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Still looking for the photo I saw some months back, but came across this poem written by a Liverpool fan (Red Poets Society)... check out the 8th stanza.

The Spion Kop?

It was 1962 I think
Or maybe 63
When me dad said ?come on son?
?Let?s go out you & me??

He took me to a place
With loads & loads of blokes
All walking in one direction
Eating chips & smoking smokes?

He parked the old Reliant
Down some side street near the ground
Some hard case kids ran up to me dad
And said ?mind yer car fer a pound?!?

Well it wasn?t a pound in them days,
More like a tanner, a shilling or two
But you get the idea and the gist of it all
Then he nipped in the Park for a beer?or a few?

I waited outside like a good lad
Like all good mini-koppites did
Till me dad came out half-cut and laughing
And slipped me ten-bob (half a quid?!!!)

?See you after the game son?
He merrily went on his way
To meet up with his own mates
And left me to find my own way?

Well that wasn?t quite so bad after all
Cos Anfield was just over the road
From The Park & The Albert & The Sandon
Didn?t take much brain overload?

Cos every young scally that went there
Knew their way to this world famous ground
You just followed the crowd till you got there
No need to ask a copper, no need for lost & found?

So as you saw it loom up before you
From the garage on Walton Breck Road
A huge lump came up from your stomach
A frog in your throat not a toad?

There never has been anything like it
The sight of Anfield on a match day
You can forget your Pyramids of Egypt
Eiffel Tower or Botany Bay?

It?s a feeling that always stays with you
No matter from whence have you come
It?s a feeling of passion and excitement
The thrill of what was to come?

To the BoysPen we are drawn soon
As the time it starts ticking away
Like a magnetic Tardis it draws us
Get in line, looking forward to the match today?

?Who is it,? ah it?s only Aston Villa
Last weeks program says they haven?t won here for a while
So let?s get in and get stuck in to them
And let the mighty redmen make us all smile?

The BoysPen was an enigma
Cos there weren?t many boys there at all
15 & under it said on the turnstile
some ?Penners were over 6 feet tall?

Some others were strangely misshapen
Or so I thought at the time
With lumps where they shouldn?t have lumps
I was only about 8 maybe 9?

Some boys in the queue had moustaches
Some had Brylcreme slicked back hair
Some took a milk crate to stand on
Some weren?t a him but a her!!!?

So through the old turnstiles we squeezed through
To get in was a feeling of joy
Get me program and run up the steep stairs
Felt like a real man and not just a boy?

The first thing I?d do is to stand there
Put me program away quick sharp like, think out loud
Then I?d take a look at the vision
Of the pitch and the Kop and the crowd?

It was filling up dead quick I would notice
Went to the fence to see dad waiting for me
Acknowledging me he went off into the maelstrom
Of the Kop every boys dream place to be?

As time went on I became courageous
Getting out of the Pen was every lad?s goal
We would climb the old fence, scale the girders
Scary stuff as time took its toll?.

Then the next thing we would all look forward to
Was 20 minutes from the end of the game
When one of the Kop gates would open quite widely
To let the early birds leave, still much the same?

And so a couple of dozen wild kids
From the Pen and those who didn?t get in
Tasted the unbelievable taste of the Spion Kop
Into the kaleidoscopic maelstrom & loud din?

Dunno why we did this to be honest
Cos by the time we left the pen & got into the Kop
Could see a bl00dy thing with all these tall blokes
Should have stayed in the BoysPen up the top?

But it was more than just a feeling
It was certainly a thrill
Meeting up outside the ground with dad again
Someone asking ?what?s the score lad? ??5-0??

So now as I look back on the old days
With me grandson sat on me boney old knee
We are looking at the old black & white films of the KOP
?Look son, one of those faces ?is me?!!!?





Now I know some will argue that black people calling each other "nigger" is acceptable (and a way for them to reclaim the word as their own), but scally is not a racist term as I pointed out earlier, and in this poem is just another way of describing a certain type of person who supports Liverpool FC.

I don't deny calling them scum.

What other word would you use for a group of people who, in various ways, thieve from their own, cause so much trouble and put the lives of others at risk? Even their own club officials called them that after two particular incidents... one was when some Liverpool fans threw cups of human faeces at Man Utd supporters below them, the other being the incident when some Liverpool fans attacked an ambulance carrying the injured Alan Smith to hospital... they even attempted to overturn the vehicle.

I suppose to you they're just misunderstood?

warren zevon rip wrote:

"Bob, sounds like you have an issue with people from Liverpool that you have not even met."

Very true Warren. Just read this thread.



Only bettered by his remarks of Yorkshiremen here.

warren zevon rip wrote:


>>


Sorry warren - but I think you're being a complete twat.

I don't think that Bob is suggesting that at all.

Bob (I'm sure he'll correct me if I'm wrong) was simply referring to "scallies who are scum" as opposed to saying "all scallies are scum". He was using the word "scally" adjectivally.

A bit like "Scottish comedians" (which doesn't imply that all Scots are comedians) or "Russian peasants" (which neither implies that all Russians are peasants nor indeed that all peasants are Russian).

You seem to take great delight in accusing people of "racism", warren. And it's getting very tiresome.

Not all Scallies are Liverpool supporters.
Not all Liverpool supporters are Scallies.

But the Scallies who support Liverpool are scum.

Clear enough?

As I said in my first post on the subject, is there another club in this country whose supporters rip off their own kind either by selling forged tickets to "mates", or scaling over barriers thus depriving rightful ticket holders of their places, or steal tickets from children (see today's Sunday Times), etc. ?

They don't care about the consequences in spite of what happened at Heysel and Hillsborough... just so long as they get to see the game!