'll have a huge overdraft. Maybe you'll have a wealthy bird. But you never know when either one might stop getting you drunk.
Don't mess too much with alcopops or by the time you're 25 you will look like a faggot.
Be careful whose cheap booze you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Cheap booze is a form of rip-off. Dispensing it is a way of fishing old stock from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the sell-by date and re-selling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the alcohol.
Many thanks for the words of wisdom from the ‘Fat Bloke in Orange’, truly a Latic Fanatic of the highest calibre.
![[history1]](/Colosseum/Stadium/4377/pic52-2.gif)
I should have known it wasn't our day. I was due to meet up with my one travelling chum at 10am to begin the trip. I was sitting in my Walkden home at that time waiting for him, whilst he reposed in his Huddersfield home waiting for me. We eventually got going at 11am. Added to that, I'd tried to get some cheap tickets at Boundary Park earlier that morning, only to be told they'd been sent back to Reading (very handy for those of us who struggle to get to God's Own Country during the week and are too lethargic to queue up for them on matchdays). We picked up a third travelling companion in Banbury and continued down to Reading.
On arrival I got mugged for £3-00 to park the car on some shingle, handed over £2-00 for a programme (not too bad I suppose) and then had to buy a ticket from a little office before being able to get in at the turnstiles. Another £14. Once inside I succumbed to the temptation of a Cornish pasty (overcooked and lukewarm) which left me a further £2 light in the pocket. I had to buy a round of drinks (2 watery Fosters and a bitter) at a cost of £6.30. Before I made it to my seat I'd managed to part with £27.30 - This is for third rate football, for pity's sake.
I then watched a game in which Latics were the better side and probably deserved to win. An outrageous penalty award was saved by the magnificent Kelly. Tipton should definitely have scored one and probably should have bagged a brace whilst Rickers was unlucky with a lobbed attempt. As 4:50pm. came and went, with Reading looking like headless chickens and the three points in the bag, the early day omens of ill fortune came home to roost, like the miserable carrion they are. Mr. Punch (Sucker to his mates) decided that Oldham Athletic don't win away and conjured up a scrappy equaliser for ex-Norwich stalwart John Polston. Five minutes into injury time - and where the fourth official found five minutes from I shall never, ever know. We was robbed.
Funnily enough I'd have taken a point happily prior to the match but the journey home was a sullen and dispirited affair. The weather as we passed through Staffordshire was evil enough to give Noah a serious case of the old Brown Trousers and 6-0-6 had given way to the Ryder Cup. The only thing to cheer me up was the memory of another fine strike from the resurgent Allotinho. If he keeps this up I'll have to eat a large slice of humble pie very soon indeed. On arrival back in Walkden, my share of the petrol came to £20 (cheers Mr. Blair). With the added expenditure at Hilton Park on the way home my total bill for the day was £48.56. Prior to my departure my Dad called me a daft pillock for going away to watch Latics. He comes over to my house on away-days to spend some time with his three year old Grandson who is yet to be cursed with the away-travel itch (but I'll get ya, son!). Am I a daft pillock ? Should I stop flinging cash after those blue shirts to receive heartbreak in return ? Should I inflict OAFC on my little lad, who wasn't even born in the town ? Should I continue to receive the gleeful p*** taking of my Manc workmates each Monday morning ? Has anyone read this far ?? See you at Ninian.
Billy of Lees.
Dear Billy,
Of course you should introduce the little one to the finer things of life at an early age. What do you think he has in his veins instead of football - blood? People over here complain about the cost of hockey (it’s like football but with weapons) but they have a right to. The game lasts 60 minutes although it takes over three hours to complete. The only good thing about the game is that they have three ‘quarters’ and you can get a drink between the quarters. It’s costs even more than English beer though. Enjoy it while you can and think of us poor beggars out here in the colonies.
Dan
In recognition of this marvellous feat here is a reminder of the country’s TOP TEN exported contributions to the world of culture.
