The Crouching Tigers
By Ian B February 13 2003
This account of a rugby weekend in Brescia and Calvisano in the north of Italy is, like my memory of it, fragmented and incomplete: personally, I blame the ice!
By Ian B February 13 2003
This account of a rugby weekend in Brescia and Calvisano in the north of Italy is, like my memory of it, fragmented and incomplete: personally, I blame the ice!
Arriving at the airport after a 90 minute drive, Stansted was teeming with Tigers and Munster-men heading off to sunnier climes for their respective games. As luck would have it, the check in gates for each group of supporters were next to each other and there was a bit of banter and best wishes exchanged before we headed off to the departure lounge.
Following an uneventful flight into Bergamo, we were herded towards passport control which consisted of one suicidal-looking guard in a glass booth. Behind us, intrepid Tigers were on the phone trying to secure tickets for the game. As we inched forwards {centimetered doesn't quite sound right}, a cheer went up: "We've got tickets lads!" - "Yeah!!!"
"Smiler" in the glass booth, meanwhile, continued to check every passport as slowly as humanly possible, forcing everyone to file through the "Non-EU" gate. As if by divine intervention, a second guard appeared, pointed at the "EU Passport Holders" gate, and generally ignored everyone who walked by, taking only a cursory glance at whatever papers people held. If you had quickly flicked an empty packet of Marlborough as you walked past, I don't think this guy would have noticed.
Onwards to the train and the final leg in our journey. The woman in the ticket office was about as happy as the passport guard: who knows, they may have been conjoined twins - joined a the hip and hand bag and separated at birth.
A short taxi drive from Brescia station and we were there. After a bit of bother with a broken bathroom door - not our fault, it was like that when we arrived - honest, we were transferred to another room. The view was strangely familiar: in fact we had been transferred to the same room that we stayed in last year!
After a very welcome meal of pasta followed by ice cream and a bottle of house red, we met up with Big Roger, Mick, Tony and Joan.
Now, most people when they go away remember historical monuments, buildings and landmarks: Roger and Tony seem to remember bars (Irish or otherwise), where to buy the cheapest booze and the location and opening times of every hyper-market on the continent. Personally, I find this very impressive. By an odd coincidence, there is a supermarket right across the road from the Novotel 2 - a very civilised supermarket because after you have struggled with your shopping, you can call into a café for something to eat and then drop in to the bar, which is exactly what they did when they all went shopping for "supplies" on the Thursday - knocking back g&t's at 11 o'clock in the morning.
Later, it was Roger who suggested that this collection of six Tiger fans should be called the TEATS : Tigers Exclusive Away Travelling Supporters. {The previous exclusive club the Tigers In Toppers or TITS was apparently discontinued after Tony lost his hat I a bar - more of that later}. The only criteria for membership to TEATS being: an undying support for Leicester Tigers, a desperate need to follow the team to all corners of Europe and an unerring wish to talk drivel, drink beer and occasionally watch a game of rugby with like minded people.
Saturday - match day: we were up, fed and out by 9:15 in order to catch the train to Calvisano. At the station we were greeted by many regular faces from he LTASC, some irregular faces and some faces that we had never seen before: but if you're wearing the red, white and green in Italy - you must be a Tiger!
This may seem odd especially when you consider that the Italian flag is also red, white and green, but you can easily recognise the Italians by their complete lack of any of these colours in their clothing: the blokes all wear black leather coats ... and shades, the women wear fur coats and shades! Oh, and they never smile (only joking).
The short train journey to Calvisano was followed by a short walk to The Caffe Sport, a small bar run by a good ol' boy, Massimo and the gracious Giuliana. When we arrived, Massimo disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later wearing his prized Tiger shirt which is signed by Jonno himself.
Of course, Roger and Tony seemed to lead the way, and it was not long before the bar bore an uncanny resemblance to the Tiger Bar except that the beer was cheaper ... and the toilet was, well, a hole in the floor.
The blokes seemed to be unnaturally interested about how the ladies in our group managed to "go" without a "receptacle" beneath them - you know what I mean!! There were lots of comments about damp knickers and splashed shoes!!!!
It was during one of the many conversations on the subject of continental toilet facilities that it was suggested that if the story of the weekend was ever written, that it should be called: "Our aim is to improve", or "Bend ze knees" or (my personal favourite) "The Crouching Tigers". I think it would be pretty cool if the female supporters, when travelling to France or Italy, formed a new sub-group of supporters called "The Crouching Tigers", there could be special badges, t-shirts, disposable shoe protectors, the possibilities are endless: well it amuses me anyway (small things - small minds, eh?)
