I witnessed a fascinating exchange when in a Putney juicer about to watch my nags fail in the Grand National. Given its close proximity to Fulham’s ground, their opponent’s fans in the day’s late kick-off had also decided to catch the race. It wasn’t long before several Scouse terrace songs erupted. The bar staff, clearly well versed in match day antics, were having none of it.
What was amazing, was that the smallest barmaid, barely five-foot tall, came around from the bar and shouted at the chanters to stop. One, a typically Scally, screamed back ‘why’ then, after a brief silence, started up again.
The barmaid returned, barked more orders, and this time the offenders shut up for good.
It was a salutary lesson. How could the burly footie fans not do what the smallest girl in the pub told them? Anything they did apart from desist would be a disaster for them. It was genius.
Who can you bring along to a prospect that they simply can’t say no to?