1. Abba. Tuneful quartet whose ubiquitous hits now seem the soundtrack of life itself. In 1997, it was reported that more homes in the English speaking world now owned a copy of Abba Gold than housed a Bible.
2. Volvo. Ugly cars whose lights never go out. Only the Swedes would have tried to make an estate car (the 740) "sexy". Only the British would have fallen for it.
3. Ikea. Once pronounced eye-key-yah; now enunciated ick-ee-ah. Nobody knows why. Purveyors of frankly flimsy furniture and the home, of course, of those pits full of highly coloured balls which allow weary parents to abandon their children for hours in McDonalds.
4. Smorgasbord. Think about all the cold, slightly grey grub lying for hours on a table at your cousin's wedding. Add herrings. Voila! Smorgasbord!
5. The Swedish Chef From The Muppets. Luxurious of moustache, ludicrous of accent, he bestrode the TV cookery world of the Seventies in a way that ‘The Two Fat Ladies’ can only dream of. "Oooobly-doobly-oooo"; that of course was his immortal catchphrase.
6. The Nobel Peace Prize. Brought to the world, of course, by Swede Alfred Nobel, the man whose invention, TNT, which led to the killing and maiming of millions in World War I.
7. Britt Ekland. Former missus of both Peter Sellers and Rod Stewart, beautiful Britt is now perhaps best remembered for the scene in The Wicker Man where, for no apparent reason, she gets her kit off and then, for even less apparent reason, bounces her naked form all over the walls of her hotel room. A "pause-button classic", young people tell me.
8. Ingrid Bergman & Ann-Margret. Heartbreakingly gorgeous actresses, the former rendered immortal by her role as Elsa Lund (ironically, a Norwegian) in Casablanca. Sorry, no joke here, she was just a handsome beast. As was Seventies temptress Ann-Margret, best known for that bit in Tommy where she gets sexy in a catsuit and a torrent of baked beans.
9. The Bofors Gun. For a supposedly neutral country, Sweden has certainly contributed to this century's appalling total of mangled flesh and fatherless kiddies. As well as TNT, they are responsible for one of the greatest artillery pieces of all time, the redoubtable Bofors gun. For further details see the 1968 film The Bofors Gun, starring John Thaw.
10. Porno Films. The title of Historical Home Of Porno is, of course, hotly disputed but few historians now deny that in the Seventies it was the Swedes who brought the genre to its highest, erm, peak. Blonde lovelies, beardy blokes, saunas and a massive preponderance of orange and brown furnishings all combined to make films like Helga and I Am Curious Orange classics of the Swedish cinema, and allowed the world to forgive a whole nation for miserable nonsense like The Seventh Seal.
So there you have it. This is the cultural legacy of the fine nation we are all indebted to. Even Scots (sat in their Volvos, on their way to the video shop to get a top porno and The Bofors Gun for the weekend, eating smorgasbord they bought at IKEA, listening to Abba and dreaming of Britt Ekland) will have to admit that it's a pretty formidable line-up...........Once again..... we thank you
LET’S HOPE FOR AN EASY DRAW - HOW ABOUT SCOTLAND OR IRELAND? (stated before Wednesday’s Draw)
and finally......
No wonder it’s called the dead good, dead hard quiz. There was no winner again last time.
The answer to the last question: The six English league teams with the letters of the word LOVE in their name are Blackburn Rovers, Bristol Rovers, Liverpool, Port Vale, Wolves and Brighton And Hove Albion.
This weeks teaser is a little bit easier: Why is the name 'St Johnstone' unique in British senior football?" A prize of one unit goes to the first member to correctly give the answer.
An Oldham supporting van driver used to amuse himself by scaring
every Manchester United fan he saw strutting down the road in his
scum uniform. He would swerve as if to hit them, and at the last
minute, swerve back onto the road. One day as he was driving along
the road, he saw a priest hitch-hiking. He thought he would do his
good deed for the day and offer the priest a lift.
