“And we danced all night to the best song ever.
We knew every line. Now I can’t remember
How it goes but I know that I won’t forget her
‘Cause we danced all night to the best song ever.”
No, I haven’t gone all One Direction on you, my opening lines are simple an aide memoire to a top night out and a heated discussion on what the Best Song Ever in the footballing world. For those who haven’t yet read the story behind the weekend (yes, I know we are all busy) then let me set the scene. After an afternoon of football in New York, Rotherham, we had made our way down the A6178 to Sheffield (not Sheffield Pennsylvania, Alabama or Missouri mind). An evening on Kelham Island beckoned with a host of football’s finest from Twitter. Our main objective of the evening? Well apart from trying a bucket load of local ales, it was to decide whether The Greasy Chip Butty song is the best football song ever.
You Fill Up My Senses
Well, for senses, read stomach. Our special beer stomachs. Kelham Island is a former industrial area that is now best known for its brilliant pubs. First up was the Fat Cat, a tiny pub adjoining the Kelham Island Brewery which had the smallest bar I had ever seen, with 4 (FOUR!) bar staff multi-tasking to keep us in beer of the year, Pale Rider, Kelham Island Bitter and my personal favourite (read “I had at least three of them”) a Chocolate Digestive Ale. Oh, and a pork pie…and some Jalapeno pretzel pieces. Senses filled up. Bubbles surely has to be up there?
Like a Gallon of Magnet
Note to Danny Last – it is MAGNET not MAGNERS. Stop two, no more than a stumble away was the Kelham Island Tavern where we met Eddie the Shoe. Those who travel in horse racing circles need no introduction to Eddie, who had kindly provided a tip earlier in the week that provided the financial assistance for my round of Deception. Eddie is a big Fulham fan – at 7 foot something there is no other word for him. An hour later we had just about consumed the gallon (8 pints for those who didn’t do O-Level Maths) and onwards we went. You’ll Never Walk Alone? Spine-tingling.
Like a Packet of Woodbines
Tricky one this as neither of us smoke. But as we headed up the hill to the Shakespeare we were puffing for air like a pair of very unfit, middle age men that we were. A couple of Aecht Schlenker Rauciber Marzen’s later, with its distinct aroma of smoked sausages and bacon, and an aftertaste of banana (tastes better than it sounds). Talk was now getting serious. Danny’s adamant that Sussex by the Sea is a contender. We aren’t so sure as he can’t remember anything past the third line.
Like a Good Pinch of Snuff
The younger generation today would look at you very strangely if you said “I’m going out to enjoy some snuff” but back in the day we all enjoyed a bit of ground tobacco that you shoved up your nose, didn’t we? Gave you strange hallucinations apparently, which was similar to our next stop at DaDa’s. It was if we had walked into a set of Ashes to Ashes albeit with beer prices from the year 2525 (80′s based music joke there). I had some very dark, very thick and very sickly Thornbridge Wild Raven. A continental chap suggests that Barca, Barca, Barca sung by 100,000 fans in the Camp Nou has to be on our list, but we can’t take him seriously as he is wearing a scarf inside a room that is hotter than Greece. Continue reading