Haukur Gudnason
::President Scouser::
Thrilling read from an offal poster called bobwright ....around December 2003
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"Hello again, it has been nearly 10 months since I last came on here and I’m glad to see the site is still around and looks just as good as my last visit.
My work has taken me to the four corners of the earth, and for the last year I have been working in Slovenia. A lovely country, and somewhere that I may spend the rest of my life after having met the woman of my dreams. I have just recently arrived back in Liverpool in the hope of sorting out some paperwork that will enable my future wife to stay in this country, if this fails then I am straight back over there.
Where I live, the internet is non-existent. I have to rely on family and friends sending me papers, programmes etc. But as I arrived this week I was surprised to read about yet another injury – Salif Diao.
The story I am about to tell you is the truth, I needed to tell you a bit about myself in order for you to get the whole picture, and I know it is very long, but please have patience.
My girlfriend’s cousin plays for Olimpija Ljubljana, he has only just broken through to the first team at the start of this season, and he is a mad Liverpool fan. Once I had met him for the first time, as far as he was concerned I had become family. He spoke broken English the same as my girlfriend, but his friend spoke English a lot better and was soon ‘employed’ as our interpreter.
I managed to catch the game in Ljubljana but due to illness of my employer I was unable to make the game at Anfield, which was a great shame as it would have given me the chance to show my girlfriend’s cousin that we can be just as hospitable as they can.
He was so looking forward to playing at Anfield, he talked about nothing else, how he was going to score a goal in the Kop, this was to be the greatest day of life so far. However nothing could be further from the truth, when he arrived home he became depressed, withdrawn and showed no interest in the Liverpool memorabilia that was sent to me. The family was really concerned and it was only by chance that we finally got down to what was wrong.
A few weeks later there was a family party and during the night I heard her cousin and his mate having an argument. When I went upstairs the voices became louder and it was obvious that something was upsetting them. As I approached the bedroom, I couldn’t understand what they were saying but his friend noticed me first then for some unexplained reason at the time he shouted in English, “Then you must tell Bobby”. I walked in at that precise moment to see her cousin in tears and in a terrible state. It was a while later he told me his story through his friend and this is what I am relaying to you all on here.
When he approached Anfield on the team bus, everyone was so excited, waving to the crowd, the anticipation of playing on one of the most famous grounds in the world was intense. Then he saw something that made him freeze with fear. As the coach pulled into the car park, he glanced at the gate and in a split second he saw what he described as a ‘sign’. This sign he had only seen once before in his life when his late father showed him a piece of paper before he passed away. As the players got off the coach, her cousin stayed stuck to his seat through fear. Only the intervention of other players and the trainer managed to get him off the coach, but they were visible shaken by his state. As he was walking down to the front of the coach, he looked to the ground on his left, and in the shadows he saw a dark figure, the dark figure was holding one finger in the air and was rocking it from side to side as if to gesture a telling off or to stop. The movement of the hand was exactly the same as his late father and grandfather used to do when warning him. He eyes were so fixed on this figure, he missed a step on the coach and tumbled forward, when he regained his balance the figure had gone. This, along with the sign convinced him that he should not play on the ground he wanted to so much. He was also convinced that the figure was of his late father warning him of danger ahead.
He never played that night, and since his return to Slovenia he has never been the same.
The ‘sign’ he mentioned is a sign of a ‘terrible curse’. It was used widely in parts of Slovenia before independence and was used by gypsies for revenge. I found all this out on a later trip.
I spoke to my girlfriend about this and it was decided that we should go into the country to visit an elderly relative, he was supposed to 95 years old. He was the brother of her cousin’s grandfather. His grandfather was a footballer himself, but his career was cut short through injury. His grandmother had died when his father was in his early teens, and he was brought up by various family members as his father could not afford to stay at home. He played for a team in the lower divisions and had several lady friends after his wife died. His wife’s sister did not approve of this, and placed a curse on the ground. Two games later his career ended prematurely after he broke his ankle. By placing this curse on the ground, she had to draw four ‘signs’ at each corner of the ground to entrap the curse. This was the same ‘sign’ that her cousin had seen outside Anfield that night.
We delved a little deeper through asking family members and reading papers in the library, but could only come across instances like this were gypsies used the curse on homes of people they disliked or wanted revenge on. We could only find another instance were it had been used on a football ground. In the early 30’s a team refused to play another after one player said that he had seen a ‘sign’ on the wall outside. The referee insisted that the game should go ahead as there was a very angry crowd waiting to see a game. Within the first five minutes the goalkeeper fell awkwardly and twisted his ankle, in the second another player broke his leg after a tackle. The team scared witless walked off the pitch and the referee faced the angry crowd. He was chased out of the ground, fell over and smashed his knee on the road outside.
