Dick, do they dress up for it where you are?

I found that pretty surreal in Glasgow. A bar that was all that remained standing of a tenement block, surrounded by bulldozed rubble, broken glass and collapsing fences, packed full of people in glittery stetsons, rhinestoned boots and designer jeans or white leather skirts singing along with numbers about being a wifebeating drunk in Georgia. It was a friendlier environment than football bars tended to be, but you had to leave your sanity at the door.