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Outside the green door: New bessie mates

Submitted by on February 13, 2014 – 10:53 amNo Comment


Another flashback to when revolution was stirring. This is Twomowers’ column in MUFC magazine UWS, from September 2005 (taken from the ace archive site punkfootball).

No More Heroes
When the shop steward gets a promotion, the shop-floor may feel betrayed. Management think they’ve pulled off a coup by getting someone on their side who, more than most knows all the tricks. Poacher turned gamekeeper they like to call it. I’ve seen it loads but in my experience it’s usually worked out the other way round where the workers have ended up with one of their own still fighting their corner in a different way and if it was a decent, proper shop-stupid anyway, that’s exactly how it should be.

This is the way I’ve always felt about Fergie as the boss. A socialist, on our side, working for us, within the Thatcherite world of Manchester United the company. Someone who you would have thought would have more in common with the man sat in east-lower than the bloke sat in club-class.

Then there’s Keano, another one of us. It could have been one of us talking when he slated the clueless corporates and praised the vociferous away support. And what about the so called shop-steward Gary Nev? Nothing to say? No words of comfort for gutted, pissed off fans? Well a lot of that support that have persistently defended and sang these names are so gutted and pissed off that they’ve pissed off.

These three, more than anyone else at the club owe a few words of comfort to those of us that have had enough and sacked it and those who probably know they’ll sack it soon or those who want to sack it but cant. I’m not asking anyone to go around OT singing die Glazer die but you’d think that out of a group of men, that make their money out of fans’ loyalty, just one would be brave enough to say something that makes us feel as though we matter or as the case may be mattered.


Yes More Heroes
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s an anti-Glazer underground movement led by Gill and Charlton. After all Gill said he’d join us behind the barricades and when Bobby said “success is all that matters to the fans” surely he was trying to throw off the scent.

But I can’t trust these fookers anymore. They’ve made us look like gullible clowns so I’ve got a new bessie mate called Margy. I was introduced to Margy at the Methodist hall in town. I’d been told by another bessie mate that Margy liked to drink beer in scruffy pubs whilst listening to scruffy, local unsigned bands.

A gig was quickly arranged by my fave band Hedz Jellmo at the Castle on Oldham St. and Margy turns up with his bessie mates Phil and Daz. I’m there with some of my bessie mates and next thing we’re all bessie mates, laughing and joking and drinking Oldham bitter. After the Leigh game you might think Margy would have just slipped off home for a glass of wine and a meal with his wife like Harry Redknapp would have done but no – he’s down town with his bessies.

After Staly did Margy try and get out of yonnerland pronto? No siree-bob he’s in the Mill Pond with his galacticos drinking beer and singing songs and the band of new bessie mates is getting bigger. And what does he do after that? Is it off home to get ready for church tomorrow like Glenn Hoddle? Is it bollocks he follows his bessie mates down town on the razz. Broken hearts are being mended.

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