Shanghai Forecast April 17th-20th

Pollution level: HIGH. Number of pissed Raiders: EXTREME Maglev: F***ING FAST

VC Squad left to right. Top Row: Alex, Floyd, Paddy, Joey, Jon, Bao, Sascha, Angelo. Bottom: Craig, Daniel, Nico, Tim, Luke, Steven

Tradition and history (and Danish people) vs the hedonistic pleasures of Bangkok. It’s fair to say that we are a much younger (and poorer) team than we once were, so to ensure a full travelling squad something rather unique occurred. Current and former Saigon Raiders, spurred by the knowledge that we would be able to host the Viking Cup in 2015, created a fund from which the travelling squad would supplement their travels. I’m positive that without that fantastic effort from Floyd and his contributors we would not have taken the club to China, so we are very grateful to our angelic benefactors. A big thanks.

Despite missing out on Bangkok, China does offer its own sordid fantasies to be played out including bizarre sex acts involving a helicopter (?), iced water and uniform fetishes, and for one lucky young man, being sexually tense with other men on a very, very fast train (quite possible the fastest). More on all that later.

Team departing with a trophy, came back without one

The author was a day late, so the story picks up from there:

Hoff and Tran taxied in from the airport after a relaxing and refreshing flight to meet Dawson at the pitch. Joe Dawson I was relieved to see, despite now not living in South East Asia or being a backpacker, was still sporting a Khao San road chic. The rest of the team arrived in dribs and drabs from their hotel, some over excitedly dancing round the pitch slapping their thighs and shouting ‘lads on tour lads on tour’ in cockney accents before gentle coaxing and some milk calmed them down. Being great big southern poofs in terms of Asian geography the weather had taken us by surprise. Overcast, windy and hovering around 17 degrees, it was a good job we had snazzy VC windbreakers included in our goody bags. Bao in particular huddled inside his jacket, staring into space, the realization slowly dawning that he would have to play these merciless tree-like white men shrieking in harsh foreign tongues all around him, and there was nowhere else to go. Luckily he didn’t see the 7ft2in Bangkok Vikings goalkeeper, the love child of Peter Schmeichel and Dolph Lundgren, giving him the eyes. Because that really WOULD have been unnerving.

Getting used to the weather

While all other teams were either playing or warming up Raiders were frantically trying to find enough kits to wear. Upon this being achieved we were kicking off against Shanghai Vintage, the ‘Vintage’ in the name meaning their average age was higher than ours. We lost. Nobody on the entire tour can remember what happened. I think it was 1-0.

The second game was against Singapore Vintage. Once again, Vintage. This game however we did win, 3-1. Most notable here was Hoff’s 35 yarder, the best goal he has scored since chipping the Redhill Beavers keeper for Moordown Beavers in the 87/88 season (Cub Scout Junior Division League 1 Bournemouth East). I remember nothing else of that game, put it down to shock (either game actually). Alex informs me that he converted two of his thirty seven chances into goals which instantly propelled him to the top of the Raiders scoring charts. Or at least created an entry on it.

Alex scoring a goal. Probably.

After lunch it was Hong Kong Vikings and we gave them a good game but lost, best guess is 3-1 with Alex scoring his third of the tournament. Injuries were beginning to hit us hard, Hoff had damaged his knee stretching and couldn’t run, Nico Greeve was suffering with a dead leg, Armitt had forced himself back into the games after an early groin scare, Steven and Sascha were nursing an injury, Floyd is 45 (?) with dodgy knees, Alex had been battered from pillar to post in previous games.. It was easier to count the people without injuries. Angelo’s team talk was plain and simple: football is having a pair of legs spread open before you, all you have to do is enjoy it. We lost, by inference meaning we are crap in bed.

If found please return to Shanghai Rugby Football Club, Shanghai, China.

 Some of the squad now started drinking which proved a bad idea as we proceeded to lose our last game of the day to a team who had played one less than us and were the best in the group. 6-0 we went down to the disdain of Mr Moras who exclaimed that he would rather spend 6 months in hospital than lose by this scoreline. That left the Raiders on THREE points from a possible twelve, and bottom of the group on goal difference, meaning we would only play one game the following day (which we didn’t know until the following day). That game would be a play off for the prestigious plate-bowl.

VC sponsors Carlsberg generously gave us a whole crate of beer for the bus home, a good hour in Shanghai traffic, slightly shorter than the two hours that China expert Joe Dawson was predicting. Travelling in convoy two tour buses had to pull over midway home for some Shanghai residents to get a good eyeful – a row of westerners relieving themselves by the side of the road in full view of some apartments and to the immense disapproval of those out for an evening walk.

Being told off for pissing in public in China. Pot, kettle, black much!

Making it home, bladders in tact, we were to meet at the Big Bamboo Bar for a team dinner. Thinking it would be a short two minute drive the hostel crew crammed eight Raiders into a four seat car, four in the boot. 15 minutes later as the cramps were setting in it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Eventually we made it to join the rest of the team for a meal, paid for by Saigon Raiders. Cheers. Drinks were had, and then on to a bar somewhere else after riding the gauntlet of hailing taxis, and then some others went on to a club after that. The universe was saving the epicness for Saturday.

