A MIDDLE-AGED bloke is waving the white and blue Argentinian flag, with the word ‘MARGENTINA’ printed on it, wafting the aroma of chips, pies, beer and aftershave – with just a hint of weed – towards the back of the stand. Someone passes around a hip flask and a fiery liquor of indeterminate origin burns its way down my throat.
Everyone in the crowd wearing FC United of Manchester scarves starts twirling them above their heads like so many synchronised red and white helicopters. A minute later, they’re all singing “I don’t care about Rio, and he don’t care about me ..” to the tune of Mellow Yellow.
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