My girlfriend and her cousin were adamant that questions would be answered on a visit to their grandfather’s brother.
A few days later the four of us set off. Now I was very sceptical of all this despite assurances off my girlfriend that everything I was told was true. However, after meeting this old man my feelings changed dramatically.
It took an hour to reach his house, an old stone building on the outskirts of a forest. What was unusual about this house was that it was part wood and was different to those around it. On reaching the house I was instructed to wait outside whilst the others went in. I waited outside for what seemed ages when the door opened and this old man slowly walked towards me with the help of two sticks. Now I am nearly six foot tall, 16 stone and like to keep fit, this old man was just over 4 foot and frail. He looked every inch the 95 years old I was told beforehand. When he reached me he gestured for me to approach him. He stood at the top of these steep steps that led to his front door, when our faces were level with each other, he placed both hands on my shoulders, leant forward so our noses practically touched. He then placed both his hands on the sides of my head covering my ears, his grip defied his years. He then stared into my eyes, his eyes shifting from side to side as if looking for something. The mans eyes were not of a 95 year old, they were bright and clear and uneasy. For some reason I couldn’t move, in a flash he jerked back and spat in my face and pushed me away. I fell backwards down the remaining steps and landed flat on my back. I did not have a clue what was going on, the old man continued to stare at me, I just sat there on ground, and for some reason I didn’t even wipe away his spit from my face. I was confused and frightened. How could an old man push me to the ground?
He then roared with laughter and called my girlfriend, her cousin and his friend from the house and I got off the ground. I had passed a test ! The old man then reached out to shake my hand, gone had his vice like grip, and his eyes were glazed and fuzzy and not bright and clear as they were minutes before.
As the other three had been to his house before, he had already ‘performed’ the test on them. He needed to gaze into my eyes to search for demons, he needed to cover my ears to stop the demons from escaping ! He spat in my face to see if was a threat to him, if I had of wiped his spit away immediately that would have signalled to him that I was not a friend.
As we sat down for something to eat I was told tales that made my hair stand on end and my girlfriends cousin told the old man of his visit to Anfield. The old man did not flinch, it was as if he knew everything.
He went missing for a few minutes and returned with a locked black box, about the size of video case. He opened it up and unravelled a piece of paper. On that piece of paper was the ‘sign’ that her cousin has seen outside Anfield that night. The best way I could describe it was that it reminded me of the pirate’s scull and crossbones.
He went onto explain that gypsies used this sign as part of a curse for revenge. They would draw this sign on the four corners outside a house to ensure the curse kept within those boundaries, and anyone inside could be a victim. He said it was unusual to find such a sign on a sporting venue, but he never dismissed it. He also agreed with her cousin that the shadowy figure waving his finger would have been his father or grandfather warning him of danger. He asked if players had been injured at Liverpool lately, especially leg injuries as this kind of curse would only attack the legs ! When I read out the names of the players and their respective injuries, everything just fell into place.
We stayed overnight, but I never slept. It was a very nerve racking experience, especially for a non-believer in curses etc, but this old man convinced me that there is something out there that I did not understand.
Now for the good news. There is a cure to this curse, or rather two cures. The first cure is to get a ‘higher’ ranking gypsy to spit on each of the four signs, spitting on the most Northerly one first, then going around spitting on the others in turn in a clockwise direction. But with this we have a problem, the ‘higher’ ranking gypsy must share – as he put it, the same blood. Both gypsies must be related, and as we don’t have a clue who put the curse on Anfield, it is impossible to take away the curse this way unless someone owns up.
The second cure is to form a human ring around the building for 15 minutes. Everyone must face ******ds apart from the people closest to these signs, those are the most important part of this ring. The ring must remain unbroken for 15 minutes and the four people closest to the signs must face inwards and stare at the sign and force the curse to leave by means of thought. There is no chanting or anything, no dancing, just an unbroken human ring around the building.
Well that’s my story finished. I did not believe in curses or such until I met this old man and witnessed the dramatic change in my girlfriend’s cousin. And I have no doubt that many of you will dismiss my story. But it is true, and I cannot remember Liverpool having such a long injury list – all with leg related injuries as the curse said. Can anyone living around Anfield have a look for these signs ? They are similar to the scull and crossbones flag of the pirates.
I do not know who or why they were put there, but if Anfield is cursed the injuries will not stop and it will be upto the fans to form a human ring to get rid of the curse, that is if you believe in such things.
I have to go now to try and get papers signed so my girlfriend can stay in England, I will not be around today but I promise I will check this story before I return to Slovenia and answer any questions.
I did not believe at first, but I have witnessed things lately that have made me change my mind, please do not dismiss this theory without proper thought."
