Dear Arsenal Keeper,
You are officially a muppet. You and Mr. Bendtner need to go find a blue weirdo and do remakes of the muppet show. Why, you may ask? BECAUSE you are officially a muppet.
Yours Truly,
LeChat
Seriously, I think this whole weekend plotted against me worst than communist on a small Caribbean island. If it wasn't one thing then it must have been another. I could not catch a single break.
You may be saying, "OH something good must have happened."
I say, "Nope, not really, well the first half was ok, but then the second half trotted along, only to be bobbled like a ball handled by a Spanish born keeper in the 90+ minute. This weekend was UNDERWHELMING and LACKING OF CONFIDENCE. In short, a great disappointment."
Saturday, had the usual Chelski bunch who enjoyed their destruction of a lack luster Villa side. I am not even sure how that happened and am beginning to wonder what the fuck are Villa doing in the EPL and how the fuck are they mid-table?
Alas, poor Villa, I do not care to know thee well.
The changing of the hours has really messed things up as far as I am concerned. Why do we do this now? At least we could change the same time as the rest of the world.
So the dull roar of Sunday puttered in like a garden variety snail. Nothing exciting at all. I appeared at the pub a little early for the Scouser match, just because. Would you believe that only a handful of them showed? It was a sorely disappointing weekend. The funny thing is they actually won a match. The mop head Torres even put a nice one in to start the scoring.
Later, as I was leaving the city ACMilan decided to give me a call and let me know he was in town. I turned my car around and headed back to the pub to keep him company through what was actually a semi-decent Serie A match.
I will say I was being a bit anti-social all the way around and took off for home shortly thereafter. I decided it was best to start spring cleaning the Volkswagen.
*PRODUCT PLUG*
RAIN-X Glass Cleaner works wonders on your windshield!
*/PRODUCT PLUG*
So where does that leave us? What has this weekend taught us?
1. The ball is round.
2. Frank Lampard still looks like a ****
3. Almunia and Aluminum, just may be synonymous
4. The game is 90 fucking minutes... not 80 fucking 9 you fucking muppet!
5. Ricky Martin is gay... you should have known that
Now only if we can get CR9 to come out.
~LeChat
29 March 2010
22 March 2010
West Ham Home
Another weekend goes by and what did I do with it. Absolutely nothing. I spent a ton of money, only to find out that I must be buying tickets to PISA! I keep forgetting but now that is done.
Some of you may be wondering why the blog is so late this week. Well, for one, to be honest, as A Certain Scouser put it. I was watching the "Canadien Ballet." Apparently that is also a euphemism for strip clubs in upstate New York.
I could tell you a great story about upstate New York but people are insisting I speak of the weekend. Well people being A Certain Scouser that keeps messaging me as I quickly try and type this thing up.
So where was I?
For those who can't stand my philosophical waxing, this is going to be one. As I stated in the previous paragraphs, much money was spent this weekend on drinks.
SATURDAY
We see the boys take on the hams. There is something I learned from all this. The collision with football and life, those parallels. The same parallels that can be pulled from many things but I think football itself lends to the drama.
As I have repeated time and again, "The ball is round. The game is 90 minutes."
Half the morning was spent in the company of Bayern and BigScouse telling jokes and having a laugh at everyone's expense, and by everyone I mean anyone which had the capacity to actually be breathing at one point or another.
The games went by without much to live for, to be honest. There were a few Ahhs and couple of Oohhhs but that was about it. Uneventful.
The most interesting thing that happened the whole time, besides taking the piss out of everyone and everything, was the actual number of cellphones that ended up in pints.
That would be 2.
The same number of goals that the Arsenal scored against West Ham.
I, myself, decided it would be better to put my phone away, therefore saving it from it's liquidy coffin. It was saved, like a cheap penalty that was given to West Ham.
The end of the day, despite the victory and all the jokes from earlier, had me in a rather surly mood. I took my leave and went home as it is best to be by myself at those times.
Sunday
Now Sunday was a day of mixed of emotions. ScouseDrummer had beaten me to the pub and had secured himself a nice little spot. I joined him and his dad, just to cheer on the Scousers over MancScum.
Somehow I ended up on the third floor, listening to reggae and watching the Italian game with ACMilan. About half time, we were looking down onto the road and there was a strange gentleman, dressed all in denim, doing Michael Jackson dances in the middle of the street.
It was a strange day.
