Operation Porno by Wayne Kerr
By Wayne Kerr
Friday 20 Jun 2008 17:31:00
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Operation Porno by Wayne Kerr

 sheridan_whiteside’s “when you were a lad.....” thread on the message board about football magazines you read as a youngster certainly brought back a few memories, particularly when it went off on a porno magazine tangent.

Back in December 1983, when I was 13, my friend ‘Tony’ invited me round to his house one Saturday to play on his BBC B computer. The delights of Chuckie Egg, Frag, The Hobbit and Elite held no interest for me though; something much better was on the agenda. Tony had parents who looked much older than most of my school friend’s folks, and his father was pretty ‘old school’ when it came to discipline. Tony would get it much worse than the rest of us if our gang ever got caught for doing naughty stuff. His dad seemed pretty miserable to me but his one redeeming feature was his tremendous porn stash. Tony had shown some of us a few copies of Parade and Fiesta which he kept under his mattress. When asked where they came from he said his dad had hundreds of them in a laundry basket. Said basket was in his parents’ bedroom. Tony would sometimes offer mags for sale but I wasn’t inclined to pay so hatched a plan to liberate one during my visit.

City were at home that day and defeat seemed inevitable so I gave Highfield Road a miss and embarked on ‘Operation Porno’. The plan was simple: wear baggy tracksuit bottoms and football socks; go to Tony’s and play on the computer; at some point ask if I can use the toilet; while upstairs tiptoe into his parent’s room and quickly grab a mag from the laundry basket; go into bathroom and slip the mag down one of my socks; flush the toilet and go back downstairs; pray nudey mag does not fall out of sock onto living room floor in front of everyone; kill some time and go home.

Suffice to say it all went off without a hitch. I sat with Tony playing on the computer and made my exit around quarter past four. On the long walk home, with no one around, I took the stolen booty out to have a quick look at it. Oh yes!!! It was called ‘Whitehouse’ [ named after the infamous anti-smut campaigner Mary Whitehouse ] and had a naked Asian lady on the cover. Inside was even better and guaranteed a boner for the rest of the journey home.

Just before I got to my house I checked my sock to make sure it was secure and wouldn’t make an embarrassing appearance should I encounter my mum when I went in. All thoughts were on getting to my bedroom a.s.a.p. for a good tug.

I slipped the key into the lock. On hearing the door open my mum rushed to greet me.
“Isn’t it fantastic! I can’t believe it!”
She was ecstatic. Over the moon. I had no idea what she was banging on about.
“Yes.” I replied with a forced smile hoping my erection wasn’t visible.
“It was brilliant at 3-0 and then when it went to 4-0 I almost feinted!”
Then it dawned on me what she was talking about.
“Gibbo got a hat trick! It’s Liverpool’s heaviest defeat for years! I bet you wish you’d gone now?!”
“Yeah! Fancy stuffing Liverpool like that!” I replied keeping up the forced smile.

I eventually made it upstairs for a good tug. That issue of Whitehouse gave a few years of good service on the tugging front but was all the effort worth it? I’d missed out on one of Coventry City’s greatest ever wins. Liverpool were the European Cup holders and pretty much invincible back then. Coventry hammering them 4-0 was simply astonishing. My older brother arrived home a bit later from the match with a sore throat and even happier than my mum.
"Bet you wish you'd gone!" said he in a hoarse voice.

So I watched the game on MOTD that night wishing I’d been there. At least it gave my wrist a break. On ITV at the same time a much hyped American made-for-TV movie called “The Day After” about the effects of a nuclear holocaust was showing. Record viewing figures were predicted for it but I like to think all sensible people watched the Reds getting mauled by Bobby Gould’s rapidly assembled team of veterans, cast-offs, players bought from the lower divisions and in Stuart Pearce’s case, non-league.

I missed the next mauling of Liverpool as well but this time it wasn’t tug-related. I lived in Belfast at the time and it was very satisfying taunting the vast number of Liverpool fans who live in that part of the world.

Happy tugging.

©2008 The West Terrace

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