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"Hello again, it has been nearly 10 months since I last came on here and I’m glad to see the site is still around and looks just as good as my last visit.
My work has taken me to the four corners of the earth, and for the last year I have been working in Slovenia. A lovely country, and somewhere that I may spend the rest of my life after having met the woman of my dreams. I have just recently arrived back in Liverpool in the hope of sorting out some paperwork that will enable my future wife to stay in this country, if this fails then I am straight back over there.
Where I live, the internet is non-existent. I have to rely on family and friends sending me papers, programmes etc. But as I arrived this week I was surprised to read about yet another injury – Salif Diao.
The story I am about to tell you is the truth, I needed to tell you a bit about myself in order for you to get the whole picture, and I know it is very long, but please have patience.
My girlfriend’s cousin plays for Olimpija Ljubljana, he has only just broken through to the first team at the start of this season, and he is a mad Liverpool fan. Once I had met him for the first time, as far as he was concerned I had become family. He spoke broken English the same as my girlfriend, but his friend spoke English a lot better and was soon ‘employed’ as our interpreter.
I managed to catch the game in Ljubljana but due to illness of my employer I was unable to make the game at Anfield, which was a great shame as it would have given me the chance to show my girlfriend’s cousin that we can be just as hospitable as they can.
He was so looking forward to playing at Anfield, he talked about nothing else, how he was going to score a goal in the Kop, this was to be the greatest day of life so far. However nothing could be further from the truth, when he arrived home he became depressed, withdrawn and showed no interest in the Liverpool memorabilia that was sent to me. The family was really concerned and it was only by chance that we finally got down to what was wrong.
A few weeks later there was a family party and during the night I heard her cousin and his mate having an argument. When I went upstairs the voices became louder and it was obvious that something was upsetting them. As I approached the bedroom, I couldn’t understand what they were saying but his friend noticed me first then for some unexplained reason at the time he shouted in English, “Then you must tell Bobby”. I walked in at that precise moment to see her cousin in tears and in a terrible state. It was a while later he told me his story through his friend and this is what I am relaying to you all on here.
When he approached Anfield on the team bus, everyone was so excited, waving to the crowd, the anticipation of playing on one of the most famous grounds in the world was intense. Then he saw something that made him freeze with fear. As the coach pulled into the car park, he glanced at the gate and in a split second he saw what he described as a ‘sign’. This sign he had only seen once before in his life when his late father showed him a piece of paper before he passed away. As the players got off the coach, her cousin stayed stuck to his seat through fear. Only the intervention of other players and the trainer managed to get him off the coach, but they were visible shaken by his state. As he was walking down to the front of the coach, he looked to the ground on his left, and in the shadows he saw a dark figure, the dark figure was holding one finger in the air and was rocking it from side to side as if to gesture a telling off or to stop. The movement of the hand was exactly the same as his late father and grandfather used to do when warning him. He eyes were so fixed on this figure, he missed a step on the coach and tumbled forward, when he regained his balance the figure had gone. This, along with the sign convinced him that he should not play on the ground he wanted to so much. He was also convinced that the figure was of his late father warning him of danger ahead.
He never played that night, and since his return to Slovenia he has never been the same.
The ‘sign’ he mentioned is a sign of a ‘terrible curse’. It was used widely in parts of Slovenia before independence and was used by gypsies for revenge. I found all this out on a later trip.
I spoke to my girlfriend about this and it was decided that we should go into the country to visit an elderly relative, he was supposed to 95 years old. He was the brother of her cousin’s grandfather. His grandfather was a footballer himself, but his career was cut short through injury. His grandmother had died when his father was in his early teens, and he was brought up by various family members as his father could not afford to stay at home. He played for a team in the lower divisions and had several lady friends after his wife died. His wife’s sister did not approve of this, and placed a curse on the ground. Two games later his career ended prematurely after he broke his ankle. By placing this curse on the ground, she had to draw four ‘signs’ at each corner of the ground to entrap the curse. This was the same ‘sign’ that her cousin had seen outside Anfield that night.
We delved a little deeper through asking family members and reading papers in the library, but could only come across instances like this were gypsies used the curse on homes of people they disliked or wanted revenge on. We could only find another instance were it had been used on a football ground. In the early 30’s a team refused to play another after one player said that he had seen a ‘sign’ on the wall outside. The referee insisted that the game should go ahead as there was a very angry crowd waiting to see a game. Within the first five minutes the goalkeeper fell awkwardly and twisted his ankle, in the second another player broke his leg after a tackle. The team scared witless walked off the pitch and the referee faced the angry crowd. He was chased out of the ground, fell over and smashed his knee on the road outside.
