An old school friend of mine attended his first match with a bunch of us regulars, around '83 '84. It was a warm late summer Saturday, and as young men/older boys do (and it carries on in to adulthood) we had been discussing the merits of breaking wind in large crowds. we had reached the conclusion that, for whatever reason, 'air biscuits' seemed to float, un-naturally, at nose level for some considerable time in the Kop.
Armed with this knowledge, whilst changing busses at Rotherham, our novice bought a pack of 'Cool Mints' stating that they "Dun't alf mek yer faaart". He proceeded to consume the full packet of confection despite our warnings, and the warning on the packaging which said "contains Sorbitol, excessive consumption may cause a laxative effect".
You can see where this is going can't you...
During a lull in play, shortly before half-time as people were starting to make their way up the gangway for the toilets/refreshments, our novice yelled at the top of his voice "CLIFFY, CLIFFY, QUICK PULL MY FINGER!". Cliffy duly obliged, and as he did so the face of our hero altered in an instant from one of jotous anticipation to one of unadulterated dread and realisation. We, of course interpretted this expression immediately and just as quickly announced to the surrounding crowd, at the top of our voices, our associate's distress.
This was, as I'm sure many will remember, the era of bleached denim, and our friend's clothing was no different. As he made his way up the gangway, amongst the half time crowd, he proudly displayed a map of South America on the back of his jeans to compound his misery.
Heaven knows how he got home that day, he certainly didn't have money to buy new jeans, and I doubt bus/train staff would have allowed him aboard in the state he was in. We certainly didn't see him for some considerable time afterwards and only briefly, we then left school and lost touch so I guess I'll never know. But one of the best laughs I've ever had at a match, childish I know, but very funny.