OH and Chelski drew but they still have a game in hand. It will be a tight race to the finish and an even tighter one for that coveted fourth spot. I do love the end of the season and this is a World Cup year, so the summer will not be as long.
I am not proofing this Professor! I am way too tired.
~LeChat
Some of you may be wondering why the blog is so late this week. Well, for one, to be honest, as A Certain Scouser put it. I was watching the "Canadien Ballet." Apparently that is also a euphemism for strip clubs in upstate New York.
I could tell you a great story about upstate New York but people are insisting I speak of the weekend. Well people being A Certain Scouser that keeps messaging me as I quickly try and type this thing up.
So where was I?
For those who can't stand my philosophical waxing, this is going to be one. As I stated in the previous paragraphs, much money was spent this weekend on drinks.
SATURDAY
We see the boys take on the hams. There is something I learned from all this. The collision with football and life, those parallels. The same parallels that can be pulled from many things but I think football itself lends to the drama.
As I have repeated time and again, "The ball is round. The game is 90 minutes."
Half the morning was spent in the company of Bayern and BigScouse telling jokes and having a laugh at everyone's expense, and by everyone I mean anyone which had the capacity to actually be breathing at one point or another.
The games went by without much to live for, to be honest. There were a few Ahhs and couple of Oohhhs but that was about it. Uneventful.
The most interesting thing that happened the whole time, besides taking the piss out of everyone and everything, was the actual number of cellphones that ended up in pints.
That would be 2.
The same number of goals that the Arsenal scored against West Ham.
I, myself, decided it would be better to put my phone away, therefore saving it from it's liquidy coffin. It was saved, like a cheap penalty that was given to West Ham.
The end of the day, despite the victory and all the jokes from earlier, had me in a rather surly mood. I took my leave and went home as it is best to be by myself at those times.
Sunday
Now Sunday was a day of mixed of emotions. ScouseDrummer had beaten me to the pub and had secured himself a nice little spot. I joined him and his dad, just to cheer on the Scousers over MancScum.
Somehow I ended up on the third floor, listening to reggae and watching the Italian game with ACMilan. About half time, we were looking down onto the road and there was a strange gentleman, dressed all in denim, doing Michael Jackson dances in the middle of the street.
It was a strange day.
OH and Chelski drew but they still have a game in hand. It will be a tight race to the finish and an even tighter one for that coveted fourth spot. I do love the end of the season and this is a World Cup year, so the summer will not be as long.
I am not proofing this Professor! I am way too tired.
~LeChat
15 March 2010
Porto (CL) and Hull Away
Midweek?
Yah, who cares. A solid trouncing of that big Portuguese club. Did you expect anything less? What was I doing, absolutely nothing. I was working, it was a mid-week match and that's all I ever do when there is a mid-week match, unless I have the glorious luck to be allowed a day off for whatever dead person who probably accomplished a lot more in theirs than I did in my 30 odd years of life.
So in short, I was too in shock to post because Beeker himself scored a hat trick. ArseBob even texted me the result and I was still in disbelief. Yes, my pink boot wearing muppet looking friend scored a hat trick. So I decided to wait and see what would happen this weekend.
Saturday
Life, which this blog is really about, is similar to football. So like football, the game is 90 minutes and the ball is round... those are the only two things that are certain; more or less death and taxes.
The pub, this morning, smelled of wet dog due to it not only being rainy but a large, and by large I mean world cup final amount large, number of St. Patrick's Festivities 5k runners decided to occupy my beloved little space in the world.
However, being the bunch we are, we were determined not to be moved by foul stench of undeodorized runner shoes and sweat. I am coughing just thinking of it. I knew I should have brought that can of oust with me.
Undeterred, I hopped on a bar stool next to one of the Chelski boys and proceeded to elbow the unlucky and very hairy gentleman beside me. I will mention, I did not do it on purpose but he was invading my territory; la Résistance was not going to let it happen again.
(cue La Marseillaise)
The long and short of it, the Chelski boys tried to sing them out of the pub but that didn't work out well enough. The only thing I knew for sure is that they would be gone by the time of the Arsenal match and that was my only concern.
Fucking HULL and their fucking manager, who by the way was put on "gardening" leave for being a complete and utter twat, just like his wanky little midfielder Boateng. I hate to say it but I am glad Cesc was not on the pitch for this stupidity.
The rest of the afternoon went along quite well, had a great conversation with a Rugby supporter, however we talked about everything else except sport. After which, I decided to follow Vinny up to another pub and had a very nice bleu cheese burger, not as good as thebarnextdoor but decent enough.
