The Scout or Welcome to South Bermondsey - стр. 7
After that, the score stayed the same until the last minutes. United was already doing everything they could to run out the clock, old man Harris was raging on the sidelines and the referee kept checking his stopwatch, trying to decide whether to go straight to the judge room or give us a couple more minutes of stoppage time. Their fans began to sing their sad song, which they should have considered a victory song, while ours just yelled, spat at security and tossed all sorts of rubbish onto the pitch. In general, everything was going as usual, another lost cup match on the road, but then all of a sudden my cannibal did something unexpected.
Who knows whether it was something he picked up in Belgium, or something they teach them at the Ajax school, but he suddenly abandoned his flank and went on the attack with our central defender, the big Icelander Sigurdsson, who had already been playing second striker for the last five minutes.
You had to see it. At that moment the game was reduced to the good old "kick the ball forward and you’ll see, something good will come out of it". In fact I don't even remember which of the blokes put the ball into the penalty box. Sigurdsson was struggling, the ball somehow flew up sideways out of the havoc, where Parker also missed it, so that the ball now flew up somewhere at a level just above the waist. And then Fabrice performed a scissor kick, I don't know how he did it in the fight against their defender, but the fact remains. Our Cameroonian folded, executed the scissor kick and the ball bounced off the turf and went straight into the goal! That was it, so much for "a pinch of snuff", or "a Night Out in Sheffield".
Most of all, however, I felt sorry for the judge. The wanker was probably already getting ready to go to the pub with his co-conspirators on the sidelines, and then bang! Added time, and then there might be a penalty. The United fans had forgotten all about their "packet of Woodbines" and were roaring and whistling and hooting, but they were nowhere near as loud as our idiots. Our people staged a real orgy in the guest sector. How little the blokes needed to be completely happy!
"Parker! You fucking bastard!" Harris couldn't contain his excitement, either. "How could you not hit the ball, you bitch? What the fuck is this?! After every training session I'll have you hitting rugby balls for half an hour! Do you understand me, you fucking Pinocchio?"
"I love you too, Coach!" he said, proving what a wanker he was.
"Get it together! Focus!" The old man didn't let them rest on their laurels. "Be careful with the defence! Make them shit themselves and then squeeze the faggots!"