After last year’s victorious six pack of Cooper’s on the sofa, this year Bruce decided to watch Man Utd’s Champions League Final match against Barcelona with a crowd. The Charles Dickens Tavern, in Collins Street, seemed to have the best reputation for liveliness when it came to early morning football and, rocking up at 2.30am to find it rammed and rowdy – and not too dissimilar to an unpleasant episode in Blackpool watching English football fans’ latent yobbishness explode in the build up to a match against Germany – its reputation was deserved; by 3.15am they’d stopped anyone else entering while 1001 Man Utd Goals played on the screens surrounding the pub as the singing got louder.
A vivid dream the night before had Man Utd winning 2-0. That full back Patrice Evra scored the first with a mazy run past three players from inside his own half should have been warning enough that the dream was unlikely to be matched by reality. When the ball turned into a giant choc chip cookie as Ronaldo rolled in the second (the cookie being too big for the goal and requiring Ronaldo to jump on it to break it and ensure all parts of it were over the line) the alarm bells should have been ringing loud and clear. Still, the bookies in England were offering 250-1 on Evra to score first and 2-0 so why not have a dabble?
Another omen appeared shortly before kick off; Irish actor James Nesbitt walked in. In town to shoot a film, he soon confirmed the opinion Bruce had formed from his TV persona – i.e. that he’s arrogant and charmless – by announcing he was on the phone to Sir Alex Ferguson the night before and would have been in Rome were it not for his shooting schedule. However, Bruce passed the moment off as a mere coincidence rather than a harbinger, like the time he and Fran met Nick Cave wandering around the Him exhibition.
Several hours on and inspiration drained by the heavy defeat and the after effects of several nasty pints of Tetley’s (the other choice was Carlton Draught so what’s a man to do?), G’day, G’day will have its first guest contributor: Bruce’s younger brother, in the form of the texts detailing his descent into despond…
“That’s what I wanted to hear. 2 nil you reckon. I like your ball s.” 2.32am
“Excellent work! I am putting a bet on that then. Not sure if cookie bet will be available!” 2.43am
“That sounds amazing! Nearly home will let you know odd s!” 3.34am
“That’s too good! I have been watching a lot of united clips of late! I forgot to say how good park s birthday was. Random yet brilliant.” 3.40am
“I am trying to recreate our old pro evo team on fifa at the moment*” 3.45am
“What does grouse mean.” 3.45am
“Right bet s on. 250 to 1 for evra first and 2 0.” 4.16am
“Thanks. Smack him for me i hate that c***.” 4.40am
“I like that even though he s a c***.” 4.45am
“Anderson and giggs off tevez and dimi on. Why the fuck is he playing giggs wayne and ronaldn out of position.” 5.39am
“Fuming. Wayne should be up front ronaldo can fuck off buy ribery. Carrick been poor fergie got team wrong. I am miserable.” 6.36am
“Iniesta is the man. I will happilz see the back of ronaldo. Get ribery. Fucking wank.” 6.47am
[* The team in question being:
GK – Michael Jackson (for his famous white glove)
RB – Lemmiwinks (for his startling similarity to Gary Neville)
CB – The Beast of Bodmin Moor (toughness)
CB – Gandalf (height)
LB – A Peter Kay / John O’Shea hybrid (one a fat doppelganger of the other)
RW – Timmy (?)
CM – The Radical MC HP (versatility)
CM – Bruce
LW – Jimmy (?)
CF – Rooney (then at Everton, but we loved him already)
CF – Bruce’s bro
Nothing like a misspent youth… except a misspent mid-20s.]
G'day, G'day 