Winners All Round

The annual FA Cup Bender got off to an inauspicious start in the Queens. It appears the lens on the big screen projector had not been wiped any time in the last five or six years, and the picture was chronic. It was so bad that we all thought it was Lescott who had scored the Cup finals quickest ever goal. So we supped up and headed across town to the Lord Clyde. It was scorching outside, but as predicted, the big screen that in Bradford's main square would have been ideal, was firmly rooted on BBC News 24. Happen it was for the best, as in the same square there was a huge Gay Pride rally, that would have diverted Crespo's attention from the match.

The game was by no means a classic, but neither was it the dirge that has been served up the previous couple of years. Plus there was a silver lining for two of the Squads most senior members. After we worked out that it was Saha who had scored the opener, Brother Shouty was the first to cheer. He had four quid on him at 9/1, so was near enough £40 up on the day. But the winning was not finished, at the half time whistle, with the game tied at one a piece, Brother Helmet all of a sudden began to focus solely on the game. He seemed overly gutted when Malouda had a perfectly good goal ruled out. In fact he became downright grumpy. This all changed in a heartbeat, and when Fat Frank bent one in from distance, you could hear his cheer all across town. At full time his fluctuating mood swings were explained. He had put down a ton on a draw at half time, with Chelsea winning in 90 minutes. A healthy return indeed.

So it was in great spirits that we took off for our meatball interval. Giuseppe's crew looked after us brilliantly, as usual, which can't be the easiest task considering we had bee on the ale for the best part of five hours. The food was fantastic, as was the largesse of Mr Tony Helmet, who shared his windfall with lads by picking up the tab. Nice one tony, it was very much appreciated by all. The rest of the afternoon was boozy to say the least. I discovered that the Shoulder of Mutton still has Bradford City Centres best beer garden, but still serves the rankest draught lager as well. If their Alpine Lager has ever seen the mountains it's name aspires too, I am a lesbian.

At around eleven, the group began to split up. Helmet and the Mercenary made there way back to Wilsden before they turned into Sheep, and Plus One and Sprocket set sail back to Wakefield before Sprocket passed out. As for me, I had the great fortune to be left with Crespo and the Shoutster, who wouldn't take "no" for an answer, and dragged me off to a night club. Unfortunately for me, the one they decided on was Flares/Reflex, at the old Windsor Baths. If they were hoping to cure me of my aversion to "Clubs" they could not have picked a worse one. it was like somebody had taken the Pile Bar, cleared it of anybody interesting or remotely attractive, and transposed it down town. I hazard that the dance floor has been reinforced with the strongest substance known to man. It would need to be to retain it's integrity, given the pounding it was given by the herd of heifers who decided to bust a move, simultaneously when "Dancing Queen" was played. This is not to mention the worlds worst break dancer. Ennobled by a lethal mixture of Stella Artois and no doubt watching Diversity on the TV, he was a sight to behold. I figured him to be the wrong side of 47, shaven headed, and possessing the shortest pair of legs I have ever clapped eyes on. His "Moves" were one which he sprinted across the floor and skidded on his knees. His other one, and my personal favourite, was one were he seemed bound determined to spin on his head. Half way through said manoeuvre, he appeared to have a moment of clarity, realising the risk of permanent injury was imminent, and just laid still on the floor. He then remembered that it was supposed to be a dance move. So he bent his leg, and propped himself up on his elbow, in a rather camp come hither pose, and held it for about three minutes. I kid you not. But at least he was amusing. Something that could not be said for the most desperate woman I have ever seen. She was still searching for a shag after being rebuffed by several fella's, including our own Shouty, who was not impressed by her in the slightest.

After an hour or so, I grew weary of the ongoing shenanigans that were going off around me. and bid farewell my to my two compadres, and made my way home. I had a great time, but spent some brass, so I will be taking it easy-ish for the next few weeks, although I am off to the coast next week to hook up with some old mates. The buffoonery count was low, even the Shoutster was pretty much idiot free, so the standings have not changed. I will be giving a full report on the M'balls in an extended "Quest for the Holy Meatball " post later in the week. There are a few to catch up on. There are no scheduled Benders now until Mad Ad's stag night in late July. If this weather holds up though, I figure to cobble something together before then.