Lisbon ’04 #2: Superbock
June 28th, 2004
A place in the stag mythology for the magnificent brew that is Superbock was
sealed the moment we heard the Superbock song. There were dodgy chants
aplenty to be heard in the run up to England v. Croatia (not least the
dreadful "nine German bombers"). But following our victory
someone a little up the road from us in the bar filled Biarro Alto district
immortalised England’s star performer with the following apalling effort:
He scores with his feet
He scores with his cock
Wa-ayne Rooney
drinks Superbock
Terrible for so many reasons, the song nethertheless burned it’s way
into the stag’s psyche. Superbock was preferred to Sagres wherever possible;
Rooney’s early exit was put down to an insufficient quantity of pre-match
Superbock; I wondered if just Bock was available.
We weren’t the only ones, either. At France v Greece I was startled
to hear a chorus of "Superbock superbock, superbock…" to
the tune of "Here we go, here we go, here we go…".
All hail Superbock. Get them down you Wayne.