There was a funny outtake from the Guardian’s Football Weekly at the last World Cup, a part of the show that was deemed too disturbing for broadcast. It was recorded the night before England played Italy in Manaus when, along with the Guardian’s then chief sports news reporter, I got a cab into town with some travelling England fans. Not long into a dark winding journey it became clear these weren’t everyday fans, but a small group of what appeared to be ageing “faces”, grizzly old semi-retired hoolie types, a bit wasted, out on the town, talking about pawdah and brasses, showing off and being self-consciously rowdy but still a bit disturbing on a dark night on the outskirts of the jungle.
In the middle of which, as scheduled, James Richardson from the Guardian’s award-winning football podcast phoned for a chat about England’s chances at the Arena Amazônia, a conversation that took place against a back drop of Mal and Gav and Dave shouting: “Fack off, you slag,” “This bloke’s a ponce, give me the phone mate,” and so on while playfully rabbit-punching me with enormous concrete fists. Through this your correspondent continued to talk in measured tones about tactics and formations and the chance of seeing Raheem Sterling in the No10 role, a kind of Partridge meets the Sex Pistols scenario. Eventually we got into downtown Manaus. At which point my colleague and I made our excuses and ran away.
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