‘Taxi!’: The Demise Of Uber Means One Great Thing For Football Fans

Ben Mountain

The world of the cab is a funny one. It appears to have its own mystical rules and, for many, is a space in limbo with a strange and distorted reality. When else do we sit, side by side, with a complete stranger and entrust them with our lives?

However confusing cab etiquette can be, one thing is a given; you’re going to try and talk to the driver. Usually, at the end of a big night, we all fancy ourselves as some sort of loquacious raconteur, slurring our way through how busy the cabby has been that night and what time he clocks off.

But when this fails and we see ourselves for the drunken mess that we truly are, we all have at least one thing to fall back on. That is, of course, football. Who better is there in this world to talk football with than a cheery cabby? By cabby, though, we don’t just mean any old bloke with a sticker in his window. Oh, no. We mean the Black Cab driver.

As everyone knows, they’re footballing experts; all of them.

With the recent news surrounding Uber’s license being taken away, we can all now rejoice in the fact that footballing chats to break the silence with our faithful cab driver will once again become a commonplace event.

There’s something special about Black Cabs that sets them apart from the rest. And we think we’ve worked out what it is. Conversations like these make them the icons of British culture that they are.

“So, you busy today then, mate?”

“Nah, guv. Quiet one what with these minicabs getting so many punters.”

“It’s a shame, that is.”

“Well, I blame the borders, son.”

“Alright, mate, you can save that one for someone else.”



“So, erm.”

“You watching the football?”

“Don’t get me started, chappy. I mean, Arsene Wenger, what’s he all about? The way I see it, if you’re an old, once successful icon in London, you need to bow out gracefully when the next generation takes over. I bloody hate it when they don’t. It’s ugly.”

“I know exactly what you mean, mate. Think it’s time for Wenger to see the exit door then?”

“What’s that? Brexit door? Don’t get me started, guvnor. Take back control, innit?”

“No, no, mate. Exit door for Arsene Wenger.”

“Oh, too right, lad. Sorry, I thought you started trying to force a political opinion down my throat when it wasn’t wanted. Bloody hate it when people do that, too.”

“Hmm, anyway, Wenger out or not?”

“Yeah, like I said, too right. It’s time for him to head off. But I don’t care, I can’t stand Gunners anyway. If he keeps ’em losing, then I quite like seeing him stay. Arsenal fans just get on me nerves, son. Grind me gears. The other week, I had a load of ’em in my motor, heading for the Emirates. All had German accents, mind you. Boozed up and rowdy. ‘Cologne’ they kept saying. I told ’em, ‘Paco Rabanne, my son’. But they just weren’t getting it. Germans, eh?”

“Oh, right. Well maybe we’ll avoid that topic from now on then, mate.”

“Say no more. Where you heading anyway?”

“The Emirates, pal. Gonna go cheer on the lads in red.”

“Get out me sherbet, boy.”

Ah, the joys of the Black Cab. Okay, perhaps conversations tend to be a little friendlier than that but you get the gist.

Now that the end is nigh for Uber, prepare for plenty more of these little jewels of chatter to share with your football-loving cabby.


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