Massimo and Giuliana are complete stars. Despite our lack of Italian and their lack of English, we managed to get by on a mixture of sign language, odd words and phrases taken the AA Essential Italian Phrase Book, pencil sketches and the universal language of alcohol!. We were made to feel very welcome and we cannot recommend the Caffe Sport too highly. Mick and Roger spent the best part of half an hour attempting to decipher Massimo's sketches and scribbling. I think he was trying establish how many points were between the teams in the Tiger's and Calvisano's pool. But by then, the drink was taking effect, and everyone was talking fluent gibberish.
The next time you're in Calvisano you must call in.
At the ground while waiting for the tickets, we saw a young, Italian, potential Tiger fan: clearly given a good start in life, although "mama" was keen to point out that they were, in fact, Italian. (As if that matters)
It was here that Tony saw his old "topper", ungraciously donated in the Calvisano Club House last year: "Dere's moi bluddy hat" he said, pointing a Calvisano fan entering the ground.
For a description of the game, see the proper write up by Mike. Suffice to say Calvisano 22 - Tigers 40. Huzzah!!!!!!
After the game, we went back to the Caffe Sport: where it was time for some beer, food, beer, rugby highlights, beer and .whisky. It was during this session that Tony {evil -evil Tony} introduced poor, innocent Ian to whisky. 42 years old and I have never taken to any whisky - don't like it, sorry - that was until I tried Cardhu. This is pure ambrosia - Food Of The Gods! And I'm hooked in a big way - now half way through my second bottle of Jack Daniels, and cannot {will not} go without my night cap.
At some point during the evening while we were waiting for the highlights to start on TV, Joan decided that a bowl which was sitting on the heater behind us, needed moving. Why? I cannot remember, but the result was that the electricity supply was cut off, presumably only in the bar, and not all over town, but Massimo kept an eye on us (Joan, really) for the rest of the night.
In the other room, footy fans were watching their local heroes playing Latzio{?}. We were viewed with some bemusement as the locals filed in and failed to recognise the Tiger colours straight away.
but they soon came around . especially after they had stripped us of every badge, scarf and hat we had on us. But hey, that's what it's all about - good will amongst fellow supporters, and all that.
Joan, meanwhile, under the "affluence of inkerhol", was laughing the night away. She started with her infectious laugh at about 11 a.m., and did not stop until we got back to the hotel.
It reminded me of a trip to Blackpool "when I were a lad" and spent a small fortune feeding money into the clockwork clown which rocked with laughter in a glass case. Is that still there?
Meanwhile, Tony was quietly getting on with on with the drinking, and happily representing the Irish Mafia, complete with hat and cigar.
Favourite quote of the day came from Tony:
"I'm afraid I'm not fluent in Italian any more coz Alison's nicked me phrase book"
Massimo arranged a taxi for us for 11 o'clock which, in true Italian style, arrived promptly half an hour late. After a short drive back to the hotel in Brescia, Zeberdee arrived and "Boing" it was time for bed.
Sunday: after a very civilised self serve breakfast, Ali, Joan and me decided to take in some of the sights of Italy that you cannot see from the bar. So saying, we set off for Desenzano on the banks of Lake Garda. It was sunny but freezing. After a short walk into town, we were accosted at every turn by Tigers: TT, Den1se and Mike looking decidedly the worse for wear, a problem that was attributed to having too much blood in the alcohol stream.
Looking out onto the lake, "No Worries" was fascinated by the swans: "Oh look, swan lake", {sharp as jelly, that guy}, and Gareth equally intrigued by the Italian ducks. {Do Italian ducks quack in Italian? Is there a duck equivalent to a language barrier if they come to England? Who knows? Who cares??}
Time was getting on and it was time to sample the delights of Italian cuisine and to thaw out. After a meal of vodka flavoured prawns {oo-errr} for Joan and me and pasta for Ali, followed by ice-cream of course, Ali tried her, by now, perfect Italian - straight from the phrase book: "Il cibo era ottimo". Depending on how well it was pronounced, this either means "The food was excellent" or she said something about an error in over cooking the otter {?}
Sunday afternoon is when the Italian hit the streets in droves. As we were the only people wearing red , white and green, there is no way that we could have been mistaken for locals. Shops in Italy fall into two categories: shoe shops and other shops. The Italians appear to treat shopping for shoes as a form of therapy: shoe shops are everywhere - in every street in every town. I can just imagine an Italian doctor prescribing: "Just buy two pairs of shoes and call me in the morning"
We noticed a similar trend in France, only there its pharmacies - blue / green flashing crosses as far as the eye can see.
