Futbol is soccer

Redneck Chronicles – Vol. e

Bubba Does England

For the most part, the 44 Americans visiting Manchester on the tab of an insurance company were moved from hither and yon and back in a tour bus.

During the group's morning hither, Gayle and I yonned in a large circle in the city center. Forty-two visitors dutifully went to Great Britain's largest mall. Once you have been to the the Galleria in Dallas, malls pretty much look alike.

We started walking down Mount Street (several houses of prostitution are supposedly located on this narrow, winding street) toward the city's most distinctive skyline feature: The Wheel of Manchester. Actually a gigantic, space-age Ferris wheel, the Wheel has 40 enclosed capsules and goes 150, et, 210 … way the heck up there!

While people didn't look like ants, they did look about the size of smallish anteaters. Most folks would have liked the photo setup. They took photos of standing-in-line passengers with a congested street behind you and while you were making your four, slow revolutions, they photoshopped you into the a neatokeen picture of the Wheel.


We didn't like the background so we didn't get a photo of us with the Wheel. The salesmanship of the photo crew was sorely lacking.

After the ride, which was exhilarating since the wind was blowing about 40 kpm and the rubber seals were screaming like Ozzie Osbourne back when he was the Prince of Darkness, and not just a senile, poodle chasing, reality show bobblehead.

Emerging from the Wheel, we felt peckish (hungry) so went to get a late breakfast, which consisted of English eggs, English sausage, and English scorched (gently cooked) tomatoes.

Returning to the room, we fired up the wireless Internet (which was smoking hot and makes regular DSL look like a four-cylinder car down to two cylinders) and checked the weather for the game: 42 and chance of rain. 42 degrees! Centigrade or the word that's hard to spell? Since 42 C is 107.6 degrees, we figured the 42 was the F word.

We had a pre-game meal at the Lancaster Cricket Club. Coming from the South, my spousal unit and I assumed it was a grill-your-own meal at a local bait shop. No, it was a place where grown mean dress all in white and hit a tiny ball with a paddle that looks like the Board of Education my high school principal used to bust my backside with regularity. (That was in the 1960s when child abuse had not yet been invented.)

The rumors of English rowdyism at Manchester United games has been grossly exaggerated. Sure, they do choreographed chants and boo loudly when the referees miss a call, which seemed to be every 45 seconds or so. But overall the atmosphere was pleasantly loud and the entertainment value was high.

The brutish reputation of MUs fans was white-washed years ago when alcohol was banned from in sight of the planning field. Fans can go into the bowels of Old Tefford and drink themselves into oblivion, but can't bring beer back to their seats.

And the English call themselves civilized!

The strange thing is that goes for the 107 sky boxes. If they want to drink, they have to lower blinds installed for that purpose . Watching the skyboxes during the game reminded me of a street corner flirty-girl with the pinkeye….blinkblinkblinkblink.

Manchester won the game 2-1 and the crowd went home happy. The 1,400 visiting fans were not happy, especially when they had to exit from the "Visiting Fans Section" and run the gauntlet of 4,000 or more MU fans. Again, for the most part, the MU fans were gracious.

Part of the pleasure of this trip is learning quaint sayings. For example, "Your team sucks pig @$$#s" is a compliment, meaning "Good game, Rovers."

"Slime your way home, Buggers!" means "Have a safe journey back home, mates!"

The most memorial part of the evening was right before the opening of the match on the pitch when a recording of the Manchester theme song played and 73,600 fans joined in.

Take me home, United Road
To a place we love to go…

Sung to the tune of "Country Roads," by the late John Denver it reminded us of home.

As we sang John's version, tears were shed by all true Americans.

The experience proved that though many miles and an ocean apart, country music can bring nations together.

(To be continued)