Two loonies, five mates and a fire extinguisher - Blackpool Part Two

"Theirs is not to reason why. Theirs is but to do and die." A Soldiers Duty (aka a night out with Ditchfield and Coleman)

With the football tournament over and a disappointing second place achieved [some say we were robbed, which I would tend to agree with], those who had decided to stay in Blackpool for the night retired back to the Pub with the rest of the teams. The beer was flowing and the lads were comfortably into their first pint before the buffet and presentations came calling. Still eager to promote the ISA cause "Cabriolet" Coleman was quick to point out to the organisers [two women would you believe: I'm not saying women can't organise stuff 'cos they can - dinner, washing, ironing - but bloody hell] that we had actually beaten the winners "easily". He was also continuing to boast about his penalty save and only 3 goals conceded, although the story was beginning to wear thin - a bit like his hair. As each team was presented with a trophy for attendance to a single representative, Coleman himself went on our behalf, and in the process was able to pinch a sausage from the buffet, much to the amusement of onlookers. Having been dared by Ditchfield to go against the establishment Coleman was quick to take up the challenge in what would become, unknown the most at that time, the trend for the night. Blackpool themselves went up as winners to collect their tainted winners trophy as a chorus of "boos" and "fix" echoed around the pub. With there being two Blackpool sides entering the tournament the likelihood that they had simply moved players around was high, especially given the way they breezed through the Champions League. With the presentations over the buffet was had, pretty good stuff I must admit, and then it was onto to our place of residence for the night.

Having eventually found the hotel - The Goldhurst Hotel no less - the lads were quick to retire for a quick shower and change before heading down to the bar to start the night's revelry. I don't want to drop names but suffice to say I for one - along with Thomas, Painter, Burke, Wellings & Hocking - were well into our second pint before prima donnas Ditchfield and Coleman arrived on the scene. Puffs. Word has it that Ditchfield was sorting out his spiky ensemble haircut while Coleman was simply trying to make sure the "sunroof" was closed. Either way, we were soon finishing off our pints and heading into town. After a walk of a few minutes we found ourselves on the main strip [does Blackpool have a "strip"? - I thought I was in Las Vegas for a second]  and headed towards the "cool" end of town. Rumour has it that there are two ends to Blackpool - a rough end where you get beaten up and robbed and a not-so-rough end where you don't. We were keen, especially the Earl with his copious amounts of money and expensive designer gear, including a paid of beige shoes, to sample the not-so-rough end. I must admit the early stages of the evening are somewhat of a blur, but memory suggests that we settled in Yates' for our first pint. Blackpool was busy that night, but believe me you have never seen a place busier than Yates'. It was literally like a cattle market, no room to move at all. Spirits were already rising and the disappointment of the days events wearing away. Coleman continued to talk up his penalty save - pretty much all night and ever since - but no-one cared. After a quick pint in Yates' [quick to drink, not to purchase] we moved away looking for another pub before we invested in a club.

With the town so busy we happened upon a nice little pub out of the way and settled down to consume three or four pints in an attempt to ward off the need to drink in the inevitably expensive club. As you can imagine talk soon turned to the days events. As you would expect Coleman was now in full flow and insisted we all vote for our player of the tournament. Voting was generally spread between Coleman, Bailey and Wellings with Coleman just edging it, even though he was keen to exercise his vote by nominating himself. I vaguely remember him saying in his defence, "but what about that penalty save I made?". I'm sure you get the gist. Talk did get a little heated but was soon settled down when Coleman and Ditchfield decided it would be funny to use the pool cues to put blue chalk marks on each others face. Typical. Upon leaving the pub in search of a club we suffered our fist casualty of the night.  "Old Man" Wellings [sorry mate] couldn't hack the pace set by his young apprentices and sloped off back to the hotel for some Horlicks and a nice book. Large print. The rest of us remained in high spirits and sought out a club. We found a place called The Syndicate, a club of high regard among locals and travellers alike. £10 entry and god knows how much for a pint, but we went in and soon marvelled at it's size and ingenuity. A couple of drinks later and  we were on the revolving dance floor. Great stuff. As the night came to a close we had a last pint and left. Unfortunately the last pints were primarily poured on our heads, a neat trick once more instigated by Coleman and Ditchfield, the latter now in agony with his sore ribs. Shame. Out the door we went and all hell broke loose.

First stop was of course an Indian. We got in there, waited for about ten minutes only to be told that they weren't actually able to seat us all together and that we had to take two tables. A bit of a pain in the arse, but acceptable. However, when they said they couldn't serve alcohol we promptly exited the place. On our walk back to the hotel we found a McDonalds and piled in. Having been served and sat down, Ditchfield, as drunk as I've seen him, proceeded to poke the girl sitting next to him in her "mole" with his french fries. After a while [and not a great deal of reaction it must be said] he tired and so decided to simply stick two fries up his nose and just stare at her. At the same time, Coleman took it upon himself to wipe a load of McDonalds BB sauce all over Thomas' head, which was countered by Thomas with some sauce of his own in Coleman's "hair". While Thomas's hair was full of BBQ sauce, Coleman was grateful for his lack of hair as the sauce was wiped clean with little incident. Hocking meanwhile had noticed what he described as "the ugliest woman he had ever seen" and stated that he would take great pleasure in hunting her on the "Hocking Estate, like pheasant". We left McDonalds and talk turned to a strip club, led inevitably by Ditchfield and Coleman and, most surprisingly, Hocking. When they received little support [plus it was about 2am and everywhere was closed] we returned to the hotel.

Despite being back at the hotel, the "Three Amigos" were absolutely hell-bent on going to a lap dancing club. The Earl just didn't know what he was letting himself in for. As myself and Painter stood at the door watching them walk down the road, Coleman leaped across the road and launched the unsuspecting Earl over a wall. All we saw were his feet flying over. What seemed like 10 minutes later he surfaced, laughing. We were in tears of laughter. I myself then went back to my room thinking the night was over. Word has it that up not finding a club they tried to pay a dancer leaving work to do a pole dance round a lamp post to no avail and then, upon not being able to buy any more beer, stripped down and exposed themselves in front of another hotel.  For my part, I was just going to get into bed when there was a knock at the door, some twenty minutes after the three of them had left. Thinking nothing of it I opened the door only to be soaked by a fire extinguisher. Bastards.  To avoid getting soaked more [ which didn't actually happen] I decided to join them in soaking others, notably Painter and Thomas. When they wouldn't open their door Ditchfield decided to knock on another door. When the door was answered by a couple of girls Ditchfield soaked them. We then proceeded to absolutely drench Hocking, who stood there and took it without blinking an eye. Worried that the manager may be called we sought refuge in one of our rooms, Ditchfield hiding behind the bed.  When the manager eventually did come the three of us stood there taking the bollocking, while Ditchfield hid out of sight. "You fucking idiots! You have placed the whole building in danger! I should kick you out! You're going have to pay for all the fire extinguishers you have used!" Not a happy man. With Hocking taking the brunt of the telling off, Coleman [completely soaked] chipped in, "I know what you mean. I've just come up to tell them to be quiet and look what they did to me".

Thankfully that was the end of the night. With the threat of having to pay for the extinguisher hanging over our head, the decision was made to make an early dash to avoid paying. Myself and the Earl obliged [with an unsuspecting Wellings] and were out of the door before 9am. Unfortunately for us Ditchfield and Coleman did not and the proceeded to blame us for the incident. Typical. A great day and an unforgettable night. Roll on next year.

And so it ended...

Tyler Durden