Some Serious $H!T

Yay, Asians.

We start seeing the overlying nature of these groups, such that one of their principles is that "with numbers there are no laws." Ah, what words to live by.

And yet, despite the ultra-violence I was expecting, there has yet to be a proper hooligan, and I couldn't have phrased it better than Buford did:
"People had been loud, grotesque, disgusting, rude, uncivilized, unpleasant to look at, and in some instances, explicitly repellent - but not violent."

Never mind, here comes the violence. When beer bottles rain from the sky and strike the English fans in the head, no one does anything, except the fans themselves. No innocent bystander wants to get involved and no policeman wants to get involved.

Due to the social nature of these groups, they have, in a way, been isolated from the rest of the world in such a way that problems have to be internally solved (which isn't too hard since there is power in numbers).

In the middle of all this, again, is the narrator, who still seems to be at some sort of limbo between being an innocent journalist (hah, oxymoron) and a fervid football fan. Yes, he's in the middle of all this, but as a reader, he still seems like that-one-guy-who-happened-to-be-there. This of course, was more accentuated by his inner chanting of "I will not $H!T myself, I will not $H!T myself," when things start to get violent. There are firecrackers, eggs, and wifi routers being thrown everywhere, stuff getting lit on fire, and possible bowel activities getting warmed up right under Buford.

And still, in the middle of all this, "nobody did a thing".

Then the police. Then a goal. Then another goal. Euphoria. Disappointment. Pride. Screaming. Shove. Counter-shove.

There's just so much action, and everything seems to accelerate as the adrenaline jumps out of the book and shoves itself up my eye sockets, threatening to keep my brain cells hostage.

Wow. Soccer is some serious $H!T.