By Penguin Jack
May 12 2005

Good day to you. I wish you a warm spring welcome to Jack and his amazing Flashbacks. Before we start I would like to ask the age-old question that has troubled man since the dawn of time... Good day to you. I wish you a warm spring welcome to Jack and his amazing Flashbacks.

Before we start I would like to ask the age-old question that has troubled man since the dawn of time...

Have you ever been caught masturbating by a member of your own family?

Anyway after that I suppose I had better crack on before this column gets pulled off (ahem).

When I was younger I used to think there must be more to life than watching Boro, drinking beer and chasing birds. Well if there is, then I am fucked if I know where to look for it.

I tried to charm a girl once and show her my sensitive side by writing some poetry. Trouble was the only word I could get to rhyme with cock was sock and I don’t think either word captures the romance of spring really.

Did anyone ever go to the Dell? I did in November 1998 and here is the full story.

I was working in Bournemouth for a few months at the time of this game, which is not far at all from Southampton. About an hour on the train.

I was a right piss head at the time - this was my drinking peak - and set off on the train with a few cans to see me through the journey.

I got to the ground and was told by a right tosser of a steward that the Boro end was all ticket and they wouldn’t let anyone in on the day. I thought that was utter bollocks and I told him so.

Even so, I wanted to see the game and made my way to the main stand and joined the queue of home fans. I got in no bother and settled down to watch the game.

And the game, an early Christmas cracker, ended 3-3 with Gazza scoring a blinding free kick. Mind you that is about the only thing I remember him doing in a Boro shirt apart from smacking George Boateng and breaking his own arm.

So after the game, instead of going back to Bournemouth and the foxy redhead I was nailing, I thought I would try my luck and see if I could get into the player's lounge.

'Why?' I hear You ask. Well a mate of mine was playing for the Boro at the time so I thought I would pop in and say hello, which I did after much arguing with the guy on the door who thought I pulling a fast one. My mate who shall have to remain nameless came and got me in.

In fact the arsehole on the door was gobsmacked when he peered inside ten minutes later to see the guy he wouldn’t let the players lounge stood talking to Paul Gascoinge with a pint in his hand!

I really thought I had arrived in the world of high-class players and high-class tarts so I probably made a right cunt of myself trying to impress the many gathered Boro stars.

Anyway it couldn’t last and my new found friends and drinking partners, that is the entire first team squad of Boro headed off back home, much to young Jack's disappointment.

So I made my way back to Bournemouth convinced I was some kind of superstar footballer and after a few more JD & cokes in a Bournemouth pub, while waiting for my colleagues to turn up, I started to behave like one as well.

The rest of my work-mates turned up, a few lads and a couple of lasses, and I soon bored then senseless with stories of how my best mate Gazza had played a blinder and took me for a pint after the game.

I elaborated further on this story as the alcohol took hold, when I then told my by now very fucking bored work-mates about how Chris Evans and Danny Baker who where both at the game (not) and had wanted me to go to London for a night out with them.

I thought I had got away with this whopping lie until one of my colleagues pointed out that he had “just heard Danny Baker hosting the football phone-in on Radio 5 before he came out and how the fuck did he get back from Southampton in time for 606 ?”

The night wore on and for some reason I was left behind by all but one of my so called friends. It must have been the fact that I was pissed and talking bollocks but that is hardly anything new for me.

So I was left with this bird called Clare and she was fucking rats. Lads, honest you wouldn’t touch her with a barge pole, but a few weeks earlier I had indeed touched her with more than a barge pole.

And I was having terrible trouble convincing her that I wasn’t interested, as she reminded me that in my drunken attempts to shag her two weeks previously, I had told her the usual bullshit lines whist trying to get into her pants and she really did believe I wanted to take her to Paris.

The thing is if you had seen the clip of her you wouldn’t take her fucking beck jumping.

So as you can imagine I got pissed as a fart and this bird tagged along and the more I drank the better looking she got. So to cut a long story short, I took her back to my gaff with the firm intention of knocking another slice off her.

One slight problem was that upon arrival home I found my girlfriend had let herself in and was sat on my front room sofa waiting for me to come home, bless her cotton socks.

An almighty scene ensued with tears, screams, threats to cut my nuts off and things being thrown at me as I tried to convince my feisty red-head that it was all innocent and above board and the only reason I had brought the girl home was to phone her a taxi.

But she wasn’t having none of that blatant lie and I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t believe that bollocks either. Then the other bird piped in thinking she was defending me by saying that he told me he loved me and he wants to take me to Paris which didn’t improve the situation to be honest.

What a fucking mess eh? I kipped on my sofa that night and it served me right. From then on I was a changed man...

Yep I never told girls I was banging behind my girlfriend's back I was gonna take them to Paris ever again.

See ya soon
Jack
Up The Boro


Another flashback from Jack coming your way next Thursday.

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