Setting the scene with the main players

Miles is, as his nickname would suggest (Mr Large), is larger than life. He is every cockney person you have every met rolled into one big assemblage of opinion. He has an opinion on everything, and when it comes to sport – he is usually right in his views. Miles is West Ham. Over the coming years I would enjoy watching Miles change his career into a media personality, through some TV programmes, but more interestingly via talkback radio. With his strong opinions, flamboyancy and general knowledge second to none, talk-back radio was made for him.

Miles got his big break (actually he made his big break) building up to the 1998 World Cup in France. A few months prior to the tournament, Miles decided that he had to go to the tournament, but he was broke. Miles is always either flush with money or down to his last dollar. There is nothing in between. He was working at New Zealand Post (postal services) at the time in their marketing area in Wellington and he hitched a cunning plan. Miles had got wind of the fact that there were only three places for accredited journalists for New Zealand to attend the World Cup. New Zealand being a rugby nation, he figured that there may not be much interest in attending by the local media, especially given it had been 1982 since a Kiwi side had qualified for the finals.

‘John, this is Miles and I would like to apply for one media accreditation for the 1998 World Cup’, Miles fronted down the phone to John Adshead who at the time was working for Soccer New Zealand, charged with administering the accreditation process.

‘Well Miles. For starters I don’t know who the hell you are and for finishers … the three spots have been allocated, subject to receiving formal applications’, John responded in his north-of-the-north English accent.

‘Well, you must have a waiting list’, Miles retorted undeterred.

‘Yes, we do and there are already fifteen people on it’, John responded

‘Can you make that sixteen John? I will keep in touch’.

Miles phoned John up for the next six weeks almost every day. He succeeded in creating a good level of rapport through the sharing of a joke or two and cocky jib and jibe. John probably enjoyed taking calls from Miles and so it was likely that he had great pleasure in making a call to Miles on the last day for accreditation applications.

‘Miles, its John. You may have a chance of this’

‘What’s happened?’ Miles said excitedly down the phone.

‘The guy from TV3 has not got his application form in and so I have a spare slot. I have tried a couple of my reserve list, but they seem to have now lost interest. Miles, you have never lost interest and so I wanted to give you the chance if you want to take it.’

‘What do I need to do?’

‘You need to come to my office in Auckland personally today before 4pm this afternoon.’

‘I am on my way.’ Miles said as he slammed down the phone and headed for a taxi. Arriving at Wellington Airport he paid an arm and a leg to get a flight to Auckland. A quick taxi ride at the other end and Miles was sitting in John’s office well before 4pm.

‘Nice to meet you Miles after so many chats on the phone. Now get scribbling on this application form and make it convincing.’

Miles bulled his way through the form, even making his job at New Zealand Post sound like marketing job for a major newspaper. He presented the form to John, who chuckled as he read through it. ‘Let’s get it on the fax machine me old lad, and see how we go’.

Miles got the call he was waiting for a week or so later and he was effectively starting his media career.

I could write a separate book about Miles as he is one of the most interesting people you will ever likely meet. You will have to be content with his cameo appearances in my story for now.

Dave M (aka Sausage) is a short stocky Tottenham supporter. You would be amazed at how many times he manages to see his team play in the course of a season given the 12,000 miles that separates New Zealand and England. Sausage got his nickname as a result of his exceptionally stubby sausage fingers, that he manages to dob and dab at even the largest buttons like a man with Cornish pasties attached to the ends of his arms. Now shortened to just ‘Sausage’, this does get the girls wondering if there are other reasons for such an odd-ball nickname.

Frederick (aka Frederico on account of his Mediterranean-olive skin) is the most English person that I know that is not English. He has a public school English accent and loves football. Any football, from any country. He loves to immerse himself in the passion of the supporters and like a chameleon he will change his colours to suit the company he is keeping. One moment an England supporter … then next he is supporting Italy.

Also a West Ham supporter, Des (aka Granddad on account of the way he shuffles along when he walks) will, I am sure, be central to my coming story. Granddad doesn’t like his label and will periodically try to introduce a new nickname, saying ‘Well this is what everyone is calling me now.’ The last one to get any traction was ‘Sage’. I mean Sage, where on earth did that come from? Unfortunately, Sage got little traction and he is now back to plain and simple Granddad or Grandpapa. Despite his geriatric nickname and the lack of gait in his step, Granddad is actually one of the trendiest of the group. Shoes and scooters are is current passion. You don’t get much cooler than sitting astride a 1965 Lambretta with leopard skin winkle-pickers.

The final central character of my story is Dave W (aka the Mincer), the only one of us not currently living in New Zealand. Dave moved to Brisbane from New Zealand several years ago, but remains one of the firm. The Mincer gets his nickname from being Chelsea. The suggestion is that Chelsea supporters have a certain gait to their step that involves walking like they are carrying a handbag whilst holding a carrot in the part of a body that carrots were never meant for. The resulting Stamford Bridge-bound walk is referred to as mincing. Dave is indeed the original Mincer. I have certainly never seen the carrot, but I have seen handbags on far too many occasions.

Where does this leave me, with respect to introductions? I am referred to by this motley group as ‘Mr B’. Mr B is short for Mr Before. We have all seen the advertisements for diets or liposuction. The startling comparative pictures of Before and After. OK, so I am packing a bit of a pouch – it’s no big deal. As nicknames go, I could do a whole lot worse than Mr B.

This fine band of friends has attended a major football tournament before, having travelled to Portugal in 2004. We watched all of England’s group games, then suffered in silence as we saw our team exit the tournament to the host nation on a warm and balmy night Estádio da Luz in Lisbon. Bloody penalties! Despite the final outcome, the trip which was campervan based, was an amazing experience.

We knew we would attend a major tournament again some day, but never thought it would be South Africa. It was just not on the agenda as it was generally considered too dangerous. So how did we end up going? The simple answer is we got lucky, very lucky. To be even more precise I personally got very lucky