When it all
started, I was completely speechless. I ended up asking
myself the same question over and over again – sometimes quietly,
sometimes with more haste – all however with urgency and terror.
When it all started, and we all charged in, we were a rush of soldiers
charging toward a united cause. None of us knew why Brickie threw that
bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale over that skinhead's head, I knew we
were in trouble but we certainly weren't going to let our friend
get promptly getting murdered for something that wasn't his fault.. I
didn't know that skinhead personally that Brickie launched his missile
at, but I knew his mate. Sad Paul. Yeah, Sad Paul whose brother Dirty
Dan was one of the most hardest, cruel ruthless bastards going. He
was one of those guys you didn't cross not for the fear he would launch
into you without warning or reason – to be truthful, he was one of
those sort of guys who would push you twice as hard back, and probably
in the process rip you in half without blinking.
But he did....
I'll be truthful with you; I am not going to pretend we are angels or
anything. We've all done things we aren't proud of on Saturday Night.
I remember one time seeing Dave accidentally while under the influence
of about 12 pints of Strongbow stand on some young tosser's toes while
walking around the pool table at the City and the little bastard and
his two mates swung for him, and Dave put the three of them in hospital
after using the pool cue for things it wasn't initially designed for.
But what I am trying to say, we don't go looking for it. When you are
footie fans, sometimes trouble seems to come running to your front door
when you least want it or indeed expect it. Over the ten or 15 years
I've hung around with the lads, I can honestly say hand on my heart we
have never once gone looking for it. Take that night like I said at the
City, Brickie didn't go looking for trouble but when he found it, he
pushed back him and pushed back bloody hard. He used that pool cue like
it was like a hand grenade or a bullet speeding out of a machine gun
at the speed of light. It flew straight and true, or honest and blue
depending on your point of view. It spun into the crowd, taken like a
corner kick taken by a incredibly gifted footballer – clearly designed
with a art that is or was shown by a truly great painter – all planned,
all purposefully put forward so there was little or no room for error.
Brickie knew what he was doing all right.
He knew what he was doing.
But he didn't start it...
He just made sure he bloody finished it.
You've probably seen us out round Manchester most Saturday Nights. Me,
Dave, Bob, Joe and who-ever else we can usually drag out with us.
There's a large gang of us lads, but it always changes. Tony the Pony
for example is married and has a few kids, so sometimes stops with his
missus to look after the kids, but when he comes out you can often hear
him coming a mile away, but he doesn't go looking for trouble. None
of us do. Most Saturdays, we can be found going down to the footie,
City or United – usually taking it in turns as Bob and Joe are die hard
City fans while Dave and Me follow United. Been going for years. When
City don't play at home, United are usually playing at home so we take
it in turns, and then once we've finished we usually head down to the
Crown in Manchester to drink until we drop.
Bob and Joe usually hammer it on Carlsberg or Carling. Dave's usually a
Boddingtons while Paul's a major cider in particular Strongbow fan
while I'll drink nearly anything within reason. Don't really have a
favourite – I like to drink whatever I feel like really. Last Saturday
for example, I drank nothing but Jack Daniels and Coke all night long.
My guts felt like they had been dragged through a blender the next
morning, but like I said it's all down to personal choice. You can
drink whatever the hell you like..
Brickie however is something different altogether. The rest of us love
drinking believe me, and are well known for spending all Saturday in
the pub if the United or City match finished early but Brickie, he's
the sort of thing legends are made out in the halls of drinking.... I've
seen him knock back ten pints of lager after arriving in the Fletcher
Moss at 9.30pm at night in an hour and a half and then still stagger
home reasonably sober.
That was Brickie...
But that night, it was something different altogether. We'd had ended
in Jillys (which is called Rock-world for the younger people out there
or people who don't live in England) after spending most of the day and
indeed evening up down Oxford Road. It had started off badly, both City
and United had been turned over by poor opposition in City's case, they
had got stuffed 4-nil and United had done their usual at the end of the
match when the defence fell asleep for just that vital second and gave
away a typical scrappy goal.
I mean, speaking as a United fan we are pretty well used to winning
everything nowadays, but when you see your team meekly give up like
they did that day it's nothing short of almost criminal. Brickie sat
there complaining for hours and hours, "I don't fucking believe it" was
his cleanest reply of the day, I seem to recall.
It possibly explains his reaction later on...
Chas for example was particularly shocked. He only hung around with us
occasionally as he lived in London and only came out with us whenever
he was up visiting Tony the Pony. Both of them had known each other for
years and years. Went to the same school together or something, I seem
to recall Tony telling us once.
"Jesus" was his reaction "What the hell is he doing? " He said as
Brickie walked towards them. "They'll bloody murder him"
"He'll be alright," I answered putting my pint down slowly on the
nearby floor
"But is it what you really want, squire?" A voice said from behind me.
"Who said that?" I answered turning around.
"John" Chas answered, "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your arse from the bacon, squire" He answered.
"And who are you when you're alive?" I snarled eventually.
"John Constantine" He answered, his grey eyes eying me up and down very
slowly, almost like he was taking into account everything that had been
said before he would take any action.
He was perhaps a little younger than Chas, maybe mid 40's but not much
more. He had short, cropped blonde hair and green eyes and was,
incredibly for Rock World, dressed in a black suit which had clearly
seen better days, but had that sort of look in his eyes that you knew
nobody would challenge him over it.
"You're a scouser," I answered, my temper rapidly getting to boiling
point.
"Not anymore" He replied, smiling easily, reaching inside his long
black trench coat for a cigarette "Once upon a time, squire but not
anymore. Now I'm just a very interested observer."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked sharply.
John laughed, "Perhaps you could also call me a advice giver, mate. "He
answered afterwards. "What's your mate called?"
"Brickie" I answered.
"It's Barry isn't it?" He countered. "Barry, Barry Miles."
"How do you know that?" I asked completely surprised.
"I just know, mate," He answered, smiling. "That's all you need to
know."
"John, what are you talking about?" Chas asked worried.
"Listen, mate," He said addressing me "You better stop him, you better
stop him now."
"You try stopping him," I answered "When Brickie gets that sort of mood
on him, it would take half a army to stop him."
"Perhaps so, mate" John answered looking at him "but it isn't him I'm
concerned about."
"John, what's up?" Chas asked anxiously.
"Chas, have you seen who he is walking toward?" John hinted.
"Just a load of tossers to me" I answered.
"Just a load to me as well, but look at the eyes of that one on the
left" He countered.
"They look all normal to me" I scoffed.
"I wasn't talking to you, boy" He snapped "Chas, what colour are they?"
"I can't tell" Chas answered "God, they're Gold, they're..."
"Bollocks" I screamed out "It's the fucking light. Are you in or out?"
"I'm, I'm..." Chas answered.
"They're not human, Chas" John whispered.
"Fuck you, then" I cursed and grabbed a bottle and launched it as quick
as I could at the one on the right with the odd leather jacket that I
didn't like the look off. There was going to be hell to pay. We were
going
to splatter their skulls...
(STOP)
It didn't last long. It was like Custer in his last stand or the charge
of the Light Bridaige.
They had no fucking chance.
It was like boys against men.
They had no chance.
They were ripped to shreds.
"How did you know you know all that would happen?" Chas said at the
edge of the massure, turning round to ask John.
But Constantine had vanished.
(Click here to visit
Andy's website).