Anthony Finds Out What A Knacker Is, So Does His Face. A Valentine's Story.

I could attempt to say something about the hallow and commercial nature of Valentine’s Day, but frankly, it’s all been said and probably better than I could do. What I can tell you about, is one of the most memorable Valentine’s Days I’ve ever had, and lemme tell you, it’s probably a metaphor for something.

Wednesday, February 13th: I had the worst date of my life. My game was on point and then I made a fool of myself, as per usual. Fuck.

Thursday February 14th 6:00 P.M. I finish with 6 hours of class, head to the nearest grocery store and purchase a loaf of bread, a bottle of ginger ale, and the cheapest bottle of whiskey they have.

6:20 P.M. I return home, produce my study ma
terials for my exam the following morning, make a veggie burger, make a whiskey and ginger ale, and start to study.

7:00 P.M. I make another tall whiskey and ginger ale.

7:30 P.M I make my next whiskey and ginger ale.

7:40 P.M. I can list all the major types of pottery imported into Ireland in the 12th-14th centuries, details about their production, and most of their dates.

7:45 P.M. My roommate Brendan and two of his friends visiting from London begin to play beer pong with Murphy’s Irish Stout.

8:00 P.M. My roommate Charlie’s father, John (who was also visiting), starts to play beer pong as well.

8:15 P.M. I start to play beer pong.

9:00 P.M. The ginger ale is mostly gone, so I make a small glass. About 1/3 of the 700 ml bottle remains. This is in addition to the beers accumulated through beer pong.

10:05 P.M. I leave to go to the library. On the way I meet Charlie returning from class. I tell Charlie that his dad is playing beer pong, get excited, and walk back with Charlie to our apartment.

10:45 P.M. We leave to go to a pub (unfortunately, Mr. Sipes does not follow).

11:00 P.M. I order a pint.

11:05 P.M.-12:30 A.M. I have a very vague notion of what happens at the pub until I leave.

12:30 A.M. I leave the pub and acquire a cigarette from someone on my way out.

12:38 A.M. I’m half way home or so.

12:38 A.M. Having not yet lit my smoke, I approach a group of five guys and ask for a light.

12:38 A.M. The group of men encircle me. If they were snapping, it would have been West Side Fooking Story. They are all dressed in the same sort of white track suits, buzzed hair with stupid lines buzzed into the sides. Gold chains. Gold earrings.

12:39 A.M. They start talking shit.
12:39 A.M. Confused, I say something like “hey, all I want is a light.”
12:40 A.M. One of them slaps me in the ass, the others laugh.
12:40 A.M. Having had enough, I decide I am not going to let some busted-ass, low rent, soccer hooligan, fuck wit, who dresses like a Florida retiree, fucking boyo, step to me. I throw my dukes up.
12:41 A.M. Busted-ass, low rent, soccer hooligan, fuck wit, who dresses like a Florida retiree, fucking boyo punches me in the face.
12:41 A.M. Shit talking continues.
12:41 A.M. I say something to the effect of “there’s five of you, how about I call my buddy Eidan, he’s Garda*, we’ll get sorted. But he won’t arrest you he’ll just help me kick your ass.
12:42 A.M. My assailants in matching attire back off and say “we’re cool…we’re cool.”
12:42 A.M. I say something like “then why you hit me you fucking bitches,” as they walk away.
12:43 A.M. I start to walk home again.

12:50 A.M. I tell my roommates the story. I never smoked the cigarette.

Prologue: The next day I told several Irish people (I went on a mountaineering club trip after my test, which went rather well) my story. The general consensus was, you never talk to dudes dressed like that, especially late at night when they are in a pack. Some people asked things like “what were you doing on the North side?**” I was informed that the sorts of people that confronted me are generally referred to as Knackers. A knacker is a busted-ass, low rent, soccer hooligan, fuck wit, who dresses like a Florida retiree, fucking boyo. They wear white track suits, buzzed hair with stupid lines buzzed into the sides. Gold chains. Gold earrings. They often carry knives, and go out looking to start fights. Some may be from the travelling community (think the Pikies in Snatch), but most are local fucks trying to act tough. I told Eidan the story last night, and he informed me of two things. If I have called him, he would have been there in 5 min, with a truncheon. Secondly if they were actually from the travelling community, they most definitely would have tossed my ever-living shit.
Next Valentine’s day, I think I’ll go back to my customary getting drunk and drawing pictures. That way, my face won’t be still tenderized four days later. Oh, and I think the ass-jackets stole my Eels hat.


*Garda are the Irish police force. I’ll cover more eventually in the forthcoming people, places, things, glossary, but Eidan is one of the few Irish people I hang out with consistently.
** The North Side is the rougher portion of Cork. I was not in fact on the North Side, but in a much safer stretch I walk every single day. I just had a bit of bad luck and no intimate knowledge of the shittyness of knackers.