By George
HILARIOUS TALES FROM ENGLAND’S MOST FANATICAL FOOTBALL SUPPORTERS
DAVID STANFIELD
This book is dedicated in loving memory of my mum, Linda Stanfield
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1: How I became a cross dresser
Chapter 2: Are we nearly there yet?
Chapter 3: Off the rails
Chapter 4: Gatecrashers
Chapter 5: I don’t bat for both sides
Chapter 6: Michael
Chapter 7: The camper van of love
Chapter 8: Sweaty socks
Chapter 9: Blind leading the blind
Chapter 10: Just the two of us
Chapter 11: Hostel
Chapter 12: It wasn’t me
Chapter 13: They think it’s all over
Chapter 14: Auf Wiedersehen
Chapter 15: Here we George again
Chapter 16: Battleground
Chapter 17: Lock in
Chapter 18: Jesus was born here
Chapter 19: Not a pretty sight
Chapter 20: The idiots abroad
Chapter 21: Up in smoke
Chapter 22: You’re not going home
Chapter 23: Snow way
Chapter 24: Right before my eyes
Chapter 25: St George of the Caribbean
Chapter 26: Gotta pick a pocket or two
Chapter 27: I am the one and only
Chapter 28: Lost in translation
Chapter 29: Legless
Chapter 30: Oranges and Georges
Chapter 31: Whore for one and one for whore
Chapter 32: The more the merrier
Chapter 33: Planes, trains and cock-ups
Chapter 34: Got the hump
Chapter 35: A time to forget, if only I could remember
Chapter 36: Come fly with me
Chapter 37: Red cape town
Chapter 38: Sun, sea and Georges
Chapter 39: Bring on the Germans
Chapter 40: Can I kick it?
Chapter 41: Just one photo
Chapter 42: Fish fingers
Chapter 43: Hair today, gone tomorrow
Plates
Copyright
Why write this book? Why tell this story? Well, this is my story and one that needs to be told. Ask any football fan and they will tell you endless stories of their team. They can tell you about away trips to Carlisle on a cold December Tuesday night, or an end of season game on the beach in Brighton, but my story isn’t about any club team, it’s about England. When you follow England or ask anyone who has, you’ll know that the things that happen, camaraderie and togetherness can’t be beat.
I’ve read or browsed through loads of different football autobiographies and hooligan books, but I’ve never read an in-depth story about England fans doing what they do best: following England over land and sea. So after two World Cups and endless home and away trips, it’s time for me and my friends to tell our story.
My name’s Stan, AKA George the First. You’ll have seen me on the telly with my crusader mates and probably thought ‘what a load of idiots in fancy dress’, but let me tell you, you can’t even begin to imagine what goes on – on and off camera – when those suits go on.
My story has to start when everything changed forever – when I went from being an ordinary England fan into one of the Georges, better known as the M.I.G.S (The Men In George Suits).
We’d qualified for the World Cup in Germany, and the draw had been made. What a group! Paraguay, Trinidad & Tobago and Sweden. On paper it was a great draw and off the field it was an even better draw: SWEDEN! Those who went to the Euros with me had experienced what the Swedish girls were about when we’d watched Sweden v Denmark – but hang on, I’m getting ahead of myself. Our story began when a group of lads from Slip End and the neighbouring village, Caddington, had been following England.
We formed our own England supporters group known as S.E.C.E.F (Slip End and Caddington England Fans) – I thought of the name, to the disgust of the boys from Caddington who said Caddington should come first as I was the only one from Slip End. The boys aren’t that smart at the best of times, and I told them I’d been online and discovered that ‘secef’ was Hungarian for ‘fuck off’. When they heard that, they were over the moon at the name and couldn’t wait to meet a Hungarian so they could put this new word to good use. Little did they know they would only have to wait a few months.
S.E.C.E.F included me, Ian, Dave, Bruce, Paul, Steve, Jimmy, Lee, Alan and Dale. We elected a committee to take executive decisions on our trip to Germany. Bruce was elected Chairman and Alan Treasurer. We decided to drive to Germany and pick up a camper van, so Bruce sorted out the camper and booking the ferry for the two vehicles taking all those going.
Just before the April meeting, Paul phoned. He’d had an idea – we should all dress up as St George. He’d seen the suits on the internet, apparently. I told him that we’d look like a load of pricks, but he said that he’d mocked up some photos of everyone wearing the suits and that he’d bring them along to the meeting.
The penultimate meeting at S.E.C.E.F’s official headquarters, Caddington Social Club, was headed by Bruce – and as usual he got a barrage of abuse from his lifelong nemesis, Dave. The two had a real love/hate relationship; Bruce loved Dave and Dave hated Bruce. At the start of the meeting Bruce told us Alan and Dale wouldn’t be going to the World Cup after all, leaving just eight of us, but then someone I hadn’t seen for years turned up – Nick Beeson, AKA Chubb. He wanted to come out with us for the first game against Paraguay, and he was accepted by the group as we thought it politically correct that we had one gay member.
Bruce said the ferry was booked for Ian’s motor and Dave’s van. He’d booked the camper which we’d pick up in Düsseldorf, so everything was sorted. At the end of the meeting, Paul told everyone about the George suits and handed round his pictures of St George with all of our faces on them. After a few minutes of laughter and piss-taking, Ian – who is well over six foot, about twenty stone and aptly named ‘The Yeti’, said, ‘Fucking hell, if those suits make me look that slim, I’m having one!’
Dave had sat studying his picture and then blurted out, ‘Fuck me, don’t this bloke in this photo look like me!’ We absolutely pissed ourselves, especially as we knew he was serious.
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