I don don't carry no pistol
I don't wear a false moustache
And you'll never see me carrying
Around a little black bag.
My real name's no secret
But from me it will never be told.
I'm just known as Agent Double-O-Soul baby!
Agent Double-O-Soul.
They call me Double-O-Soul
It's been a while! To be honest, I've had nothing of interest to blog about for months, so haven't wasted valuable cyberspace with anything here. It's got to be a worry, the internet running out of room!
The last week or two, however, have been a bit more interesting. To me anyway.
Without completely re-hashing the long thread I put up before the Liverpool match, it was disappointing to hear of some offensive chanting towards the visitors. Disappointing, but sadly predictable. I'd come away from the match content that we'd done well, on and off the pitch. Magic, you might say. From my perch in the Lower Trent End, I'd heard nothing other than very passionate support for Forest and no reference to tragedy. There was an unfortunate one-off outburst of 'sign on' and some young lads sat around us are now quite aware that this sort of Tory shite is not welcome by many of us in our block. There was even an apology and a chance given to explain to them why it's wrong. Progress?
Nonetheless, it is clear that a small minority let us down with 'always the victims...'. The jury is out on how many and how often, but all decent human beings should be on the side of zero-tolerance of this. Again, without repeating what has already been said - and thanks to Rich at the 1985 Podcast for giving me the opportunity to speak about this - 1) the Victims chant and any reference to the S*n can only ever be about Hillsborough. Intention or not. 2) Even if those chanting genuinely think it isn't about Hillsborough, why do it when other people are so clearly triggered by it? It's just unkind and looks/sounds awful. For my full rant on this, the original thread is still there on Twitter and the interview on the podcast is here: https://podcast.sport-social.co.uk/podcast/1865-the-nottingham-forest-podcast/ or via their Twitter feed @nottm_forest.
The most surreal aspect of the aftermath of that match for me personally was the online grief I got for being an undercover Scouser. "Fuck off and support them then," basically being the line taken by some. That's not going to happen! Not wanting to come over all defensive like, but 50+ years following Forest home and away, across the world, getting battered for it, arrested (just the once, honest - more of which later!) and I'm not giving all that up now. The trigger for this seems to have been my efforts to remove some offensive stickers on Lady bay Bridge, en route to the pub pre-match. According to some, I planted these to make Forest look bad, which is an interesting take on it. Maybe I shouldn't have tweeted photos, but I was trying to raise awareness of the seriousness of the problem. Apologies if anyone was upset by the images. The stickers were mostly calling for Justice for the 39 and proclaiming the S*n to be right. Let's do the latter first; the S*n was right can only be about Hillsborough - see above. Justice for the 39 isn't a thing. There is no such campaign, not in Italy, Belgium or the UK. It seems odd that Forest supporters suddenly care about this, and only when Liverpool are in town, but I suppose they could do some fund raising, make some contacts in Brussels and start an official campaign if they feel the justice already meted out and the outcome of the inquiry is insufficient. I suspect they won't though. Let's be honest, it's just another case of using deaths to score pathetic points.
Anyway, good excuse for the Agent Double-O... header and reason enough to pop in a link to the fantastic Agent Double O Soul, by Edwin Starr, who readers may or may not know lived locally, is buried in Bramcote cemetery* and commemorated on this magnificent mural in Beeston: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bny9V67xQU
(*thanks to @stevemack2017 for pointing out that Edwin is resting in the Southern Cemetery, Wilford Hill, not Bramcote. He did live in the latter and I was privileged enough to see and meet him and his lovely wife Jean several times at the soul nights at the Shed in Beeston)
Moving on, coincidentally, to Brussels. Zagger and family jumped aboard the Eurostar to take in Anderlecht v FCSB (Thursday 27th Oct) in the UEFA Conference, really just as a stop-off en-route to Köln for Effzeh v Hoffenheim.
First visit to Anderlecht since the infamous bribery night and the only time I've been arrested on a football ground (see previous blog, 22nd April, on this) in 1984 and, I must confess, I rocked up with a giant sized chip on my shoulder about that, determined to hate them. To cut a long story short though, the chip became a delicious triple-fried frite, covered in mayonnaise and a thoroughly top night was had. Anderlecht have at least now had the decency to cease naming the stadium after disgraced president Constant Vanden Stock, though presumably for reasons of finance rather than a sudden sense of guilt. Lotto Park it is.
