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Dedicated followers, but not of fashion  HERE’S
a question you don’t hear very often: Just what are the Polish playing
at?
Not all of them — just the thousands who’ve flocked to Britain
and Ireland to find work. Those.
Because as far as I can see they’ve been flouting one of the basic
rules of emigration.
It’s the one that states any community must establish its own social
clubs within weeks of landing on foreign shores.
The Irish did it in Britain, the English have done it in places as far
afield as Spain and Australia and even the Welsh managed it in Patagonia.
But the Polish?
Yes, yes — I know there are some Polish clubs. But most have been
here for years.
You’d have thought with the influx of workers over the past two
years we’d have seen new clubs springing up left, right and centre.
But no.
The nearest thing we’ve got near me is a Polish shop down the road.
Haven’t got a clue what it sells as I can’t read the labels.
Looks nice, though.
But it’s not a club is it?
Not somewhere you can go to drink, meet your own and listen to music from
your native land.
Which leads me to two conclusions. Either they can’t be bothered
— or the music from Poland is actually so bad they never want to
hear it again.
THE GEORDIE Messiah (aka Kevin Keegan) has manifested his third coming
sending thousands of rotund men in black-and-white-striped shirts into
paroxsysms of ecstasy.
What is it about football that does this to people? Wear black-and-white-striped
shirts I mean.
They do nothing for you.
Presumably it’s to tell the world: “I support Newcastle, me.”
Which is making the rather lofty assumption that the world actually wants
to know this particular piece of information. Which it doesn’t.
Why not go the whole hog and stamp ‘Newcastle Fan’ on your
forehead so nobody can be in any doubt.
To be fair it’s not just Geordies. Supporters of almost every other
club have this strange addiction to wearing replica team shirts. For no
apparent reason other than to tell everyone: “I support Weevil Athletic,
me.” Madness.
My dad was quite a fan of Danny La Rue in days gone by but you didn’t
see him dressing up in ball gowns and slapping half-a-ton of make-up on
his face.
Not while he was out shopping anyway.
But walk down any High Street nowadays and it’s worse than stepping
out at Old Trafford.
So just let me say: Stop it.
Football shirts generally don’t look good on anyone. Players only
wear them because they’re paid obscene amounts of money to do so
— not because they consider them fashion items.
If you’re lucky enough to have 40-odd quid to squander on a new
top then buy a proper shirt. One with sleeves and a collar.
Even a purple one if you must. (I’m informed by some magazine or
other that purple may be in this year.)
But don’t buy a football shirt. Even if a manager who didn’t
win anything when he was in charge of you before comes back to try again.
"What is it about football that does this to people? Wear black-and-white-striped
shirts I mean.
They do nothing for you. Why not go the whole hog and stamp Newcastle
Fan on your forehead so nobody can be in any doubt."
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