Howdy! Still with me? You are? Marvellous. Although God only knows why, you must be really rather bored by this point. Or Norwegian, no doubt blue and pining for the fjords if you’re still following along with all this old cobblers. However, today is another day, there’s yet more being a sightseeing wanker to be undertaken and of course, some lower league Nordic scuffing to be enjoyed later on. Lovely stuff. Can’t wait. Right, on with the show, we’ve a lot to cover and sadly we have to start with some cultural guff. Set the scene and all that…
Another fine pile of all you can eat continental inhaled, I grab my bits and head on out to get my tourist on again before promptly deciding it’s really quite chilly out this morning and head straight back indoors to grab my tracksuit top. Right, let’s try that again shall we? Right, tourist? Tourist. Which way to *checks notes* Frogner, anyone know? I stroll up from the Cathedral, up past the Royal gaff that has numerous beflagged limos exiting as I pass (Cuba, Thailand and South Africa included), so clearly his majesty has a few guests round for some cans and a barbie. Can’t blame him really, weather’s still pretty good out and there’s about a week of the kids summer holidays still to go. Best make the most of it and go out with a bang. Sadly though, I can’t stop to represent his Maj, assuming we’ve bothered to show up and mix with the foreigns and retain my current heading, warp factor strut, heading about 10 minutes further on to Frogner Park.
My planned destination is the biggest parkland in central Oslo and is apparently quite a nice stroll, with a couple of interesting museums also in the vicinity as well as quite the collection of sculptures. I’m in. As I approach however, my attention is diverted by floodlights. Oooh! Engage ground nerding! The Frogner Stadion is what I’ve stumbled upon and allegedly it’s home to (according to Google!) Lokomotiv Oslo, although apparently I later find out the much more venerable Lyn Oslo played here for a couple of years after having to start again from the depths after going bust a few years back. Annoyingly, they’re at home tonight in the 2nd division and would be worth a watch, but for some reason are playing it at KFUM, that I’ve obviously already just done yesterday and not their current home at Bislett. Which is a shame, as that would have been a nailed on tick. Where was I? Oh yes, ground nerding. The Frogner is about as multi purpose as you can get round here as it also doubles up as a massive ice rink in winter for all manner of icy shenanigans the lads & lasses round here like to partake of. Like Curling, and Bandy. Whatever the fuck that is.
What? The park? Oh, yes. That. Suppose we’d better get back on track. A short walk later I’m in and admiring some fine 18th century landscaping. Of course, it’s teeming with tourists, mainly coachloads of Chinese, but I manage to retain my sanity mostly by being somewhat taken aback by the amount of sculptures in stone and bronze depicting men, women and kids in various odd poses and all stark bollock naked to boot. It seems Gustav Vigeland, the lad responsible for it all, was a bit limited when it came to representing clothing on his works and simply went for birthday suit as the default option. “So Gustav, what you working on this week?”, “Ah, a fine study of a man and his young son, both joyfully reaching towards the heavens!”. “Stark bollock naked are they mate?”, “Why, how on earth did you ever guess?!”. I walk the length of the park admiring the number of ballsacks and female boobage, young and old, on display, including a large column at the end that looks like some sort of multi storey pagan orgy before I tire of the crowds and divert off down some quieter paths to the next cultural stop, the Museum of Oslo.
This is a small spot that basically tells the story of the founding of the city (used to be in a different place across the Fjord and called Christiana) and it’s many changes in appearance and culture over the years. Quite interesting and not huge. Oddly, given how busy the park is, this place is pretty quiet and I have most of the place to practically myself the whole time. Emerging out back into the gift shop, I decide I could murder a cuppa and bag myself a spot in the sun with a brew from the little cafe. Here I check in with HQ and Mrs Taz is of course delighted to hear I’m sunning it up with a cup of tea whilst she sits in grey old blighty. Look love, I offered you the trip but you said no! Anyway, must dash, got to get to the transport museum! Sadly, whilst checking if the Oslo pass works there I find it’s closed for renovations, so switch it up and head to the fortress. Here I do the Resistance museum that I’ve been dying to see since I started coming over and the Armed forces one too. All very interesting and also quite tiring. All this walking’s taking it’s toll! At this point, I call it a day at almost 4pm and head back to the digs. All the other places are closing in an hour anyway and the game I’ve chosen isn’t booting off until 8.15 tonight. Time to put the old plates up and chill before dinner.
