The incident happened at 4:30am on Friday night in a club known as "La Reference" near Mossley in Birmingham.
African breakbeats and a murky ambiance said hello to four irish paddys who stood out like seagulls in an oil slick.
"Keep a low profile lads and enjoy yourselves" said the friendly doorman with a look of slight wonderment on his face as four crackers shimmied on into the jungle.
The clientele noticed the change alright as requests for Eminem brought the boyos to the floor. We thought we could teach these folks a few dance moves from back home in Derry. All was good until a whisky filled Anton thought it would be a wise guy idea to square up to a T-Pain lookalike with dreads thicker than Anton's arms.
As his manager both on and off the field I advise him to sit the fuck down and be good but our Miss Independant took offence when he was asked "Do you want this bottle upside your skull white boy?" to which Anton said that he realy would. Good fortune would have it that one of our amigos was clued into the situation and knew the guy and the management which enabled us to leave on foot rather than in bodybags. Anton insists that because "I is from Carnhill" then he could take on any blingin' muthafucka no matter what 'hood he crept into.
He should have just bought that man a drank and shut his cakehole before he got a brother killed.
In future when we are on the pitch and you decide to make every tackle a personal battle remember the lesson T-Pain has given you.
Keep your apple bottom jeans and boots with fur in the wardrobe next time fool.