Chapter 8 of "The Knock 'em Down Boys" - from Swindon to Southend and graduation.
Find out how Rat and Sparky prepare themselves for the violence they are about to willingly take part in as they travel from Swindon to Southend in order to graduate into the adult firm.
Chapter 8
Southend United – Away in The Cup – Saturday, September 28th
So when the Southend meet came round we were all proper buzzing.
We were all looking good too: all the right brands, sending the right message. Not one of us with anything out of place.
When we met at Swindon station around 9am, it was like a film set. We looked almost too perfect.
The Spartans knew how important looking good was.
Before battle, they would dress their hair, taking more time over it than was usual in most warriors. They knew that if you look good, you feel more confident. They knew that the appearance of confidence would strike fear into their enemies.
It’s not that we were arrogant. It’s just the way we were feeling. We were on top of the world – and we were going to show it.
We might not have seemed excited to the casual onlooker. We weren’t talking all that much. No pretend bravado. No drinking. No trying to psych each other up for the day. It wasn’t necessary. Each of us had his own routine; his own way of preparing for what we were about to do.
We were fighting for fun, yes, but still we were fighting, so we intended to do real damage to other Lads.
I know what you might be asking.
Probably the same question as anyone not involved would ask.
If we know that our opponents are just like us, and we know that they want to do as much damage as they can to us, then why do we fight? It should scare us, right? They want to hurt us – badly. We should recognise that what we are doing is stupid and dangerous, right?
The trick to fighting, according to The Spartans, was for a man to divide himself into two parts. The first part of him loves his family, feels kindness, shows mercy, and views his opponent as a man like himself.
The second part, the warrior, carried only the second half of himself into battle. The half that knows about punching, kicking, gouging and stamping; the half that knows about outwitting and out-battling another because the thing in front of him is an obstacle to be destroyed and not another human.
The second part simply leaves the first part behind him when he goes out to fight.
I leave that nice part of me at home.
Not sure what the other lads do, because that’s not the kind of thing we’d talk about, but they’ll all have their own way of getting into the right frame of mind for the meet.
I fight for pride and belonging to this group. It makes me feel good to beat an opponent and to enhance our little firm’s reputation – as simple as that.
Sparky’s told me that the firm is like a family. He’s proud of it too. He’s the leader; he looks after us and he leads by example. And that makes him feel good.
When we get on the train to London, Sparky makes sure that we’re all sitting together.
Sparky knows that we need to keep busy.
The Greeks kept their men busy before battles. Talking, they thought, spread fear. Action, they argued, produced the appetite for more action. They were right. If our Lads were left to their own devices, they might get bored and then get pissed to make the time go more quickly.
Drunk Lads don’t function as well as sober ones. Drunk lads are full of pretend courage, poor judgement and mistakes.
First thing, Sparky asked them to research the area around Roots Hall, Southend, for places that might be useful to us: food stops, places not to run into with dead ends, that kind of thing.
Secondly, I told them the plan exactly as Scratch and Ghandi had told it to me.
Then, Sparky reminded everyone how important this was to our little firm.
If Ghandi was happy, we’d be in.
I remember El Pigface asking about S.T.A.B. if we joined the adult firm and Sparky just saying that S.T.A.B. would always remain.
It was our firm. We would travel with The Swindon Boys but we would not give up our separate identity. But that was an issue for another day because today we had to prove ourselves.
By then, we had about twenty minutes before we arrived at Paddington.
I spent the time listening to music.
I wouldn’t admit it to the lads, but I was listening to classical music.
I save all my classical music under song titles from Oasis. Not the good ones, just the crap like Lyla and Songbird. Oasis was a great band, but after the first three albums, there was only the odd single worth listening to.
Sparky spent his time texting and receiving texts. I didn’t ask who from. He looked like he was concentrating.
When he wasn’t texting, he was moving and making the motions of attack and defence with his upper body. His eyes were closed as he slowly punched, blocked, feinted, parried and dodged.
Sparky wasn’t just remembering the moves he might bring into use during the day. This was a specifically planned choreography, designed to ensure that his whole body remembered the moves, and not just his brain. Sparky had trained his mind, and was continuing to train his muscle memory, trying to ensure split seconds of advantage over his opponents by ensuring that his entire body had memorised a routine.
This was what boxers did in order to try to train their muscles to give them split second advantages.
Listening to Classical music and watching the smooth, repetitive motions of Sparky was hypnotic and I could feel myself going into a kind of trance as I observed.
That was when I heard what could only be compared to the rumbling power of a big bore exhaust or peels of thunder during a storm.
El Pigface was grinning and making fan actions with his hand from behind himself and in between his legs.
This indicated that we were all welcome to have a smell of his Fart. Pigface was nodding with a satisfied grin on his face while he luxuriated in his own stench.
By this time we were desperate to get off rather than have to sit much longer on what had turned from a train carriage into a sealed container of that dirty bastard Pigface’s arse fragrance.
Paddington couldn’t come quick enough, and we were first off the train and onto the platform.
Sparky was on his mobile again as soon as we got off the platform.
“Who you texting now? Ghandi?”
Sparky shook his head. “He’ll be there. It’s Robin, you know, the girl from Manny Road. She’s asking about you.”
“Right.”
“She wants to know if I’ll give her your number.”
“Fine, text it her.”
Sparky looked like he was thinking carefully about something.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked him. “You know that I can tell when you’re thinking.”
Sparky nodded slowly without breaking eye contact with me but said nothing.
I just shrugged.
When we got to the bottom of the station at Paddington, Sparky brought us together.
“Ok the lads who are sorted for cash, we’ve got an hour to do whatever you want, but be back here on time, or we leave without you. Understand?”
We nodded.
“Oh, and if you’re on the rob, don’t get caught. And if you do get caught, you’re on a day trip to London and that’s that. You don’t even like football.”
An hour passed by flicking through magazines we didn’t really want and watching people mill around the station.
The trip over to Victoria Station, and then onto Southend, was what mattered now.
In Southend, Ghandi and his mob were expecting us. This was our chance to make our mark in the big time, and everyone knew what was at stake.
If you liked reading this chapter and you want to find out what happens when Rat, Sparky and the boys get their chance to impress Ghandi and Scratch at Southend then subscribe, like, leave me a comment or share my Substack.