With some rest under my belt, I head back out at half 6 with one thing on my mind. Pizza. I dip round the corner to a highly recommended joint and of course find a queue for tables out the fucking door. Normally, I’d chance my arm, but I don’t want to be rushing later, so instead walk round the corner to my plan B and get sat straight away. I also fold and order my first beer of the trip. Very nice it is too. Fed and watered, it’s another quick stroll to Jernbanetorget (where else) for some more Metro action, this time a couple of stops out to Ensjo, firmly in Valerenga’s manor and one stop down from Helsfyr for their Intility Arena home. Here sits the Jordal Stadion, home of tonight’s hosts. FK Union Carl Berner, a 6th tier side. “And who the fuck is Carl Berner?” I hear you ask? Well, I’m glad you asked actually, as he’s a former politician from the late 19th Century. Was Norway’s Minister for Education and also the leader of the Liberal Party in Norway in the early 1900’s. He’s even got a square (and its Metro stop) named after him in town and everything! And it’s this square that is thought to give the team their name as well apparently and not because they’re big on their 19th century politicians. See, we’re not just pretty faces round here. We can be edumacational too and fings! No, you fuck off.
The ground is the easiest to find so far on the trip, simply turn right out the station, down the hill a couple minutes and there it is. You come out next to the home of Valerenga’s Ice Hockey team and up above the ground, giving a nice view over the whoe setup. As I make my way down, I notice there’s already a game underway on the pitch, with what looks to be 2 youth sides duking it out whilst the adults I’m here to watch warm up in the corners. They certainly make sure these places get used I can tell you! As with a lot of the lower league stuff here, the ground is basically open and you can just walk in at any time. Down one side is a large stepped terrace with no roof and at the back a small cafe\shop mostly full of stuff of the main tenants, the American football outfit the Trolls. But Carl Berner’s boys are making themselves at home nonetheless with a PA speaker playing some music and a couple banners\flags about the place with their logo on. Can’t be easy for sides like this with no permanent home base of their own. Out on the pitch, the kids game produces 4 goals in the last 15 as the teams then assemble in the ‘tunnel’ in the middle of the stand beneath me.
They’re left waiting a good few minutes too as the ref out on the field won’t be hurried. It’s at this point I notice tonight’s ref for my game is a dead ringer for former Sutton target man Omar Bugiel. I wonder if he’s got family in Norway?? No wrist bandage though. Also, the Carls shirt is a bit of a banger especially when compared to Manglerud’s rather plan green with yellow trim Norwich knock off. Finally the whistle goes for the kids match and as they do the usual sporting handshakes etc with their oppo, the PA fires up for some walkout music and then promptly fails after 10 seconds much to everyone’s amusement. As the kids slowly vacate the pitch, the teams line up and do the old ‘respect’ business and get ready for the off. Then we have to wait several minutes before the ref is happy enough to start, I guess he wants all the kids off the actual pitch apron before he’s happy to kick off? Dunno, either way, we get started at 22 past the hour. That’d be a fine back home for a late KO and no mistake. With the game finally started, the hosts set their stall out right from the off and barely a minute in, a ball down the line sends a lad into some space and he’s poleaxed just inside the box. Omar the ref has a big think, bottles it and instead gives a free kick inches outside. Even with the confusing pitch markings thanks to the American football layout you’d need to have been blind to miss that one! The free kick is driven in and the keeper makes a solid save at his near post.