The night was capped off with me trying to fall asleep, yet my body trying to keep me awake. I blame that Mr. Van Gogh and his espresso. By the way, my superstar player name is seriously going to be Vennegoor of Hesselink. I want my name to form a horseshoe on my back. I should change it to something more appropriate though.
Sunday
I declared Sunday my non-football day. One because I was massively drained from the night before and two, the Formula 1 was on and I can watch it from my bed. Well I can listen to it, as I was way too tired to do much watching. By the way, I believe they have now got some of the worst announcers on television.
There used to be a good team but this one gentleman, of course the American accented one, made me want to pull out my brain. I guess the station does this to try and get more of a state-side audience but those things always fail in my book. Really, that 2 percent demographic in Peoria isn't going to turn to Formula 1, even though Juan Pablo went to Nascar. Say Whaaat?
I took my day of rest and spent it resting as Station (my band) had a show that evening in support of a good friend premiering his video and raising money to get a PA for speaking during his demos.
Matt was diagnosed with diabetes some time ago and has lost sight because of it. He, however, decided to not let it handicap him and has been doing Bike Trials Riding. He has been on NPR and several other outlets speaking for and about diabetes.
(Link to his site)
*Not the actual video but I thought I would share an earlier one.*
I believe he still may need some more donations, but if you have a moment, check out his videos, youtube/facebook blind bike trials and just give a hello. I'm sure he'll appreciate it.
By the way, Liverpool won...
~LeChat
Yah, who cares. A solid trouncing of that big Portuguese club. Did you expect anything less? What was I doing, absolutely nothing. I was working, it was a mid-week match and that's all I ever do when there is a mid-week match, unless I have the glorious luck to be allowed a day off for whatever dead person who probably accomplished a lot more in theirs than I did in my 30 odd years of life.
So in short, I was too in shock to post because Beeker himself scored a hat trick. ArseBob even texted me the result and I was still in disbelief. Yes, my pink boot wearing muppet looking friend scored a hat trick. So I decided to wait and see what would happen this weekend.
Saturday
Life, which this blog is really about, is similar to football. So like football, the game is 90 minutes and the ball is round... those are the only two things that are certain; more or less death and taxes.
The pub, this morning, smelled of wet dog due to it not only being rainy but a large, and by large I mean world cup final amount large, number of St. Patrick's Festivities 5k runners decided to occupy my beloved little space in the world.
However, being the bunch we are, we were determined not to be moved by foul stench of undeodorized runner shoes and sweat. I am coughing just thinking of it. I knew I should have brought that can of oust with me.
Undeterred, I hopped on a bar stool next to one of the Chelski boys and proceeded to elbow the unlucky and very hairy gentleman beside me. I will mention, I did not do it on purpose but he was invading my territory; la Résistance was not going to let it happen again.
(cue La Marseillaise)
The long and short of it, the Chelski boys tried to sing them out of the pub but that didn't work out well enough. The only thing I knew for sure is that they would be gone by the time of the Arsenal match and that was my only concern.
Fucking HULL and their fucking manager, who by the way was put on "gardening" leave for being a complete and utter twat, just like his wanky little midfielder Boateng. I hate to say it but I am glad Cesc was not on the pitch for this stupidity.
The rest of the afternoon went along quite well, had a great conversation with a Rugby supporter, however we talked about everything else except sport. After which, I decided to follow Vinny up to another pub and had a very nice bleu cheese burger, not as good as thebarnextdoor but decent enough.
The night was capped off with me trying to fall asleep, yet my body trying to keep me awake. I blame that Mr. Van Gogh and his espresso. By the way, my superstar player name is seriously going to be Vennegoor of Hesselink. I want my name to form a horseshoe on my back. I should change it to something more appropriate though.
Sunday
I declared Sunday my non-football day. One because I was massively drained from the night before and two, the Formula 1 was on and I can watch it from my bed. Well I can listen to it, as I was way too tired to do much watching. By the way, I believe they have now got some of the worst announcers on television.
There used to be a good team but this one gentleman, of course the American accented one, made me want to pull out my brain. I guess the station does this to try and get more of a state-side audience but those things always fail in my book. Really, that 2 percent demographic in Peoria isn't going to turn to Formula 1, even though Juan Pablo went to Nascar. Say Whaaat?
