LONG Football WEEKEND

Well Friday started off well enough. My cousin and I headed down to the pub for some pre-game lunch. Then a small amount of the regular crew showed up. It was a Friday, so someone had to work I suppose, plus a fraction of the regulars were somewhere on the west-side near the stadium.

I never did figure out exactly where because I wasn't giving up the money for the VIP passes. Anyways, we took up a corner in the society room next to the buffet. The author of Beckham Experiment was there, very nice guy. He had recently moved into or back into the area and was doing some signings. I didn't talk to him about the book because the last thing on my mind was Mr. Beckham and his experiment.

I have to remind you I was a few pints into the world at this point in time. Someone in our corner grabbed the poor DC United representative and harassed her for about 5 minutes. She kept insisting she wasn't anyone important but I think the boys didn't mind that one bit. She eventually found her way to where she was suppose to set up, right next to us.

About halfway through the afternoon, some Arsenal boys showed up and I joined them for a couple of pints and general harassment of the Chelsea crew that was sitting around my table.

A news crew and camera showed up as well. There is a 10 second clip of me chanting, probably something totally inappropriate. Afterwords, we hiked across the harbor to meet up with the Chelsea boys and girls across from the stadium. As soon as we get there, they decide to go to the VIP tent. I wasn't feeling it, so hung out with some old Gooner friends and a couple of West Ham supporters. Two of the Chelsea crew stuck around, as they didn't feel very VIP-ish either.

The crowd outside the stadium was going well, lots of chanting, lots of beers and just general good feeling. I think we may have jumped into a picture with some Brasilians and had a good laugh.

Now nevermind we had seats way up top, my cousin and I, but it was a great view. There were a few faces from the pub with us and a couple of crazy Greeks. I saw one of the local skins and we both began singing one of the local chants as he made his way to his seat.

Chelsea-Milan, quality football in Baltimore. Nice. Reeaaaal nice. Halftime a little squabble almost kicked off between my skinhead friend and some tourist yahoo in blue. I, of course tapped my cousin and we made sure the gentleman knew he was in Baltimore. It settled really quick. I go back to my seat and I notice a big contingent of Tattoo museum people right across the aisle. I have a little talk with Bill and then off to the pisser.

Second half was gentle. We decided it would be best to run out at 83 because Chelsea was already up and Milan looked tired. I didn't really care about the scoreline anyways. I tried to get a drink back at the pub but I was so tired that I just hopped into the VW and went home.

The best thing was it was a decent showing and a good weekend overall. Saturday was a little more drinking and carousing with friends from out of town. I crashed out on a couch and headed home the next morning.

Sunday, nice and refreshed, headed to the pub and to watch a solid trouncing of the United States v. Mexico. Unbelievable. I'm not a big US fan but that was tragic to say the least. Overall it was a quiet Sunday compared to the Friday/Saturday revelry.

I should probably plan on doing these more or less as things happen. My mind is slowly fading and I figured a Monday wrap up would be nice but my mind is fading.

See!

Preseason has begun!

Meh... really not much happening and I'm lazy so here's a video...

Mid July

There is a sad reality to my life. I've come to deal with it for a long time. It essentially revolves around football, or as we know it in the US, soccer. Every year for the last 20 odd or so it's the same pattern; anticipation in July, giddy excitement in August, prayers on boxing day, etc.. you get the point.

I attempt to play the game. I read about the game. I watch the game, sometimes the same game over and over. To use a cliche, it's a minor addiction.

Now I don't get overly involved or even care about who is going where and for what, as long as my club has all it needs in August or at the latest by close of the mid season transfer window. That's what it's really about, whether or not those 11 men you chose to represent you on the front stage are really the best. Better than your mates, better than your enemies, better than your family, if they even choose to get involved in your general mess.

Basically when they fail, you fail. When they succeed, you succeed. I guess a psychobabble would you call this transference or something like that. I don't know anything about psychology or reading the bumps on one's head.

I do know football.
It's in my blood.
It is my soul.