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Tramadol Order Online Tramadol 50Mg “So, you’re off to Vienna then are you?”, said an associate

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“Er, yes” I cautiously replied “It means nothing to me…..”

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Buy Cheap Tramadol Overnight Delivery So, it’s the weekend of your birthday, and AFCW are playing a top of the table clash. What do you do? If you have any decency and sense of loyalty, you’d give our boys a much needed cheer before hammering yourself (and if you’re in luck, somebody else). However, I decided to forgoe watching AFCW stuffing Chipstead and instead embarked on a weekend of high culture, fine arts and even finer wines in Vienna. And when I found some, I quickly got bored of that and decided instead to watch a footy game. My trip was a pleasant cultural experience for the most part. I ate some local cuisine, the amount of German sausage inserted was the largest seen since the last 12 year old who had a sleepover at Great Linford Manor. After looking at rather kewl pianos that Schubert once used, witnessing a military open day in front of Wien’s Heldenplatz (it was Austria’s National Day), which no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t help get an uncomfortable feeling (read your WW2 history), and somehow only managing to laugh twice at a chain of bakeries called “Anker”, I was off to the now traditional watching a foreign football match for the sheer hell of it. So, SW19 digicam and notepad in hand, I hopped on the obscenely efficient U-bahn and headed to a place called Hutteldorf to get a look at Rapid Vienna versus Sturm Graz. Now, in keeping with most places with football grounds, Hutteldorf is a bit of a non-descript place, sort of like Vienna’s version of Streatham or Morden. It is however dwarfed by some nice hills and absolutely massive floodlights – seriously, they looked huge. The stadium from the outside however, isn’t the most modern. But then it doesn’t need to be. Like most places however, there was the usual anticipatory buzz around. Even two hours before kickoff, there was an aura of expectation. The reason for this was simple : Rapid were top, ahead of hated rivals Memphis Austria (also of Wien), who themselves have the indignation of being sponsored by a cigarette firm. Can’t imagine it taking off in Britain somehow – Silk Cut Wimbledon anyone? At least Brighton could legitimately still call themselves B&H Albion. Graz – themselves sponsored by a beer called Sturm – on the other hand were a lowly 8th, and in true CCL fashion, an arse-whipping was merely forthcoming.

wien1 So, what does one do two hours before kickoff? Well, you have a choice, you can either queue up to go in Rapid’s version of the West Bank (more on that later), or you can drink. Now, there aren’t that many bars around the Gerhard Hanappi Stadion, and Rapid don’t have their own version of the KM bars, so as you can see to your left, they commandere a piece of land by the railway line and name it Rapid-Dorf (Rapidville). This little settlement houses bouncy castles for the kids, a MASSIVE bier tent (I was on abstinence so didn’t touch any of it) and some of the most cheesy Europop music I have ever heard – seriously, it was belting out footy tunes that further solidify everything you think about German music. Terrorgruppe* this ain’t. * – for the uninitiated, Terrorgruppe are a rather kewl German punk band. They’ve done stuff for St Pauli and SW19 Towers is home to three of their CDs and one of their DVDs Now, like most Germanic teams, Rapid drink quite a bit. I suppose in the ideal AFCW pre-season tournament, we can add Rapid to the list : just think of the sponsorship deals with breweries. Come to think of it, just think of the amount of liver donors and hangover cures that will be needed I decided to hang around and people-watch. Firstly, while wearing scarves around your wrist went out of fashion in Britain, it’s obviously popular in Wien. Just about everyone had one, and they too have those joint-scarf concepts as well. Rapid-Partizan Belgrade, Rapid-Fernebache, Rapid-Inter Bratislava etc. Secondly, I saw the Graz bus arrive – though it had the rather kewl numberplate “G STURM 02” or something, the players had to carry their own kit in. Welcome to Osterreich. Funnily enough, despite Rapid having a little bit of a, ahem, reputation, they all walked in unguarded and nobody gave them grief. I didn’t recognise any of them, but I doubt if they’d know who Joe Sheerin was either. Time was getting on (it was a 4.30pm kickoff), and I decided to get my €22 ticket for the Main Stand and waltzed in. Getting in is a lesson in Teutonic efficiency : a ticket stub is basically like a travelcard for the Tube. You literally walk up to a little validation machine, slot it in and the turnstyle lets you in automatically. This could be a great idea for AFCW – have a vending machine that will distribute tickets to get in (walk up, plonk your money in and out comes a card for the game), dotted around various places in the ground. Walk up to an un-manned turnstyle and you can get in just like that. No need for turnstyle operators, more time in the bar, what could go wrong? Well, apart from the fact that in Britain, the vending machines won’t work in the first place, it will spew out the wrong ticket and/or get vandalised, and them somebody would complain that it’s costing AFCW too much money and they should be volunteering and giving all their spare cash to the stadium fund. Oh well, nice try.

