Quote ="lefty goldblatt"Like the smell of pie, peas and farts under the Fletcher End roof... The game is off'"
Ugh. Without fail, as I stood at 2 mins to 3 on the Fletcher St terrace in a hangover-tsunami with my stomach doing more sommersaults than Bily Smart's Circus, someone would arrive in front of me with a pie you could choke a donkey with, doused in the kind of green, luminous slime that would normally be housed in concrete for 50 years until it no longer represented a danger to the public.