I took my day of rest and spent it resting as Station (my band) had a show that evening in support of a good friend premiering his video and raising money to get a PA for speaking during his demos.
Matt was diagnosed with diabetes some time ago and has lost sight because of it. He, however, decided to not let it handicap him and has been doing Bike Trials Riding. He has been on NPR and several other outlets speaking for and about diabetes.
(Link to his site)
*Not the actual video but I thought I would share an earlier one.*
I believe he still may need some more donations, but if you have a moment, check out his videos, youtube/facebook blind bike trials and just give a hello. I'm sure he'll appreciate it.
By the way, Liverpool won...
~LeChat
08 March 2010
Burnley at home
I have to admit, this weekend was the absolute bore when it came to football. I do not know what's going on, is it just me or am I just in need of more entertainment. I mean I can't always be this angry and unfulfilled? Can I?
Saturday
Wake me up when someone decides to actually play football. I figured catching the last bit of the first half of an FA cup tie would be exciting. PLEASE next time remind me to scratch my eyes out with rusty forks.
I guess the good thing is.. Pompey won.
Gooners did show up for the game. It was a nice handful of us for Burnley, but nothing to write home about. The game was lackluster and uneventful for a full 3 points. I wasn't too plussed about it but could have been more enthralled if a certain Muppet could hit the broad side of a barn from 6 yards away.
As I was saying, nothing exciting happened at all. We all gathered round, watch the match and that was it. The MancScum match was even more tedious, to say the least. After which, due to my lack of anything else better to do I sat with ACMilan and watched his match as well.
I will just say that the rest of my day consisted of me sitting in my room and playing video games. YES, that's right, it just ended up being underwhelming, football drove me to become a hermit.
Sunday
My day of being a hermit was now over and decided to give football another chance. I made my way to the pub to enjoy another fine spectacle of a day, Chelski FA cup match. There just did not seem to be much happening this weekend. I said it once and I'll say it over and over. NOTHING!
Of interesting note, I decided to vent my rage of nothingness on someone who had called the pub to ask some inane question that could have been answered had they just got off their fat asses and came down to the point and enjoyed the day. Why on God's greenest would you take the liberty and call a pub at noon and ask if they are open and what specials they have? Seriously? Are you brain dead?
The long and short is I gave my 2 cents but I wasn't the one who actually answered the phone, just venting my anger towards the person who called. If that makes any sense at all.
MiniMourhino looked at me and asked if Warrior of God mode was being reinstated. The only thing I could do was nod my head.
~LeChat
Saturday
Wake me up when someone decides to actually play football. I figured catching the last bit of the first half of an FA cup tie would be exciting. PLEASE next time remind me to scratch my eyes out with rusty forks.
I guess the good thing is.. Pompey won.
Gooners did show up for the game. It was a nice handful of us for Burnley, but nothing to write home about. The game was lackluster and uneventful for a full 3 points. I wasn't too plussed about it but could have been more enthralled if a certain Muppet could hit the broad side of a barn from 6 yards away.
As I was saying, nothing exciting happened at all. We all gathered round, watch the match and that was it. The MancScum match was even more tedious, to say the least. After which, due to my lack of anything else better to do I sat with ACMilan and watched his match as well.
I will just say that the rest of my day consisted of me sitting in my room and playing video games. YES, that's right, it just ended up being underwhelming, football drove me to become a hermit.
Sunday
My day of being a hermit was now over and decided to give football another chance. I made my way to the pub to enjoy another fine spectacle of a day, Chelski FA cup match. There just did not seem to be much happening this weekend. I said it once and I'll say it over and over. NOTHING!
Of interesting note, I decided to vent my rage of nothingness on someone who had called the pub to ask some inane question that could have been answered had they just got off their fat asses and came down to the point and enjoyed the day. Why on God's greenest would you take the liberty and call a pub at noon and ask if they are open and what specials they have? Seriously? Are you brain dead?
The long and short is I gave my 2 cents but I wasn't the one who actually answered the phone, just venting my anger towards the person who called. If that makes any sense at all.
MiniMourhino looked at me and asked if Warrior of God mode was being reinstated. The only thing I could do was nod my head.
~LeChat
01 March 2010
Stoke Away
Every Monday I seem to forget what happened on Saturday. This Monday being no exception. I won't tell you my secret on how I figure things out but somehow I do.
Saturday
The morning started out well enough. Earlier the previous evening, I believe, ManCity himself sent me a message concerning my allegiances for the days early game. I did not declare one but did let him know that the ball is round and he shouldn't worry too much of the result.