I was getting cold. Very cold. I therefore needed some hot drink (any form of alcohol would plunge my body temperature). Now, being weened on the arctic temperatures that scar the hardcore Athletics End, I could just about cope, but how the average West Bank burgher would cope I have honestly no idea. Still, one purchased tee mit rum later, and I was suitably warm. The fact that said hot beverage was utterly foul and makes even some of the stuff at KM feel drinkable is irrelevant. I found myself in the poshe bit of the Hanappi stadium. Basically, I found myself sitting next to the VIP Club of Rapid, where you get your own bar/restaurant area, reserved seat and even your own scarf, suitably tied around your wrist, natch. My seat was next to somebody from Bank Austria Creditalstat, and me expecting a slicked haired suited moron, instead I got a guy wearing a baseball cap, jeans, a fleece and smoking some foul cigarettes called Chesterfields. Well, he was hardly likely to be smoking Memphis was he?


I looked around the arena. Firstly, it’s only 20k but feels bigger. As you can see, it’s not the most modern ground but what it does have is a lot of atmosphere. Even 30 minutes before kickoff the Westtribune was pretty full and already in good voice. When the Graz players made their way out, the noise would have shamed a lot of English professional clubs. Now, unlike our own West Bank, the Westtribune faces west for a start. They also have clearly planned their songs, flag waving etc in advance (they distribute little fanzines, presumably to tell what to sing and when), which while it lacks spontinaety to a degree is still pretty impressive to listen to. And as the PA droned on, with disturbing blasts of Cliff Richard’s “Congratulations”, the darkness descended. The teams came out to one helluva racket, including about 200 or so Graz fans tucked away in the corner. As they walked out, I noticed that the sides had adverts on both the front and the back of their shorts – in other words, somebody’s company logo was being projected by the love weapons of 22 athletic young men. Again, can’t see that happening in England. With the usual reading out of the teams – none recognisable – the game commenced Now, the standard of Austria’s Bundesliga isn’t quite the same as the German equivalent. It’s OK but quite frankly both defences were shocking. Graz at least tried to make a game of it, stretching the Rapid defence a couple of times, but it was Rapid who had the first shot after 10 minutes. And that’s basically how the game itself went : neither side could defend but shooting wasn’t special either. Still, Rapid opened the scoring with a rather nice cross and header (I think), a kind of goal that wouldn’t look out of place at our level. And the place erupted…. To be fair, there was only really one team in it (Rapid). Most of the entertainment was off the pitch, in particular the Westtribune. It seems like certain songs are sung at games around the world, including their version of Yellow Submarine, which ends with “tring-a-ling-a-ling” or something. I don’t think it’s German for “Franchise going down” somehow.

Tramadol Pet Meds Online During the first half, the Westtribune waved a massive banner, which caused everyone around me to piss themselves. After asking for an explanation, it was basically slagging off the Sturm Graz president or something. Anyway, the poster read something like “Wenn der stronach mit der geld winkt drech sich der kartnig wie der wend! Di hure!“, translation obviously appreciated. Another one was raised right on a cue mentioning something about Stuttgart-Panathanikos, the Wien police and how lucky they were or something. Blimey, and we get slated for singing that opposition goalies are homosexual.. Half time came and went, with me missing about 10 minutes of the second half due to a traditional tea bar scrum (the game was live on ORF which thankfully was stopping people getting restless), I picked up a tee mit zitron and somehow drunk it. I sat back down and watched one of those games where chance after chance went begging. It was basically the sort of game where Rapid should have been about 5-3 up if they hadn’t have gone to the W2K school of shooting. It was however, no surprise whatsoever when Rapid finally made their superiority count. This sparked a rather strange interaction with the PA and crowd. Just imagine this bellowing out:

PA: Rapid

Crowd: Zwei

PA: Graz

Crowd: Null It sounded extremely well rehearsed, bit too well rehearsed for my liking. If Phillo tried that he’d give up. There also followed a mass Mexican wave, a sure sign that the game is effectively over. Worryingly, this wave went on for about 9 or 10 times around the stadium, everyone bar Graz fans (getting mercilessly booed as a result) joining in. Still, it warmed everyone up The game ended, and Rapid despatched Graz 2-0. At the end, a nice touch – the Rapid players ran over to the Westtribune and waved their arms in a worshipping type salute. And rather pleasingly, the crowd waved back. It’s pretty nice to see a big team like Rapid at least bother, in England they wouldn’t even bother smiling at you. I made my way back through the increasingly cold Wien night, and hopped onto a packed U-bahn back to downtown. Rapid obviously can cause grief at times, because a couple of coppers came onto the carriage I was in. Now, normally I don’t mention the Elderly William, but one of Wien’s genuinely friendly finest polizei was, urm, how shall I put this, the sort of fraulein who would give you offspring of good Aryan stock. And I mean that in a good way as well. She was blonde, in uniform, had a beret on, and she had a nice pair of handcuffs dangling. Won’t say where. And my thoughts were getting more illegal by the second. Fortunately (or was that unfortunately?) she got off before my stop, and I just can’t help wonder how the fuck Austria has a low crime rate. If you had those sort of officers in the Met, the arrest figures of males aged 18-40 would skyrocket. As I wandered about Karlzplatz, having witnessing two gentlemen in the pissoir testing their syringes for insulin in full view of everyone (at least, I think it was insulin), I was bought back down to earth with a bump. Why, oh why, that no matter where in the world I go, I always see somebody wearing a bloody Chelski top……..? wien3