Hembrough opens the account, but everyone else is out of it

I was utterly convinced that out of the thousands of flights from Newcastle to all over, ours would be the only one that'd get cancelled. This would mean the dipstick, Ant Hill mob, driving down in the car (with Dave Smith being the only sensible one) would have to play 6-a-side against their Maltese opponents. In the event, everything was truly perfect. No delays and we were all in Gatwick with plenty of time to wait for the Malta flight.

Click here to view the footage from Day 1. A DVD of this game in broadcast quality is available on request.

Everyone driving down was well sloshed. Cressy was boozed up and Macca, Greenwell and Muers (who was catching up) had their fair share in Gatwick. So the flight itself had it's usual ups and downs. I managed to get us all in together in the same seats. Greenwell fell asleep and had his face painted, while Emu sleeping had his watched stolen. He woke up, slavered all over his shirt and then looked at his wrist to see what time it was. Greenwell also puked up in the toilets before take off. It didn't help that he admitted he was scared of flying, so it was the usual, "that wing looks a bit loose", "is that smoke coming out there?", "have you seen Airport 77, when they crash into the sea?" Gourlay and Cressy also got bollocked by the Air Hostess.

"What are the rules?" asked someone. "No rules," was my reply. Once we took off from Gatwick, everyone was on their own. We landed and then it was a perfect transport to the hotel. Everything was running like clock work. Everyone was sharing rooms, but to my utter luck, Macca / Cressy were roomed next door to Greenwell / Muers. To top it off, instead of single beds, Macca and Cressy had one double bed. Cressy being the bitch of the relationship was in for a sore time (and a sore arse). He also discovered that an ex of his was spreading rumours that he was fiddling with boys in the Town End Farm Club toilets.

Game kicked off and I announced there was no way I was going to play. Cressy, apparently "sober as a judge" was forced to play the full ninety. Marky Mark was our Man-of-the-match and rapidly realised that Sassco have been standing still for six years. He's probably shocked thinking about how he spent a year travelling up and down from Northumberland playing with a bunch of retards. We actually did okay in the first half. Eventually they wore us down and went 4-0 up. Scott Hembrough scored a late consolation, but it was all that we deserved.

The standard of the Maltese sides was spectacular. We look at amateur football in a different way. The top level sides in Malta are pro, but not well paid, so the attitude in all the other sides is exactly the same. The same level of fitness and dedication. These are all teams run along the lines of the likes of Shildon AFC. In Malta there are no teams put together by one person such as the retards playing for us and not training, etc. These are all well organised community units.

Back to the hotel, shave, shower, clean up and we spent the evening in a local restaurant, drinking heavily and stuffing our jaws in preparation for an early morning kick off against Mdina Knights.

Searing heat combined with massive hangovers.

Click here to view the footage from Day 2. A DVD of this game in broadcast quality is available on request.

The morning game was rough. I started due to Emu blowing out of his arse for the previous one. Cressy was well out of it with a hangover. The little spotty virgin could barely handle it. Luckily, Marky's Missus, Bianca, was on hand to record the games. To be honest, had she not been there, it likely we wouldn't have recorded the footage we had, so many thanks go out to her and also a medal for suffering a bunch of fuckwits making an arse of themselves. Ironically, she was much better at recording than me, because I tend to look up and bollock Emu, while play is going on elsewhere.

Cressy had to go off for Emu, but then I was blowing out of my backside after seventy minutes and we dragged Cressy back on. The eventual loss was 4-0. After the game we spent a bit of time at the stadium with a few drinks where I managed to meet Pierre Azzopardi, the person who'd arranged the perfect tour.

Back after the game, it was fun time. Macca and Cressy crept into Emu's room and doused him in shaving foam. Completely fast asleep and all recorded on camera.
The big shock of the day was Dixon's new look. The closest we could say was a sort of candidate to assassinate Obama. A red neck, yokel with a straw in his mouth. "Just call me....Digga," he growled during the night.

We also went to watch the SAFC match at a local pub where Emu was demonstrating the microcosmic version of the English Lout, shouting and balling at the screen when Sunderland lost. Actually, when Defoe scored, he shouted, "I hope you die, you gap toothed twat," while Greenwell was sitting next to him. No consideration whatsoever.