My girlfriend and her cousin were adamant that questions would be answered on a visit to their grandfather’s brother.
A few days later the four of us set off. Now I was very sceptical of all this despite assurances off my girlfriend that everything I was told was true. However, after meeting this old man my feelings changed dramatically.
It took an hour to reach his house, an old stone building on the outskirts of a forest. What was unusual about this house was that it was part wood and was different to those around it. On reaching the house I was instructed to wait outside whilst the others went in. I waited outside for what seemed ages when the door opened and this old man slowly walked towards me with the help of two sticks. Now I am nearly six foot tall, 16 stone and like to keep fit, this old man was just over 4 foot and frail. He looked every inch the 95 years old I was told beforehand. When he reached me he gestured for me to approach him. He stood at the top of these steep steps that led to his front door, when our faces were level with each other, he placed both hands on my shoulders, leant forward so our noses practically touched. He then placed both his hands on the sides of my head covering my ears, his grip defied his years. He then stared into my eyes, his eyes shifting from side to side as if looking for something. The mans eyes were not of a 95 year old, they were bright and clear and uneasy. For some reason I couldn’t move, in a flash he jerked back and spat in my face and pushed me away. I fell backwards down the remaining steps and landed flat on my back. I did not have a clue what was going on, the old man continued to stare at me, I just sat there on ground, and for some reason I didn’t even wipe away his spit from my face. I was confused and frightened. How could an old man push me to the ground?
He then roared with laughter and called my girlfriend, her cousin and his friend from the house and I got off the ground. I had passed a test ! The old man then reached out to shake my hand, gone had his vice like grip, and his eyes were glazed and fuzzy and not bright and clear as they were minutes before.
As the other three had been to his house before, he had already ‘performed’ the test on them. He needed to gaze into my eyes to search for demons, he needed to cover my ears to stop the demons from escaping ! He spat in my face to see if was a threat to him, if I had of wiped his spit away immediately that would have signalled to him that I was not a friend.
As we sat down for something to eat I was told tales that made my hair stand on end and my girlfriends cousin told the old man of his visit to Anfield. The old man did not flinch, it was as if he knew everything.
He went missing for a few minutes and returned with a locked black box, about the size of video case. He opened it up and unravelled a piece of paper. On that piece of paper was the ‘sign’ that her cousin has seen outside Anfield that night. The best way I could describe it was that it reminded me of the pirate’s scull and crossbones.
He went onto explain that gypsies used this sign as part of a curse for revenge. They would draw this sign on the four corners outside a house to ensure the curse kept within those boundaries, and anyone inside could be a victim. He said it was unusual to find such a sign on a sporting venue, but he never dismissed it. He also agreed with her cousin that the shadowy figure waving his finger would have been his father or grandfather warning him of danger. He asked if players had been injured at Liverpool lately, especially leg injuries as this kind of curse would only attack the legs ! When I read out the names of the players and their respective injuries, everything just fell into place.
We stayed overnight, but I never slept. It was a very nerve racking experience, especially for a non-believer in curses etc, but this old man convinced me that there is something out there that I did not understand.
Now for the good news. There is a cure to this curse, or rather two cures. The first cure is to get a ‘higher’ ranking gypsy to spit on each of the four signs, spitting on the most Northerly one first, then going around spitting on the others in turn in a clockwise direction. But with this we have a problem, the ‘higher’ ranking gypsy must share – as he put it, the same blood. Both gypsies must be related, and as we don’t have a clue who put the curse on Anfield, it is impossible to take away the curse this way unless someone owns up.
The second cure is to form a human ring around the building for 15 minutes. Everyone must face ******ds apart from the people closest to these signs, those are the most important part of this ring. The ring must remain unbroken for 15 minutes and the four people closest to the signs must face inwards and stare at the sign and force the curse to leave by means of thought. There is no chanting or anything, no dancing, just an unbroken human ring around the building.
Well that’s my story finished. I did not believe in curses or such until I met this old man and witnessed the dramatic change in my girlfriend’s cousin. And I have no doubt that many of you will dismiss my story. But it is true, and I cannot remember Liverpool having such a long injury list – all with leg related injuries as the curse said. Can anyone living around Anfield have a look for these signs ? They are similar to the scull and crossbones flag of the pirates.
I do not know who or why they were put there, but if Anfield is cursed the injuries will not stop and it will be upto the fans to form a human ring to get rid of the curse, that is if you believe in such things.
I have to go now to try and get papers signed so my girlfriend can stay in England, I will not be around today but I promise I will check this story before I return to Slovenia and answer any questions.
I did not believe at first, but I have witnessed things lately that have made me change my mind, please do not dismiss this theory without proper thought."
