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.