FCSB have an interesting history too. Once Steua Bucharest, then not, then again and now... I can't quite figure it out. A big club and a big name anyway.
Thre ground is in a nice looking suburb, set in a park, but with plenty of bars adjacent. And very neat and tidy too. Purple always looks good. Ask a City of Liverpool supporter. Capacity a shade over 20,000 but hemmed in and atmospheric. I was getting a mix of Loftus Road and Upton Park. We instantly walked into a massive police presence, which took us for visiting Bucaresti and tried to herd us towards the very unappealing looking away section, a miserly corner hemmed in with massive security fencing. Zagger Junior insisted on adding a shirt to his collection, so we headed for the club shop. Top tip for future visitors, allow plenty of time - the slowest service ever. Meticulous but slow! plenty of time in the queue to have a natter with some lovely Ajax fans, who'd been at the match v Liverpool the night before. Too young to remember us beating them at the Olympic Stadium in the 1980 semi, but rest-assured I bored them all about it and the efforts of their infamous F-Side to do us serious harm before and (especially) after.
Back to Anderlecht and a much livelier atmosphere than we'd anticipated. A small bunch of ultra types behind each goal, everyone very close to the pitch and a lot of passion, which just about stayed on the right side of edgy. Mostly. Behind us sat the angriest man in Belgium and his lovely wife, a vision in head-to-toe mauve twinset purple cardi and co-ordinating costume jewellery. Sadly, they didn't look the types to welcome being photographed, so you'll have to imagine it. More on Mr Angry to follow...
As far as the match went, Anderlecht took the lead twice in a brisk, entertaining affair. From the perspective of a Forest fan, it was hard not to look and whistfully think here is a relatively small club with much less financial clout that we've had (even pre-Premier League) who would, one would imagine, have given us a right royal mullering for the past 20+ years and still would.
The main off-pitch excitement of the evening came when FCSB equalised the first time and the small band of previously quiet fellers sat in the row in front of us celebrated wildly. Cue some throwing of beer from the tier above and quite the display of apoplexy from Mr A, who managed to rage hard and long enough to turn his face the same colour as his wife's outfit. "We are Anderlecht, I said we are Anderlecht" with a ferocity and in-yer-faceness (literally) to ruin Oops Upside Your Head for me forever from now on. Or improve it. Who's to say. The mood became a bit fraught, not helped by a second SB equaliser later on. The number of visitors (behaving perfectly well, I might add) in the home seats was quite noteable and I'd have concerns if Anderlecht were to be playing anyone with a much bigger travelling support. Ooooh, let's say Köln and their travelling ticketless tens of thousands, a mere two hours away (Oh yeah?) by inter city.
Half-time beers and burgers all very nice, once we'd got past me irritating the vendor by automatically greeting him in french when it was clear, with the benefit of hindsight, that he was a proud Flandrian. Whoops. C'est la vie. Or rather, zo is het leven. You never can tell in Belgium, particularly Brussels where it's all totally bi-lingual to keep the peace.
A walk and a tram back to the city centre, mostly should be said through streets that looked as if the bin men had been on strike for weeks, a quick bevvy and ready to face another day - a quick bit of not very fruitful record hunting and then the two hour (I'm making a point here) inter city to Köln.
I walked away only with a nice copy of Belgian cartoon-punk Plastic Bertrand, but none of the highly desirable popcorn 45s I'd hoped to find. Popcorn? Close relative of Northern Soul, with the similar fetishisation of rare oldies, only a bit slower and maybe a bit more bluesy. A fantastic scene and the documentary video here is well worth a look: https://ldbk.eu/popcorn/
A big shout out too for the Roger Whittaker fans. Rog is massive in Belgium, his middle of the road whistling still seemingly a big seller. Personally, I've always been a Rog-sceptic. His relocating Durham to be on the River Tyne, just because it rhymed better than the 'banks fo the Wear', in 'I'm Gonna Leave Old Durham Town' always annoyed me. Maybe I should get a life. Respect too for the fantastic 1950s style workman on the roadworks signs. Right up there with the soviet-era pedestrian crossing guy in Berlin.
