I ask the barman for a beer and somewhere to charge my phone. Whilst I’m waiting, one of the Celtic boys asks if it’s ok to play some of his music, another European awayday tradition. But the barman is obviously related to the two stadium stewards, and politely enquires as to the genre of such music. I almost choke on the pint I’m still waiting on as the Bould Bhoy replies “Irish Folk” with a straight face. The barman’s concession is to grant him one song. This should be interesting.
I’m quickly served my pint and the barman indicates for me to follow him then proceeds to squeeze into a group of Celtic fans happily enjoying a few beers. Each one looks about twice my size and I’m thinking they’re going to hate me thrown into the middle of their company. But the opposite is the case. I’m told to “wire in” and I’m now perched in their midst with my troublesome mobile and wet clothes. Needless to say, nothing today will be straightforward. The charging constantly stops and the only way to make any kind of progress is to sit holding the connection and watch as it takes about 15 minutes to increase by 1%. Beam me up, Scotty.
As always, within a short time someone starts to chat, or more likely I decide to annoy him by opening conversation. But this one is a real positive. The young Celt on my left says I look familiar and when I give my name he says, “Boola Vogue?” I’m made up that he recognises me and even more so when he replies, “I’m Boola Vogue as well.” This is turning into a Life of Brian sketch and I’m waiting for the “…and so is my wife” punchline before he tells me that’s the name of his band. I’m familiar with them, and I tell him that he stole my Twitter name! Not the case, of course, and not wise given that Kevin/Smiddy is about 6’ 27 tall.
Anyway, we have a laugh about that and suddenly we’re deep into a conversation about the special song both of us took as our names in different worlds, then our background as Celtic supporters. Smiddy has followed the traditional rite of passage and shows me some fabulous photos of his late dad and him as a youngster with some of our mutual heroes in Hoops. And then of him and his own young son on their first visit to Celtic Park, the Ross County game on TRNSMT Day in September.
I tell him that the ballad Boolavogue was my dad’s song, which means that every time I see or hear that he’s with me. I’m still soaked through but suddenly this day is looking better. This is the very essence of why I love these trips, despite the almost inevitable disappointment to follow in the evening. Sharing our stories and our songs with a guy who makes a living by doing just that. It doesn’t get any better.
