Love at first sight
It's a Saturday afternoon in mid April and for once the sun is shining. Since the morning I've spent a bus journey swigging cans of cheap lager followed by a couple of hours watching my footie team batter the shit out of our local rivals on their own turf. After the final whistle it's the inevitable crossing of paths of the rival fans on the street just outside the stadium. Mostly it's pretenders trying to give it large but occasionally it does brim over into actual physical confrontation.

With most people pumped up on drink and the rivalry between the teams boiling over it unsurprisingly leads to a bit of a scrap, nothing over the top, but a scrap none the less. Noses are bloodied, shirts are ripped and the odd tooth is extracted by force. The old bill are amongst it all in full riot gear trying to separate the fans and that's when I spot her.

It's like everything fades to a blur around her and she's all I can focus on with any clarity; a vision amongst the mayhem. She's petite and slender, and there's something about the way she handles the pissheads despite her diminutive size that leaves me in awe. Through the veil of her riot helmet I can see that she is a beauty. Her blonde hair shines brightly like a beacon drawing me in and her eyes are intoxicating, even when they're narrowed above a nose scrunched up in determination to bring these troublemakers to heel. She stands her ground again and again and repels men twice her size, urging them to retreat behind an imaginary line.

I freeze on the spot and let go of the guy's collar I'm clutching, just to stare at her through the chaos. She's young, beautiful, confident and strong and I'm enraptured, almost forgetting that I'm involved in a brawl. It truly is love at first sight.

I just can't let this one slip away. I have to speak to her. I have to know who she is, and fuelled by the confidence of alcohol I decide that it's now or never. I push my way to the front of the crowd nearest her and wedge myself between two hoolies, just enough to reach out and tap her on the shoulder.

"You're gorgeous!" I say in a genuine compliment, amongst the chorus of shouting and swearing all around.

She turns and looks me dead in the eyes. I melt instantly, before tentatively squeaking out "can I have your number?"

"812," she replies bluntly, while raising her baton. "Now get back behind the line."

I never saw her again.
( Regger, Sat 18 May 2013, 0:35, 5 replies)

There's a line and you mustn't cross it.

( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Sat 18 May 2013, 9:20, closed)

So did you call her or not?

( 4Q just lurking, Sat 18 May 2013, 14:40, closed)

Do you know what, I really like this.
If only because I'd probably have done the same thing in that situation.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sun 19 May 2013, 22:44, closed)

got pissed up and had a scrap at the station?

( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Mon 20 May 2013, 16:11, closed)

No.

( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 20 May 2013, 18:22, closed)