Penguin Jack's Flashbacks- White Hart Lane 2000
By Penguin Jack
January 27 2005
Hello it’s Flashback time again and here is your host, Penguin Jack. After the Norwich game and the bad memories it brought back of broken teenage hearts and lustful encounters on children’s play equipment, its time to get back to some hard core drinking and debauchery.
Jack is running the London Marathon in April in aid of The Parkinson's Disease Society. Please visit his fund raising page and make a donation if you can. Thanks.
This week I will be telling the tale of Boro’s trip to White Hart Lane in April 2000 when we took on the Spurs.
At the time I was staying in London, so this game on a Monday night provided a good opportunity to get some drinking and some top quality football type stuff in. We had been having a funny old season that started OK. Then we dropped away but we were mid table and never in any trouble. And this was when we had Hamilton Ricard, the man who could look like Pele and Billy Ashcroft in one quick move.
So on the day of the game quite a few Boro lads had planned to meet up for some pre game fun and games. I was off work that day and if I remember rightly, I had a right carry on getting my old man a ticket for the game. I had mine all sorted but I could only get him a ticket in the Spurs end. So in the end, I sold my ticket for the Boro end and bought two tickets for the home end, next to the Boro fans. Just so my dad wouldn’t have to sit by himself surrounded by Spurs fans.
With that bit sorted, I then went for a few drinks and met a couple of the lads. We went to the bookies to place a bet on the game and I promptly lost all off my bloody money in the bookies fruit machine!
So I had a dilemma which involved me making a mad dash across rush hour London and grabbing my credit card, as my bank account was bled dry, and then dashing back to meet my old man and have a drink with him. Then hopefully making kick off.
As you will know, sitting on a moving underground train is no good when you have had a few pints. There are no toilets break on tube trains, so with me getting desperate I just had to get off at some station and run for the nearest toilet, which I did. Finding myself somewhere near central London, I quickly found a MacDonald’s and dashed into the bog and relieved myself. However, as I stood there doing my thing, I realised that all was not well in this particular toilet and I looked around and saw some guy lying on the floor unconscious in the corner. Bollocks.
So after deciding that I should not just leave him there and get back on the tube as the clock was ticking, I did the decent thing and told the staff who in turn called the police and paramedics. And guess what? Yep, I had to stay and explain to the police how I came about being in a MacDonald’s toilet with a unconscious drug addict/alcoholic.
Anyway after pleading my case to the Old Bill, I was OK to leave, and now I was in the shit time wise. And my old man was ringing me asking ‘what the bloody hell I was playing at’ and saying he wasn’t gonna sit in the Spurs end so I had better get to the ground and sort this out now.
So I grabbed my credit card, got some cash and made it to the ground via a taxi from Finsbury Park station with seconds to spare. I thought that my Dad was gonna have a heart attack, he was that angry.
And furthermore we did have to sit in the Spurs end which made him even worse. And then Spurs went and scored to lead 1-0. What with David Ginola looking deadly and the spurs fans getting very much excited, it looked like we had picked the wrong time to sit in the home end.
So as half time approached we made our way to the bar just in time to miss a Boro goal. 1-1. I pleaded with a steward that I had been sold the wrong tickets by the club shop and not some dodgy geezer in a pub. He relented and we were let in the Boro end in time for the second half.
Ham the man Ricard destroyed Spurs in the second half with two goals and we went on to win 3-2. Quality!
So after that we were set up for a night out on the town with some dirty women and my Dad. My plan was simple. Get smashed and pull. Well one out of two ain’t bad, is it?
We made our way to a select watering hole and ordered the finest wines and I entertained the female clientele with my good looks and charm. They all wanted to take me home and make me there's.
That is what I like to think is what happened but in truth we ended up in a seedy place full of bloody foreigners and puffs and I lost more money on the bloody fruit machines. I ended up arguing with an Italian bloke over the war and I mentioned to him that Italians were a pack of fannies who didn’t wanna fight. I then went and threatened to smash his face in. My party piece came later on when I was thrown out of the place that we were in for pissing in a fire escape. I was that drunk I couldn’t find the toilet.
Next stop for us was the takeaway and with me being skint, I was forced to beg and plead for a kebab for £2 but the bloke who ran the place wasn’t having any of it. So one of my mates had to buy me one and very nice it was as well. That was until next day. I had a bad case of the shits for a week and I’m glad I never paid for the bugger.
The night wasn’t over as far as I was concerned. Being skint, I decided to walk back to my gaff and got fucking soaked in the rain. So I looked for shelter in one of those little London parks and tried to climb over the gate. I got stuck and managed to tear my jacket and drop my phone in a bastard puddle.
All good fun as you can tell. We won and who can argue that I didn’t have a lovely time...
See you soon
Jack
Up the Boro
Another flashback from Jack coming your way next Thursday.