Then it was the night out. The place was St. Julians, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it was wall to wall pussy of the finest kind. The problem was that they were all so fucking miserable, there was no chance for any of the single lads. I think you'd need a subway sized cock (and make it a foot long) encrusted in ribbed diamonds and balls the size of Emu's head to get any joy. Cressy did actually snare a young un, but like his passing and link up play, the thick cunt lost her in the crowd. Also, apparently he was nearly in luck with another girl, until someone told her he was only 14.

We actually started off in Fuego to see Ken Camilleri the Manager of XFM, Malta's local radio station and also the manager of the bar. We got a full set of free drinks and spent a good hour in there smoking the pipes of peace and generally pissing off the locals in for a "quiet" drink.

A bar later, we all crushed Emu as he was seating in a comfy chair. I then tried to give him some Vodka and coke, but because I was rapidly getting drunk, poured it into into his eye instead. Greenwell's chat up line was, "How you doing?" in the manner of Joey from Friends. He actually sounded like Watto, the flying slave trader who looked like a turd from the first Star Wars film - Episode One.

Then, the infamous lap dancing bar. I saw a taxi rank and it being 2:30am, as well as me drinking more in one night than I have in five years, I decided to conclude the night. Marky Mark and Bianca had left just before me as well. In the club, an anonymous person spent around 60 Euros on three lap dances. He then asked the fancy bird for a suck which cost an extra 30 Euro. This resulted in three sucks before she fucked off with his cash. Arse!

Another bright spark spent around 40 Euro on champagne and a flat chested bit of stuff on his knee. "like an ironing board with two cherries on top," was his description. Finally, everyone chipped in around 20 Euro each to get Scotty an on-stage dance. He did all the Sassco lads proud when he dropped his pants for the bird, exposing his thong. Apparently, the look on her face was priceless. Not that I was there to see it.

They all went into some strange dingy bar where Emu was banging his head on the wall as well as all of them writing on the wall before realising there was a CCTV camera in the top corner watching them.

The trip back to the hotel for some of the players was scary, as they got in with Ridge Racer, who was blaring out some loud music while driving a tad bit too fast. Ironically, Paul McConville nearly caused a fight at the start of the night when he ordered two taxis by mistake. Both the taxi drivers nearly laid into each other. When Muers and co came back to the hotel, it was partially locked. They managed to creep in while Greenwell did his "Manuel" impression behind the counter while dishing out the keys. The hotel porter eventually came down and Dave Smith called him a "dirty, perving bastard," as he was probably sneaking in and out of someone's room.

Cressy and Macca, being quite clever, locked their door before the night began, but being thick as pig shit, left their key at reception, where Muers and Greenwell asked for it and sneaked in and shaving foamed the entire room, their boots and all. Greenwell was ready to take a dump in the cushions, but Emu stopped him for some reason. I'm really worried that I'm going to get a call from the Hotel when back in England, saying that a shocked cleaner found a steaming turd in the third drawer from the left. It wouldn't surprise me because the room was lifting.

Best performance so far, but second half lack of fitness shows

The third and final game took us to the evening on Sunday. As everyone had a late, late night, we all switched alarms off for the morning. I was absolutely gutted that I got back at 3:00am, but woke up, bright as a spark at 6:30am. I wandered along the harbour for a bit and was really tempted to get fully kitted up, bang on Macca's door and tell him the bus was waiting, before legging it back to my room, leaving him in a panic. Eventually, everyone got up around the 11:00am mark and we all had breakfast in a local bar (full English, obviously). The drinking started again there. Greenwell was still asleep and didn't wake until the late afternoon. It sort of dawned on us that this last game needed a good performance. The extra rest helped, but the extra drink would kick in during the second half. My hangover was actually kicking in during the early afternoon. Blocked nose and a headache.

Click here to view the footage from Day 3. A DVD of this game in broadcast quality is available on request.

