I have a couple of neighbours who profess to being Liverpool supporters. Despite both being late thirties, I doubt if either of them have been to Anfield more than half a dozen times in their lives. Both have grown up in Standish, and neither of them, that I’m aware of, comes from a Scouse family – Standish being Standish, everyone tends to know everyone via a degree or two of separation.
Anyway, a couple of seasons ago, I walked into the Dog and Partridge in Standish, when a Liverpool match was on. The pub was heaving, and there in their replica red shirts were the two neighbours, who acknowledged me as I went in. I went to the bar to get the Mrs and myself drinks, when one of the neighbours came to the bar.
‘Orr-eh, do yooos two want a drinkkk?’
This bloke speaks with a Wigan accent Monday to Friday, but it appears that on Saturdays when Liverpool are on the telly, the minute he walks through the D&P pub door, his body is possessed by Joey Boswell.
Needless to say, we drank up and left.
Saw the same neighbours a few days later who greeted me with ‘Oreet?’ Pitiful.
On the other hand, I’ve got a mate who has had a season ticket at Liverpool for twenty-odd years – it was his dad’s ticket before him, and he’s watched them all over Europe. He’s as broad Wigan as is possible in a normal human, and says he feels uncomfortable when the Scousers play Wigan. He didn’t go last season as he got p*ssed off with all the woolly-back / inbreds/ sh*t ground, sh*t fans comments, as after all, they were taking the p*ss out of his kin-folk.
For him, I have respect. Doesn’t belittle Wigan, but hasn’t switched allegiance and jumped on the bandwagon.
