Day one of our holiday.
We had just got off the plane, collected our luggage, made sure we had data roaming turned off to avoid bankruptcy on our return. Then it was off to look for the rep who we had been assured would be there.
One clipboard later, the rep guided us to the taxi that was going to take us to our hotel.
Out popped a cheery cabbie who was immediately determined to show off his pigeon English.
His first question was fairly predictable:
“Mr Carter! You are from England, yes?”
I muttered my agreement that this indeed was true. His second question was more of a surprise …
“Which football team do you support?”
From the back of the car I heard the sound of my wife groaning to herself. The groan that told me the week and a half between football seasons was not a time she wanted to hear about the Palace.
She still reminds me of the time I screamed at the top of my voice beside a quiet but busy swimming pool, when a little boy told me Palace had signed Lombardo, and I looked up to see the Dad nodding in conformation.
Understandable behaviour I thought. Unacceptable I am often reminded.
Back in the taxi I answered anyway. “Crystal Palace” came the reply.
Now I have had similar discussions overseas before and a mention of Palace can kill the conversation stone dead.
Not this time though!
“Yes, I know Crystal Palace!”
Yeah right! Course you do I thought to myself …
“They were tenth in the Premier League.”
Blimey! Good knowledge.
“And they have Cabaye! Very good player”
This was a day or two after the signing but even so this guy knew his stuff. The groans from the back of the car grew louder.
“Twelve million euros” he continued.
I nodded and said I couldn’t wait to see him in action.
“He likes the manager, yes?”
Looks like it, I agreed.
There was a few minutes pause and we rattled along a dual carriageway then suddenly he announced.
“Selhurst Park – good ground. Very loud fans”
He was working on enhancing his already generous tip now, but doing a good job of it.
“And the fans own the club?”
I was happy to clarify here. I told him a bit about the four owners taking over the club five years ago after the club had gone bust.
But here was the surprising thing. He was not so interested in the past. He did not want to know how many times we had gone bust, or how many times we had been relegated.
As much as I wanted to I did not mention the Don Rogers game when we beat United 5-0 (and due to many many years of repetition my wife can mouth the words “and then he waits for Alex Stepney to commit himself, sidesteps him and walks the ball in”) but I suspect I would have lost him.
He only wanted to look forward.
“You have a good manager now. Maybe Europa League next season”
He may have realised that I only had changed a few quid at the airport and it was already his anyway, so by this point I think he may have genuinely seen Palace as a good side, with the potential for a better future.
It may be unwise to extrapolate too wildly on the basis of one over-enthusiastic, heavily tipped cab driver, but it is great if that is now the view of football fans around the world, when they think about Palace.
It would have been great to have him on my cab trip back to the airport two weeks later. He would have known about Patrick Bamford.
Limited wifi and a couple of over-enthusiastic late nights at the end of my holiday meant I returned home entirely in ignorance of another exciting signing.
“What do you mean you never heard of Bamford?” exclaimed one of Gatwick’s finest just after touchdown.
I politely tried to explain that I knew he had done well on loan for the last couple of years, but my new driver was not having it.
He turned to my wife, shaking his head.
“Couple of decent seasons and everyone says they are a Palace fan.”
She laughed in appreciation.
I was back in my default grumpy mode.
I did tip the cabbie … in the same currency as I gave my friend from a fortnight earlier. Not much call for rupees in Crawley I hope.