But I digress, we got back to the hotel just in time for a wash and brush up before hitting the restaurant for some tea.
Now, when Tony, Joan, Mick and Roger went shopping on Thursday, they bought copious amounts of beer and whisky and as they were due to go home on Tuesday, it did not seem fair to let them struggle carrying all of those tinnies back to England, so we adjourned to Tony and Roger's room to do our duty and relieve them of the burden of all of that beer: honestly, we only did for their sake!
Unfortunately, the only thing on TV was Italian football. Roger {brave soul} tried to explain the difference between the various patterns used in soccer - 4-4-2, 5-2-3 or what ever. He failed.
Ali, meanwhile, gave up on he beer and hit the Jameson's. A few more tinnies - half a bottle of Jameson's - countless games of dominos, or "dice" according to Ali - and three hours later it was time to retire.
Before setting off on Monday, we all took a stroll into Brescia. Brescia is a very picturesque market town: narrow side streets open out into a myriad of squares. Despite the backdrop of interesting chimney pots {?} and the odd cathedral, Tony and Roger managed to find a bar {unbelievable for someone on a rugby trip, I know}. Fortunately, the cathedral was shut, because Tony was getting very insistent that we go inside: I tried to explain that being a complete atheist, the last time I went into a church, smoking footsteps appeared behind me where ever I walked and plagues of locusts and pestilence spread throughout the land. OK, I exaggerate a bit.
A swift pint later, and it was time for Ali and me to pick up our bags from the hotel and head for home. Before leaving, Ali managed to persuade Tony to sell us a bottle of Jameson's, because he could always get a replacement when the supermarket opened at half past two in the afternoon!!! How cool is that? No Monday morning blues there, oh no. Get up at the crack of NOON and open the shops at half past two in the afternoon. Anyway, as Tony came back to our taxi, he not only gave us the Jameson's, but handed over a bottle of Jack Daniels as a thank you for being such good company - good ol' boy.
Needless to say, the trains and planes were all on time and we landed back at Stansted a couple of minutes early {the pilot knew a short cut}. We were back in the house for eight o'clock and that was another rugby weekend with the Tigers done with. But what a weekend.
Was it worth it? Oh yes, it was worth every penny and Euro, and we cannot wait until the next time the TEATS and the Crouching Tigers hit the continent.
Come on you Tigerrrrrrssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Following an uneventful flight into Bergamo, we were herded towards passport control which consisted of one suicidal-looking guard in a glass booth. Behind us, intrepid Tigers were on the phone trying to secure tickets for the game. As we inched forwards {centimetered doesn't quite sound right}, a cheer went up: "We've got tickets lads!" - "Yeah!!!"
"Smiler" in the glass booth, meanwhile, continued to check every passport as slowly as humanly possible, forcing everyone to file through the "Non-EU" gate. As if by divine intervention, a second guard appeared, pointed at the "EU Passport Holders" gate, and generally ignored everyone who walked by, taking only a cursory glance at whatever papers people held. If you had quickly flicked an empty packet of Marlborough as you walked past, I don't think this guy would have noticed.
Onwards to the train and the final leg in our journey. The woman in the ticket office was about as happy as the passport guard: who knows, they may have been conjoined twins - joined a the hip and hand bag and separated at birth.
A short taxi drive from Brescia station and we were there. After a bit of bother with a broken bathroom door - not our fault, it was like that when we arrived - honest, we were transferred to another room. The view was strangely familiar: in fact we had been transferred to the same room that we stayed in last year!
After a very welcome meal of pasta followed by ice cream and a bottle of house red, we met up with Big Roger, Mick, Tony and Joan.
Now, most people when they go away remember historical monuments, buildings and landmarks: Roger and Tony seem to remember bars (Irish or otherwise), where to buy the cheapest booze and the location and opening times of every hyper-market on the continent. Personally, I find this very impressive. By an odd coincidence, there is a supermarket right across the road from the Novotel 2 - a very civilised supermarket because after you have struggled with your shopping, you can call into a café for something to eat and then drop in to the bar, which is exactly what they did when they all went shopping for "supplies" on the Thursday - knocking back g&t's at 11 o'clock in the morning.