To my right on the other side of the tunnel area, 2-3 older lads have set up shop in colours and also turned around one of the kids goals on the touchline to hang a Union Carl Berner flag from. Clearly this is the home support and they’re here to back their team. Fair play fellas. They’re excited shortly after when Union flash one just wide after a cross from our side picks out a lad back stick and his rasping volley crashes into the side netting. This must really get their juices flowing as one of the supporters disappears into the cafe at the back of the stand and a minute later reappears with a flag on a stick and a megaphone. Fucking laaaaaaads! I chuckle and wonder who’d come out on top if the Carl’s firm ran into the tasty Oppsal mob I’d seen yesterday. Tough one that, obviously these are older but the kids will be loaded up on Fanta and god knows what else. Could be a close run thing you know. With 20 gone, the decision to get the megaphone is validated for the Carls mob when a free kick from wide is swung in, it gets a deft touch off the head of an attacker right in front of the keeper and it’s nutted into the empty net behind. 1-0 and it’s all sirens from the Ultras.
It’s been coming to be fair. Union have been miles better than Manglerud all over the park with the oppo barely getting into Union’s final third. With the deadlock broken I wonder if that might open the floodgates and…..oh, it’s 2-0. Barely more than 90 seconds after the first, a shot from range is spilled by the keeper, a Union player is first to it and his scuffed shot goal wards just crosses the line before a defender can rescue the situation. Linos flag is up. Goal. More “Ole ole ole” from the home fans and we’re well underway. With the sun dipping behind the buildings on the far side I start to feel the chill in the air and pop on my tracksuit top. Suddenly wearing shorts to this one was a bad idea, stupid ol’ Taz. You’ll get pneumonia at your age you silly old bastard. On the field, my floodgates prediction plays out as the hosts make it 3-0 with their third in about 5 minutes. Cross in from the far side, defender heads weakly away and a lad sat on 18yards takes a touch and pings it into the bottom corner with the keeper rooted. It’s gonna be a long night for the Manglerud boys it seems. From here, it probably should be a rout but Union start to get a little cocky and stop doing the basics. Too many passes when they should be more incisive and for 10 minutes the visitors cling on. But with 10 left in the half, stick a fork in ’em, they’re done. Another cross from the far side, sees the keeps and a couple players challenging in the air for it. No one gets a decisive touch and it drops far post to an unmarked white shirt. Touch and lashed high into the lok pose. 4-0. Manglerud are getting mangled.
At this point, I’m expecting at least 7 or 8 tonight. Manglerud are poor and Union are just so much better than them. Still, there’s no further damage done before the break although that’s simply because Union want to fuck about with the ball rather than hurt the oppo. The visitors get a rare free kick in oppo final third and a chance to stick it in the box. Predictably the delivery is shite, it comes back to the taker who promptly treads on the ball and the hosts are away at pace with a ridiculous 5 on 2 break. But as before, there’s always one more pass to be made and a third defender gets back to make a super tackle as a Union player finally decides it’s probably time to shoot and stick it in the net again. And that’s all she wrote at the break. The home side firmly in control and Manglerud have, well, been well and truly Mangled. I decide to get up and move about a bit as the temperature has dropped a fair bit more and I need to get the blood flowing. So I move down the far end of the steps to get a good view of the other goal as I expect it’ll see a fair bit of use in the next 45.
After the shortest half time ever, although I’m not complaining as it’s properly nippy out here now, the teams are back out and we’re underway once more. The second half is much like the latter stages of the first, with Union playing far too much football instead of sticking the ball into areas they can do damage and the visitors have clearly had a “Show some fucking pride” chat at the break and whilst they’ve not got technically better, they’re a little sharper closing down, in tackles etc making it harder for the home team. That doesn’t mean Carls don’t make chances, they do, but again there’s always a pass more to be made and the best they can manage is a driving run in from wide that ends with an effort off the outside of the near post. With time pressing on, me starting to feel the cold a bit, I move round to the other side of the pitch to get a better view of the stand and a different view on things as well as to put me a few yards closer to the Metro stop. “Bet the cunts score as soon as I move” I mutter as I get my chilled bones back working. Of course, as soon as I get to the far corner flag, my Nostradamus-esque predictions bear fruit once more as the clock hits 90. The ball’s worked stand side, played across and finds a home attacker in space about 12 yards out and he makes no mistake with a shot back across the keeps and into the bottom corner. 5-0. Then with time almost up a pass is threaded through the middle, a Union player is clear and is wiped out in the box. Even Omar the ref can’t ignore this one. Penalty.
