Saigon Raiders Club

As the noon-sun peaked through a break in the blackout curtains- Aron aka The Wall slowly roused from his deep slumber. As he unwrapped himself from the mountain of female flesh lying naked on top of him, he smiled wryly… last night was good… apparently. He shook the 2 sirens from their sleep… “Ladies, time to go… today is a big day…” “Anh oi! PLEASE – let’s do it another 4 times like last night! PLEASE!” “Sorry em(s), not today…. Today is an important day, I need my energy. Besides, don’t you both have a photo shoot with Vogue Magazine today?” Their protests landed on deaf ears… his focus on the day’s task had begun.

Walking like newborn fawn, they gathered their trail of clothes that led from the bed to the front door; each giving The Master a peck on the cheek as he patted them on their perfectly toned asses and handed each them each an apple for their troubles.

At EXACTLY the same moment in time, Johnny D hopped over his mess of yet-another-night of his “self-love” session to sit down on his toilet to take a piss.

Nano finished drafting his 300th WhatsApp message to ensure another 10 votes for his logo competition (or whatever it is…). Jonas had just wiped the sweat from his brow after finishing the morning’s half-a-pack of cigs. Though routines in their lives, they too knew that there was something different about today.

The day had finally come. Given their recent post-corona cohesion as a team, the anticipation of the day’s game was high…the day where the Vikings were to pop their proverbial cherries; the final descent of the team’s testicles and the day they were to get their first league win.

A winless season to date, spirits were high after the big win against Japan in a friendly and a league tie against Sporting. The Vikings were feeling a change in their fates, a wind in their sails, a hope that had alluded them all season long; as long as since the last time Scotty could see his own penis- yes, a LONG time…

And as if a sign of the cleansing of their season-long bad luck, the heavens opened and God wept… HARD.

A win however was not a guarantee. The Vikings were to face their oldest opponents. A rivalry- 26 years in the making- a team that used to make the Raiders their bitch in years past and whose taunts echoed in the ears of every veteran Raider…. The Saints….

We arrived at our accustomed 3-hour pregame warm up and were pleasantly surprised that the pitch didn’t resemble a swimming pool. A scattered number of Saints sat next to us already looking like they were defeated… It’s coming home…..

Smells like piss over here….

God, I have to take a shit…..

Friso: “Hey! How are you?!”

Me: “Piss off!”

James: “What’s up?”

Me: “Leave me alone…”

Jonny D: “Come here!”

Me: “You fucking scare me….”

The focus was intense.

After a thorough warm up (lukewarm at best) Coach Nick huddled the Vikings referencing a bunch of numbers and soccer players I’ve never heard of and something about a 4,4,3 formation (does it start from the front or the back?- no clue). “Play like Lionel Ronaldo in the 1983 FIFA, YEH?! Sit in like a number 6- YES? Blah blah blah YEH?!”). It didn’t matter. They all knew what they had to do…. And for The Wall…. It was sit on the bench…. A surprise decision from Coach “I-can’t-be-done-with-the-Vikings-soon-enough” Craig as Aron had had some great GAME CHANGING plays in the last couple games (eg: a total body self-sacrifice to block what was surely a game winning goal for Sporting in the last minute of play). He is one of the veteran players on the team for whom this rivalry actually means something, one of the few that can boast 2 goals against the Saints (1998) and bleeds RED (coz that’s the color of blood innit’ bruv?). Either way, he got cozy on the splinters next to Nano (who was still unclear what sport he was playing), Ben “shittiest-tattoos-ever (next to Sven)”, Jonny “wonder-if-can-nick-some-free-toilet-paper” D, Glenn “I-somehow-thought-a-hotel-in-Vung-Tau-would-be-a-great-idea”, Snoop “Tipdoggy” Dog , and Moroccan James.

The line-up consisted of goalie Friso “I-refuse-to-train-in-goal” Klok, Adam “The Albatross” Kendray and Nayan “looks-way-cooler-with-facial-hair” Hymen as center backs. Jeramiah “insert-something-funny-here” Wright as left back and James “batting-WAAAY-above-his-average” Talbot at right back.

The mid-field was anchored by Magnus “I-speak-like-a-top-but-look-like-a-bottom” Anderson who has had an exceptional impact on the Vikings since his return, Myles (who I still don’t understand a word he says when he speaks) McG, flanked by Seb (perhaps your next tattoo should say “FRAGILE”) and Eric “weaker-than-Sipho” Dormond.

Up top, Ricky “Eyelashes” VanD and Jonas “most-likely-to kill-someone-drunk-driving” Horner.