Later, it was Roger who suggested that this collection of six Tiger fans should be called the TEATS : Tigers Exclusive Away Travelling Supporters. {The previous exclusive club the Tigers In Toppers or TITS was apparently discontinued after Tony lost his hat I a bar - more of that later}. The only criteria for membership to TEATS being: an undying support for Leicester Tigers, a desperate need to follow the team to all corners of Europe and an unerring wish to talk drivel, drink beer and occasionally watch a game of rugby with like minded people.
Saturday - match day: we were up, fed and out by 9:15 in order to catch the train to Calvisano. At the station we were greeted by many regular faces from he LTASC, some irregular faces and some faces that we had never seen before: but if you're wearing the red, white and green in Italy - you must be a Tiger!
This may seem odd especially when you consider that the Italian flag is also red, white and green, but you can easily recognise the Italians by their complete lack of any of these colours in their clothing: the blokes all wear black leather coats ... and shades, the women wear fur coats and shades! Oh, and they never smile (only joking).
The short train journey to Calvisano was followed by a short walk to The Caffe Sport, a small bar run by a good ol' boy, Massimo and the gracious Giuliana. When we arrived, Massimo disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later wearing his prized Tiger shirt which is signed by Jonno himself.
Of course, Roger and Tony seemed to lead the way, and it was not long before the bar bore an uncanny resemblance to the Tiger Bar except that the beer was cheaper ... and the toilet was, well, a hole in the floor.
The blokes seemed to be unnaturally interested about how the ladies in our group managed to "go" without a "receptacle" beneath them - you know what I mean!! There were lots of comments about damp knickers and splashed shoes!!!!
It was during one of the many conversations on the subject of continental toilet facilities that it was suggested that if the story of the weekend was ever written, that it should be called: "Our aim is to improve", or "Bend ze knees" or (my personal favourite) "The Crouching Tigers". I think it would be pretty cool if the female supporters, when travelling to France or Italy, formed a new sub-group of supporters called "The Crouching Tigers", there could be special badges, t-shirts, disposable shoe protectors, the possibilities are endless: well it amuses me anyway (small things - small minds, eh?)
Massimo and Giuliana are complete stars. Despite our lack of Italian and their lack of English, we managed to get by on a mixture of sign language, odd words and phrases taken the AA Essential Italian Phrase Book, pencil sketches and the universal language of alcohol!. We were made to feel very welcome and we cannot recommend the Caffe Sport too highly. Mick and Roger spent the best part of half an hour attempting to decipher Massimo's sketches and scribbling. I think he was trying establish how many points were between the teams in the Tiger's and Calvisano's pool. But by then, the drink was taking effect, and everyone was talking fluent gibberish.
The next time you're in Calvisano you must call in.
At the ground while waiting for the tickets, we saw a young, Italian, potential Tiger fan: clearly given a good start in life, although "mama" was keen to point out that they were, in fact, Italian. (As if that matters)
It was here that Tony saw his old "topper", ungraciously donated in the Calvisano Club House last year: "Dere's moi bluddy hat" he said, pointing a Calvisano fan entering the ground.
For a description of the game, see the proper write up by Mike. Suffice to say Calvisano 22 - Tigers 40. Huzzah!!!!!!
After the game, we went back to the Caffe Sport: where it was time for some beer, food, beer, rugby highlights, beer and .whisky. It was during this session that Tony {evil -evil Tony} introduced poor, innocent Ian to whisky. 42 years old and I have never taken to any whisky - don't like it, sorry - that was until I tried Cardhu. This is pure ambrosia - Food Of The Gods! And I'm hooked in a big way - now half way through my second bottle of Jack Daniels, and cannot {will not} go without my night cap.
At some point during the evening while we were waiting for the highlights to start on TV, Joan decided that a bowl which was sitting on the heater behind us, needed moving. Why? I cannot remember, but the result was that the electricity supply was cut off, presumably only in the bar, and not all over town, but Massimo kept an eye on us (Joan, really) for the rest of the night.
In the other room, footy fans were watching their local heroes playing Latzio{?}. We were viewed with some bemusement as the locals filed in and failed to recognise the Tiger colours straight away.
but they soon came around . especially after they had stripped us of every badge, scarf and hat we had on us. But hey, that's what it's all about - good will amongst fellow supporters, and all that.
Joan, meanwhile, under the "affluence of inkerhol", was laughing the night away. She started with her infectious laugh at about 11 a.m., and did not stop until we got back to the hotel.
It reminded me of a trip to Blackpool "when I were a lad" and spent a small fortune feeding money into the clockwork clown which rocked with laughter in a glass case. Is that still there?