As Raiders awoke to a new day, they awoke happy with the news that they had one game and didn’t have to leave until 10. That game was against Jakarta Vikings, which, after a short scare, we proceeded to win 3-2, Joe Dawson with a commanding first half midfield performance including two goals. At 2-2 with 5 minutes to spare Raiders grabbed the winner after great work from Tim Bishop who laid the ball off to Armitt who finished with aplomb. He then proceeded to get a yellow card sin bin for his ‘penguin’ celebration – pull your shorts down and see how far you can run.

Now the football was finished. To the bar.

I think I’ll have a wee drinkey wahheyy! (reaction to this picture)

A few mugs at the pitch

A few mugs at the pitch and we high-tailed it to the bus to get back laden with a crate, Jakarta Vikings joining us. Fortunately one of the JV members (I can’t recall his name so let’s just call him twatface) found the bus microphone. This initiated a sing off and Greeve, Armitt and Dawson grabbed the chance to express their repressed obsession with the power ballards of yesteryear, delivering a perfect performance of Foreigner’s ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’’ and of course Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heat’ (which I’m pretty sure Armitt starts everyday with, hairbrush and fist pumps included). Jakarta appreciated this and joined in the chorus, and gave us a couple of numbers too. Then it went full Karaoke, Armitt was urged to take the mic and Bohemian Rhapsody started well until he was hampered in his performance by twatface who was shouting the wrong lyrics into his face like a madman. Greeve was up next and delivered a virtuoso performance of Tenacious D’s ‘Fuck her gently’ which bought the house down. Everything was downhill after that.

Limping and staggering to the Viking Bar, Raiders were the first back, and the first to ‘get on it’. Lads. Cue timed practice for the beer drinking competition and impromptu bouts of arm wrestling. Things were warming up very, very nicely.

At least put the beer down Sascha!

It was now time for the magical transformation into the electric blue of the Vietnamese security guard in preparation for the fancy dress Saturday night gala dinner. What happened from here on in will be remembered by all who were there because ironically they remember very little of it. Here we attempt to put the pieces together.

So it begins

The night started with drinkininninge. Then, there was food. Then, quite a lot more drinkkinnening. Errrr…oh yeah…. an ingenious gimmick to spice up moments of paralytic inebriation had been concocted two days previously by the clubs most dedicated drinkers. The scheme involved a bowl of water full of ice cubes and a bottle of vodka. Dunk your head in the bucket and hold for ten seconds, come up for air and take a shot of vodka. After taking turns to increase collective detachment from any kind of tangible reality at our own table, the bucket went on tour and was soon a sophisticated attraction; ice refills were at regular intervals, Paddy stood by with the towel to give numb-faced victims a quick rub down before the vodka was applied by another Raider, and the circus continued to the next anticipatory table.

Then, an honourable performance in the beer drinking competition with the team of Gotz, Greeve, Bennit, Loffler and Bishop sailing through to the finale and finishing 3rd place overall (watch the video here).

Anticipation is high as the team awaits the start of the beer drinking competition

Then the live music. Cue insane drunken dancing including an ‘angry gay’ dance off (only one winner ahem Nico), some kind of pile-on with poor Steven at the bottom scrapping like a cornered pitbull to protect his already damaged temple-like body, an attempted human pyramid and lots of incomprehensible shouting and high fives.

Good effort

In our minds, we were a handsome, athletic, witty and charming collective dancing like Usher and dressed like Tom Cruise in ‘A Few Good Men’ (expect in blue), our actions bringing joy and merriment to the ballroom. The reality was slightly different, a collection of homeless looking 30 somethings trying to recapture their youth in cheap shirts, doing a dad dance on a carpet covered in litter and wet with spilt beer whilst the audience looked on, mouths agape.

And then it was over. Raiders disappeared . Some went to nightclubs, some staggered through the Shanghai street to be guided home by women of the night, some crawled into their hotel beds. Next day was a mix of F1 and sightseeing, all leading up to the event of the weekend, a 6 minute ride of sexual tension on the world’s fastest train. Ever. Invented by Mr Maglev.

Quotes of the tournament:

Where’s Steven? (everyone at least once) – Steven wows the team with his ninja abilities

Jon, Maglev! – Much laughs as Jon realised early on that members of the team picked up on his childlike joy of a potential journal on the Maglev train. An elevated train line ran adjacent to the pitch and with trains passing every 15 minutes or so, the fun was endless (despite me pointing out that they were clearly not Maglev trains).

You look like you’ve got it, you’ve got AIDS – Craig loudly second-guesses Nico’s sexual health in a well-to-do Shanghai restaurant

When I was a taxi driver I only picked up hot girls – Steven reveals potential serial killer qualities

I think he needs your help with that – Paddy’s incredibly subtle attempt to get twatface away from us on the bus

Scorers

Alex 3

Joe Dawson 2

Jon Hoff 1

Craig Armitt 1

Player of the tournament

Joe Dawson reminds us what we are missing.

Thanks to…

Floyd, Sascha, Luke and anyone else involved in parts of the organisation

The FAIRIES (Fund Angels Investing in Raiders Inability to cover Expenses of Shanghai)

Hop : Official photographer (possibly of the whole Viking Cup)