The afternoon began with supporters at The Froddington Arms, so by the time my comrade and I reached the stadium, we had a decent buzz going – which was useful when I had to charm security about the knife I’d forgotten I was carrying.
Mike Oldfield’sPortsmouth accompanied the players entering the pitch. We had to neck our fourth pints because adults can’t be trusted with lager in the stands.
The whistle was blown then one guy started kicking the ball towards the other lot’s goal and his pals ran along to help but the other lot were having none of it.
I’m not a football guy but I remember Pompey winning the FA Cup in ’08, which coincided with local friends – who’d previously never shown an interest in football – showing an interest in football. These days the team is League One; which sounds good but is the third one.
Football guy or not, I’ve now pissed alongside other men at the Fratton Park urinals so I’m more of a man than my dad.
Portsmouth came out on fire, scoring just a few minutes into the second half. The stadium erupted in cheers and much stomping.
The Forest Green fans perked up a bit in the final fifteen minutes and started a chant – their soy lattes must’ve kicked in. I found the bigoted chants shocking in their absence, so made up my own in my head. I managed one cry of “Blue Army”, which was all Pompey needed to finish with a 1-0 win.
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