Meanwhile, Tony was quietly getting on with on with the drinking, and happily representing the Irish Mafia, complete with hat and cigar.
Favourite quote of the day came from Tony:
"I'm afraid I'm not fluent in Italian any more coz Alison's nicked me phrase book"
Massimo arranged a taxi for us for 11 o'clock which, in true Italian style, arrived promptly half an hour late. After a short drive back to the hotel in Brescia, Zeberdee arrived and "Boing" it was time for bed.
Sunday: after a very civilised self serve breakfast, Ali, Joan and me decided to take in some of the sights of Italy that you cannot see from the bar. So saying, we set off for Desenzano on the banks of Lake Garda. It was sunny but freezing. After a short walk into town, we were accosted at every turn by Tigers: TT, Den1se and Mike looking decidedly the worse for wear, a problem that was attributed to having too much blood in the alcohol stream.
Looking out onto the lake, "No Worries" was fascinated by the swans: "Oh look, swan lake", {sharp as jelly, that guy}, and Gareth equally intrigued by the Italian ducks. {Do Italian ducks quack in Italian? Is there a duck equivalent to a language barrier if they come to England? Who knows? Who cares??}
Time was getting on and it was time to sample the delights of Italian cuisine and to thaw out. After a meal of vodka flavoured prawns {oo-errr} for Joan and me and pasta for Ali, followed by ice-cream of course, Ali tried her, by now, perfect Italian - straight from the phrase book: "Il cibo era ottimo". Depending on how well it was pronounced, this either means "The food was excellent" or she said something about an error in over cooking the otter {?}
Sunday afternoon is when the Italian hit the streets in droves. As we were the only people wearing red , white and green, there is no way that we could have been mistaken for locals. Shops in Italy fall into two categories: shoe shops and other shops. The Italians appear to treat shopping for shoes as a form of therapy: shoe shops are everywhere - in every street in every town. I can just imagine an Italian doctor prescribing: "Just buy two pairs of shoes and call me in the morning"
We noticed a similar trend in France, only there its pharmacies - blue / green flashing crosses as far as the eye can see.
But I digress, we got back to the hotel just in time for a wash and brush up before hitting the restaurant for some tea.
Now, when Tony, Joan, Mick and Roger went shopping on Thursday, they bought copious amounts of beer and whisky and as they were due to go home on Tuesday, it did not seem fair to let them struggle carrying all of those tinnies back to England, so we adjourned to Tony and Roger's room to do our duty and relieve them of the burden of all of that beer: honestly, we only did for their sake!
Unfortunately, the only thing on TV was Italian football. Roger {brave soul} tried to explain the difference between the various patterns used in soccer - 4-4-2, 5-2-3 or what ever. He failed.
Ali, meanwhile, gave up on he beer and hit the Jameson's. A few more tinnies - half a bottle of Jameson's - countless games of dominos, or "dice" according to Ali - and three hours later it was time to retire.
Before setting off on Monday, we all took a stroll into Brescia. Brescia is a very picturesque market town: narrow side streets open out into a myriad of squares. Despite the backdrop of interesting chimney pots {?} and the odd cathedral, Tony and Roger managed to find a bar {unbelievable for someone on a rugby trip, I know}. Fortunately, the cathedral was shut, because Tony was getting very insistent that we go inside: I tried to explain that being a complete atheist, the last time I went into a church, smoking footsteps appeared behind me where ever I walked and plagues of locusts and pestilence spread throughout the land. OK, I exaggerate a bit.
A swift pint later, and it was time for Ali and me to pick up our bags from the hotel and head for home. Before leaving, Ali managed to persuade Tony to sell us a bottle of Jameson's, because he could always get a replacement when the supermarket opened at half past two in the afternoon!!! How cool is that? No Monday morning blues there, oh no. Get up at the crack of NOON and open the shops at half past two in the afternoon. Anyway, as Tony came back to our taxi, he not only gave us the Jameson's, but handed over a bottle of Jack Daniels as a thank you for being such good company - good ol' boy.
Needless to say, the trains and planes were all on time and we landed back at Stansted a couple of minutes early {the pilot knew a short cut}. We were back in the house for eight o'clock and that was another rugby weekend with the Tigers done with. But what a weekend.
Was it worth it? Oh yes, it was worth every penny and Euro, and we cannot wait until the next time the TEATS and the Crouching Tigers hit the continent.
Come on you Tigerrrrrrssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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