Like clockwork, we got to the stadium after 5:00pm. The opponents this time were Gudja FC, and we played the best we could. This time we were playing an experimental 5-3-2 under Dave Gourlay (who picked the formation and positions for the second game as well, due to me relinquishing managerial duties due to camera work). It was working well. Scott Hembrough as sweeper had things sewn up at the back and Cressy's goal opened the scoring. Dave Gourlay added to it after coming close with a free kick. Paul McConville was also bundled down in the box and the overly large referee failed to award a free-kick. Criminally, Scott H's career came to an end with an injury, which was probably a turning point. The offside trap was working well, until the referee actually overruled his linesman. It all kicked off heavily. I called the referee a "wanker" three times loudly, then we went at the linesman asking him to shove his flag up the referee's arse. I'm convinced that inside this big referee was a little Ken Street pulling all the levers. Later on, he overruled him again and I went up to the linesman and said, "mate, may as well, get yourself up there for a pint, because that prick isn't listening to you." Fitness took it's toll and eventually we succumbed to a 5-2 defeat having changed to 4-4-2 in the second half due to the wing backs struggling to get back. This concluded our marathon set of games. Lack of players, too much drink and general unfitness with two or three players, who wouldn't have played in normal circumstances due to injury, playing.

The night saw everyone chilling out at the same restaurant we spent the opening night. Everyone was stuffed and crawled back to the hotel to sleep. Macca remembered to lock his door this time. Apparently, they were all out late again and someone saw a stray dog and made that "Here boy" clicking noise you do to any dumb animal. Macca, being of the same ilk said, "Ere, it won't understand English."

Shopping, drinking and it actually rained!

The Monday was coming back day. Me, Macca, Cressy and Dave Smith spent it shopping around. The Maltese roads and pavements were shocking. Digga, in his health and safety role would have closed the whole street down and sent everyone home.

Greenwell and Emu had snared a cockroach and named it "Crez the Cockroach" and used it on Cressy and Greenwell had it kicked into his face by myself. Muers also managed to crush some stink bombs into Macca's bed while we all noticed the toothpaste he'd had pasted all over him was still there and un cleaned. Muers hadn't brushed his teeth and had a shave since we started.

The trip back on the plane saw everyone convincing Macca that he needed a boarding pass to get on. Cressy also briefly lost his passport. When on the plane, most were sitting separately. The yokels were in the back, while. Muers and Greenwell were separates. Every now and then we shouted over Greenwell and all we saw were some eyebrows looking at us. Same with Emu, - just a shine red head with tint of ginger. The flight attendant gave Cressy a packet of crayons and a drawing book, while everyone was busy chatting up the over 60's Saga Tour that was also on the flight. Tim, well pissed and rapidly making an arse of himself asks someone on the same plane flying from Malta, "did you have a nice holiday - where you been?" He also spent a few incidents trying to drop everyone's trousers, before Greenwell yanked his off back at the terminal in full few of everyone. Hairy arse and thumb-like nob sticking out and all. Cressy also spilt drink on himself and looked as if he'd pissed his pants.

The plane went through some heavy turbulence when landing at Gatwick. Macca, sitting at the back, shouts loudly to Emu, who's sitting between two pensioners, "Ere, Emu, stop moving about."

That was it really. Me Hembrough, Tim and Scotty spent the evening at a Gatwick hotel as did Dixon and Gourlay. The yokels had to drive all the way back. I wouldn't have minded, but the rest overnight and the flight back in the morning was on like clockwork.

I was presented with a signed ball and some gifts from all the players (when we were leaving Malta), which didn't really bring a tear to my eye (I'm not that sort of bloke), but I was worrying about rummaging inside the back incase Crez the Cockroach was scuttling about. I did plan for the next tour to be in Portugal in 2010, but overwhelmingly was asked to get it for next year. Only problem is that Macca's wife was also threatening him with all-sorts, so I've decided to ban him from any future tours as I don't want any death threats floating around. However, the plan is to all pack some extra clothes for him in our own suitcases while he tells his other half that he's going out for a paper and comes back three or four days later.

So, if everything goes to plan, it's Portugal Tour 2009 in November next year. The venue, the country might all change as it's going to be based on cheapest flights this time. It could change to Germany or Southern Italy. Really don't want to go through the headache of transfer flights. If we are going for the cheapest option, then it's hopping on an oil tanker and remembering to bring some portable goalposts. Gourlay suggested something like Poland or other Eastern European destinations. I reminded him that they "don't like my kind around there...."

One thing for certain, I'll be specifying a quad room for Macca, Cressy, Muers and Greenwell.

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