"Where are you going, Father?" he asked.
"I'm going to say Mass at St Joseph's church, about 2 miles down the
road," came the reply.
"No problem," said the driver, "Jump in and I'll give you a lift."
The happy priest climbed into the van and they set off down the road.
Suddenly the driver caught site of one of the ‘Reds’ on the pavement,
and instinctively swerved as if to hit him, but just in time,
remembering the priest in his van, swerved back to the road again,
narrowly missing him. Although he was certain that he didn't hit him,
however, he still heard a loud "thud". Not understanding where the
noise came from, he glanced in his mirrors, and, seeing nothing, said
to the priest,
"Sorry Father, I almost hit that Scum supporter walking down the road there."
"That's okay," replied the priest, "I got the bugger with the door!"
In 1997, Colchester duo Steve Whitton and Perry Groves decided to hit the town for a few sherbets, but what began as an innocent lads' night out ended in uproar. After several pints, the pair decided hamburgers were called for - like you do. Wandering down the High Street, one of the two (legend suggests Groves), threw the remnants of his tasty meat-and-bread combo on the floor, just as a police wagon was rolling down the road. The officers within suggested Groves pick up said snack and were promptly advised to "**** off". After a swift discussion, the wagon drove off. That wasn't enough for our intrepid heroes, though. Instead, they chased the vehicle down the High Street, yelling obscenities as they went. The result? A night in the cells and Groves being charged with Public Disorder Offences.
In 1987, Buckingham Town of the Beazer Homes League Midland Division were drawn against their old rivals Irthlingborough Diamonds of the United Counties League in the second qualifying round of the FA Vase. As manager Gary Knibbs went through his teamtalk, he was disturbed by a knock at the door. It was the police, intent on arresting Town frontman Frankie Belfon. Belfon was subsequently convicted of breaking into a car and attempting, unsuccessfully, to steal its stereo. It had happened after a night out, and though he was able to break the window, he was too drunk to complete the theft. A striking figure who had played 80 odd games for nearby Northampton, Belfon had been recognised by witnesses and the constabulary had less trouble picking him up than the average defender did at corners. In the long run, the club stood by him; in the short term, their tactics and morale having departed in handcuffs just as surely as their target man, they collapsed to a 4-0 defeat.
Former Manchester City midfielder Maurizio Gaudino managed to get himself hooked up with a bunch of car smugglers when he was playing in Germany. The gang was eventually apprehended, leading to a one-year suspended jail sentence for Gaudino and prompting the Maine Road supporters to compose this little ditty to the tune of O Sole Mio (that's Just One Cornetto, in case you're wondering): "Just one Gaudino/From Man City/He's got a passion, For your car keys/He steals, Lamborghinis/He is Gaudino, From Man City."
Dennis Wise is football's most famous assailant of a taxi driver, but what is probably less well known is that former Norwich midfielder Carl Bradshaw, now at Wigan, was once nicked for... biting a cabbie's finger! The assault occurred after Bradshaw and Canaries teammate Andy Johnson had been celebrating a 3-2 win over Sheffield United in February 1997. 'Glenn the Cabbie' claimed: "He hit me on the forehead. I lost my balance and he bit into my finger really hard. I thought he had bitten the top off. There was a lot of blood."
In the early hours of August 6th. 1995, Ian Stevens, now with Wrexham but then at Shrewsbury, was arrested for exposing himself "in a provocative manner" to a group of women outside a Morecambe, Lancashire burger bar. The court heard that the striker suggested the women perform what the Sunday papers describe as 'obscene acts' on him and then ran across the road towards them, further exposing himself. According to the Shropshire Star, prosecutor Eric Liddle told the court, "He ran across the road towards the three ladies with his private parts in full view." Stevens' solicitor Darren Halstead claimed that the player's friends pulled down his trousers during a playful boys-will-be-boys fight. He was fined £150 - £100 or indecent exposure with intent to insult a female and £50 for disorderly behaviour.
Dumb or what?
