The perils of the Pilsen train stop
For a few months from late July until the nights draw in from September and force me to change my weekend timetable, I look out of the window with some suspicion when my Prague-bound train pulls up at Pilsen on Sunday evenings. The cause of my fear can usually be heard before it appears: returning football supporters after an away game in the West Bohemian city.
A few months ago I was unfortunate enough to coincide with an ugly looking contingent from Sparta Prague. Luckily they headed for the carriages at the back. More recently, I ran into a less formidable, but nonetheless rowdy, group from Sigma Olomouc. They headed for the back of the train as well and unfortunately that was where I was as well. The first day of the season had caught me unawares.
They were heralded by chants and the sound of their beer bottles clattering together. Three out of the dozen or so sat down next to me, two older, well in their mid-twenties, and one apparent apprentice. They were in a good mood. Their team had drawn 2:2 and this was interpreted as a good result following a poor previous run of games against Pilsen, one told me.
I thought about moving, but decided to stay put and see what the experience would bring. Meantime, I buried myself in my book, a biography of the first Czechoslovak Republic’s most influential banker.
Luckily, my neighbour was transfixed by the attractive blonde sitting not far away. “I am going to get a heart attack,” he explained between bottles of beer. Unfortunately perhaps for him, she seemed to have been targeted by another of the fans. Disappointed, he asked to see the cover of the book I was reading, was almost sick, and gave it back in a hurry.
Afterward things got even worse. The same day I heard an item on the BBC news that English scientists had found that feeding coriander and other herbs to sheep and cattle reduced their methane output, an important contributor to climate change.
Put it this way, this Olomouc fan had not been eating coriander or any other herbs and did not seem too worried about his affect on the climate, considerable as it was as the train edged to Prague. Even his companions asked what he had been eating.
Whether he was overcome by the beer or by his own emissions, I cannot tell. But around three quarters of an hour into the journey my neighbour fell into a sound slumber. He did not even stir when his mobile phone started agitating in his top pocket.
After the third ring, his friend, the one who had already suffered a kick in the crotch, tugged the phone from his shirt looked at the message and slapped him in the face a few times. “Your mother called,” he roared, encouraging his to call back. At this stage I decided I had seen, heard and suffered enough. Whether he called his mother back or whether they made to onward connection back to Olomouc I cannot say. But I do follow the results of Sigma Olomouc with a bit more interest now.