“VIKINGS ON ME! VIKINGS ON THREE! ONE-TWO-THREE! VIKINGS!” A new chant lead by The Savior- launched the Vikings into a frenzy (and I might add has probably been the reason for the Vikings recent stellar performances…) and it was game time!

PREEEEETTTT! Ref Di Thang blows the starting whistle and the Vikings begin to pounce…..

My ass started to itch…

Details of the game are hazy, could have been that I watched 2 games that weekend or the fact that I never understood wasting brain power to remember details of a game you didn’t play in – but I’m pretty sure Emma played well and Hoggy got a yellow card (his 4th) suspending him from the next league game for giving the middle finger straight to the Ref’s face (Turkey). You do know that that sign is international, right?

What I do remember however, is that for the first time in his life Eric realized that there were 10 other players on the field that he could pass to.

Magnus had more headers than Marouane Fellaini, dominating the midfield. Adam forever solid as the last line of defense and Miah, calm and collected, distributing the ball at will (he should be a midfielder in my trained humble opinion).

And then it happened. A beautiful cross from Glen’s orthotic sandals to Jonas at the top of the 18. With a barely perceptible movement of his leg- a screamer puckers the back of the Saints net. Newton’s Second Law in action – Force=Mass x Acceleration. A 1000 kg leg at 0.1 m2 is a lot of fucking force…. The ash from his lit cigarette didn’t even fall….

The crowd goes wild….

I almost get stepped on.

The back and forth continues – a lot more “forth” than “back” to be honest. But a lucky rebound falls in favor of the ‘Aints and the score is tied. (I actually don’t remember their goal at all) Tensions mount.

I nervously scratch my neck.

The game goes on. Now with more fire and passion than Scotty at a free buffet. Tippy, now commanding the center midfield, in-between edible-induced hallucinations and his insatiable munchies. Ref Di Thang and his linesmen Queo Phai and Queo Trai continue to show their utter lack of football knowledge and lack of consistency….Things start to get heated and it takes all my composure not to run onto the field and bite somebody.

And then out of nowhere- a flying kick to Nayan- who currently actually looks like he rapes and pillages- lays him out on the far side of the court. Is he breathing? Was that a thunder clap or his femur snapping? Worry and panic sets in. Seconds pass like minutes. Players all take a knee, James M unrolls his carpet and prays to Mecca. Can this be the end? Frantic, gesticulated hand motions from the surrounding players signal the sidelines for a sub and an airlift to the nearest trauma center…. Its 4th down with ten to go… we need a miracle, we need a hero to step in. The obvious choice… The One. Coach Craig signals the change. The Messiah calmly jogs onto the pitch- no hesitation. He is needed- to fill (and surpass) the role of Chief Terror and to make sure Nayan’s vagina is ok. But then what happens next would have even John Motson dumbfounded. Ref Di Thang reaches into his oversized shirt, draped over his anemic, infantile body and produces a yellow card for subbing on without permission. Are you fucking kidding me?! Pretty damn sure the linesman ok’d the sub. Son-of-a-bitch (I should know)… A dejected Wall, slowly, but with head held high, makes his way back to the bench. At least his seat is still warm. And then, Nayan, whose theatrics proved far too convincing for the onlookers, had faked the entire injury and after burning 15 minutes of “injury” time nimbly got up and continued to play. Massive vagina…

More passes were thrown, a couple of blitzes thwarted and the Vikings still very much were dominating the game. Minutes were winding down… would this end in a tie? Would our dreams of a win be dashed? God still wept…but then the answer came in a flash of lightning…. That lightning was named “Ricky”- bolting down the sideline- a deft pass to Eric (MOM) who deservedly puts one past the hairless albino in net. Screams of joy, fireworks, Nick orgasms….

I nearly get stepped on again.

Now, as the minutes dwindle, the pity subs get called on. With only 7 minutes left to play (Sweating is overrated), El Papi comes on, and within seconds, makes an incredible lob pass to Ben who, as usual, fucks it up and as per EVERY GAME makes a pointless, ridiculous foul… Clearly an angry man due to his shit tattoos. And as if that wasn’t enough, The Wall once again makes a last minute save of a desperate shot on goal… The deflection off his knee will likely make him limp forever but that’s the kind of guy he is, and the determination he exudes…


High fives, hugs and ass pats (Aron seems to do a lot of those) go around- only to be muted by the WORST team talk/debrief ever by Coach Nick… first win of the season (and perhaps likely the only?)… “You pushed too much forward instead of defending, YEH?! You’re lucky you won, YES?! You’re gonna get crushed next week, YEH?!”. He went on and on…. (surely Turkey of the Season…)

I wanted to pee on his leg… but I couldn’t be bothered. I was too busy licking my balls….

Your mascot forever,


Become a Saigon Raider

Become a Saigon Raider