Onto the two hour inter city to Köln then. That took a mere five hours. A last minute change of departure station, a painful crawl through eastern Belgium - Liege looked nice, but an hour sat just outside the station was maybe 58 minutes too long! - only for the train to catch fire near the German border. Off. Sharpish. All aboard an even slower, horribly packed regional rattler from Aachen and the journey is made even worse by a sudden realisation. Shite. Koln's match at Slovacko on Thursday had been abandoned due to fog after 7 minutes. It was re-scheduled for 1pm this very day. Surely the match on Sunday, the main (footballing) purpose of this trip, would be off. A quick call. "Not good. Effzeh have asked and Hoffenheim agree it would be unfair to play."
Time, perhaps to reveal the travel anguish already endured for this one. Train to St Pancras, Eurostar out and back booked about a month ago, for a Saturday match then moved to Sunday night. Work Monday. Leisurely trundle through Central Europe becomes Eurostar out, waste homeward tickets, Sunday night match, late train to Düsseldorf, hotel at airport (more expense), 7am flight to Brum, taxi to Nottingham station to pick up the car and head to work. The temptation to bail out here was strong, but we ploughed on.
Arrived late and grumpy in Köln but meeting friends for a few beers and food soon sorted that, better still to learn the DFB had decreed the match should be played. The rule is "under 48 hours" and the German FA love a rule, bless 'em. Which reminds me of something I always notice and enjoy when in Germany. Overwhelmingly compliant rule-keeping in some niche aspects of public life. Face masks (still) on trains and trams. No problem. Nigh on 100%. Waiting for the green man, Communist or Capitalist, to cross the road. Break that one and risk a severe Teutonic tutting at, even when the nearest car seems to be in the next city.
Saturday spent touring Köln by bike and eating vast quantities of sausage-related products, including a kebab from one of Lukas Podolski's chain of shops, perhaps not the predictable next venture for a man with a World Cup winner's medal and 130 caps. A bit like getting chips and saveloy from a shop owned Peter Shilton, though without the World Cup winner's medal and with added Brexit. I'm reliably informed LP also has a chain of ice cream parlours. I can't picture Shilton doing ice-cream. It seems much more of a Kenny Sansom thing.
Also featuring on the tour a game of crazy golf on absolutely the most magnificently dilapidated course in the shadow of the mega-TV tower, complete with clubhouse, bar and proper in-house ultras-group, all just whiling the afternoon away there in a fug of beer and dope smoke.
Sunday was match day and the regular rendezvous in the Astoria, possibly the best situated pre-match venue outside of Nottingham. A former Belgian army officers club (they were the occupying force) by the lake in the big park that the Rheinenergiestadion is situated in. Busy, but food and drink never more than a two minute wait away.
Here we met up with Florian and Margritte who had been to Slovacko and had travelling tales to make our piffling burning train story seem pathetic; flight to Vienna, 3 hours on a coach from Vienna to Uherské Hradiště, 7 minutes of football, 3 hours on a coach back to Vienna, 5 hours on public transport back to Uherské Hradiště, match (won 1-0), 10 hour car journey home, having cadged a lift at the stadium. All this for a match Effzeh had no tickets for, as a consequence of the trouble in Nice, though a shade over 2,000 travelled and still managed to get in anyway.
Onto the Hoffenheim match and expectations were low. In the 8 matches played between the two clubs, Hoffenheim held a comfortable 30-4 aggregate lead. They also sat a bit higher in the table than a Köln team ravaged by injuries and tired minds and legs. I've blogged previously (Aug 30th 2021) about the German ownership setup and general dislike of Hoffenheim and their 'un-German' model, which famously resulted in the 'ball never leaving the centre-circle-for the -entire-match' farce between them and Bayern a year or two back. Köln remain stubbornly fan owned and contempt for Hoffenheim (plus hated local rivals Leverkusen, Wolfsburg and Bayern) is a matter of deep seated feelings about how football should be.
As it happened, the Billy Goats put in a fantastic performance, going one up with a brilliant half-volley by Florian Kainz (cross provided by the electric Linton Maina) being pegged back by a smart but probably not-quite-deserved equaliser. In a lively, open end-to-end match, Köln certainly had the better chances and bossed it until clearly running out of steam for the last 10 minutes or so. A draw celebrated by players and fans alike as a cracking result. Which it was under the circumstances.
(Post match team pic lifted from the always entertaining feed of @fckoeln_en, which I hope is OK. Let me know if not please!)
All that was left for the intrepid travellers then being a tram back into town, a late, late train to Düsseldorf, to find a hotel, grab a couple of hours sleep and get on that early flight to a Monday at work. The things we do for football...
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