Keeper has no chance and the forward rattles in the spot kick to make it 6. There’s just time enough to restart and the ref blows for time. Right, I’m fucking freezing, I’m off! As I wind my way back up to street level, the home team comes together to do that celebratory “yes yes yes” thing that we’ve started doing at Sutton lately with their hardy fans which is quite sweet. Clearly they’re a tight knit little club. And as I lightly jog back to the station, I can still hear the boys banging away on the megaphone celebrating their win. Fair play. Thankfully my decision to get athletic pays off as I walk onto the platform as the train pulls in saving me a good 15 minute wait. Lovely stuff. As it’s only 2 stops I’m back central in no time and head to 7-11 on the way back to my digs to get a drink and a snack. When I emerge, there’s a Karaoke bar over the road where someone’s murdering a song I’m familiar with but for the life of me can’t recall the name of. Probably for the best really I think. Right, bed time. Got a relaxed one tomorrow as I have to do lunch with colleagues. And hopefully if there’s any gas left in the tank after all that, maybe one more game.
Maybe.
Taz
ADDENDUM: Amusingly, upon meeting my guys for that farewell lunch the following day, the one lad who’s into his football was keen to know what sort of stuff I’d been to watch so far and what I thought of his nation’s footballing standards. KFUM are ‘his’ club as he has coaching badges through them at Youth level, so he knew about me attending that one as he was half hoping to get along to it himself before life interfered. Then I told him about Oppsal and finally about the game you’ve just read about above…
“Saw this one last night at the ground by Valerenga’s Ice Hockey stadium, oh what was it called? Had American Football Markings on it….”. At this point, cursing my shitty memory, I reach for my phone to check the entry on Futbology so I can get the ground name. “Wait? Did you go to watch the game with Union Carl Berner?”. “Yes mate. That’s the one!”. “Are you joking?”. “Erm, no mate. Why would I joke about watching 5th tier football, I watch it every week!!”. He chuckles. “I played”.
“Wait, WHAT? In the game??”. My mind races. He’s early 20’s so he wouldn’t have been in the kids game beforehand. And he played, so wasn’t officiating, so…. “Yes, I play for Manglerud Star”. Holy. Fucking. Shit! No, surely not. Surely he’s the one on the wind up and this is some Norwegian cunt’s joke that English cunts don’t get? “Were you a sub?? You definitely didn’t start as I was right by the tunnel beforehand and never saw you! I might wear glasses, but my eyes ain’t that bad!!”. “Yes, I played the last 30 minutes or so. I’ve been injured and not training much lately so I’m not starting”.
I’m pissing myself by this point. “You lucky lucky bastard. If I’d spotted you, you’d have fucking known all about it!”. Turns out he’d played midfield wearing the number 8 shirt and on a review of my crap Samsung pictures of the second half, I see a lad that could be him in a couple of shots, but as I was taking pics from the far end of the ground by that point, the definition isn’t anywhere near enough to be sure. Although on review of the late pen, there he is, hands on hips as it’s slotted, turning away in disgust. What a missed opportunity. The Carls Ultras would have been proper bemused by some dick from South London randomly abusing one of the away team’s subs coming on at 4-0 down. “Oi!! Martinsen! Fucking get that first touch going sunshine, their lad’s got you on fucking toast!”.
Man, sometimes I just love the absurdity of the world. Ok, I know Oslo’s not the biggest city in the world, but still. The odds of me randomly choosing a 5th tier game involving one of my employees must be pretty tall. Especially given I’m having lunch with him the following day. With my mind returning to the somewhat lopsided score line his side were on the wrong end of, I try to put some positive spin on his evening’s efforts. “Oh well, at least you only let in 2 in your half!” I chuckle.
“So, anyway, how’s the ramen going down…..?”.