So Chelsea City it was. All nice and lined up for a proper little show. I will admit ChelskiBoys v. ManCity himself was going to make an entertaining breakfast treat.
I took a seat at one end of the bar, just to get a good view. To be honest, all I can remember is several chants about random things. ChelskiGirl looking particularly angry and about to glass ManCity himself. I believe MiniMourhino made a good day out of it either way. He had started the day out quite a bit bouncy and was well on his way shortly after.
Myself, well lately I have found my way into a more frilly drink, or so I've been told. Something happened to me after getting sick when it had snowed. I have not been able to drink more than one or two beers, so I've found solace in Cuba Libres. When I know it's going to be a specially long day, as Saturday was, sometimes... yes sometimes I do have a Malibu and Coke. However, some times has turned into quite often.
I think I was drinking Mount Gay and Coke, which by the way is a horrible rum to order. I almost whisper it under my breath, but when you have friends like Irish, everyone is going to know what you order.
Ah WHAT?.... Mount GAY!..... Do you want an umbrella with that?
Cheers mate, how's the world cup going for ya? OH, yah, that's right France won and we did not cheat. The ref did not blow the whistle. I do not control his whistle.
Alright, we did have a motley mob assembled for the proper match. A Certain Scouser and Pimms had shown up. I believe the Librarian, HalfArseDean, the Sheriff and Arse St. Nick rounded out the table. I may be a little foggy on this but somehow we got the Deputy to leave her beauty rest and join us as well. I think she was promised lunch and ended up with cottage chips.
All I can say is that a political conversation was started. I was told I was preaching to the choir. A Certain Scouser said that she wanted to be the Angry Black Man and somehow I became the Suburban White Chick. There was a half ton of laughter for a few hours on that one.
In character, I offered to make out the Angry Black Man but I couldn't date because my parents would kill me. Then I asked if Angry Black Man could get me a drink. To which the retort was something along the lines of "No Bitch! Get ME a drink!"
Yes, that's right, we went there several times. However, all our revelry was stopped short by a freight train of a tackle by the hand of Mr. Shawcross. I am not going to go into the whole STICK A BOOT IN ON ARSENAL rant. That was saved for Sunday but it was a horror show tackle.
Saturday Night
Clash Tribute at the Sidebar. I will say one thing. What a great show by my little band. It shaped up to be a great day. LilBlondieGooner and NightCaller showed up and had a good time, from what I understand. OH by the way, NightCaller needs a new nickname, as in he has reformed his ways but I need to think of one. Personally, I love his nickname but I did promise to give it a new look.
Anyways, funny thing happened to me at the show. I was sitting in a corner after getting off stage, talking to LilBlondieGooner, NightCaller and friends. This young girl comes up to us and starts to ask someone, thinking it was ScouseDrummer, some questions.
I noticed they were actually about me but I was in post-stage haze. She then started asking about me playing in some band I had never heard of and I guess tried to have a conversation with me. I guess I just wasn't grabbing a clue. After she leaves, LilBlondieGooner pushes me and tells me I have a groupie and should go after her.
I just shrug and say to her, Well she needs to try harder.
I thought it was funny. That's all that matters. Kind of like my other quote of the day.
I'm golden in the box but can't always finish.
I really just need to make a book of quotes. There is always the classic.
My god is a vengeful god and I'm warrior of god. I will chop your fucking head off!
Despite my lack of perception, this girl did try hard. There were some great bands and I did a lot of dancing, fueled by Captain Morgan Spiced Rum. Every time I turned around, she was beside me. ScouseDrummer even pushed me into her at one point in time. I was still on my she needs to try harder soapbox.
I will admit, it was a cute little gesture from a cute little girl. It didn't get creepy or anything and maybe I will be nicer the next time. Otherwise, my weekends are for being a complete cunt to all but my closest. Hell, I can even a bit of a twat to them as well but it's born out of pure love.
Sunday
I could be found, at the same approximate table, with the same approximate people, TWENTY FOUR FUCKING HOURS later. I have to admit, another good time watching the Scousers play. ScouseDrummer, his dad and sis showed up and joined the rowdy bunch on the couches.
MancScum were told to fuck off upstairs for the Milk Cup. I did go up and give some abuse but man it was way too depressing up there. I swear, the Scousers were lively, the game was lively and the atmosphere was a bit more than fun.
Mancs... well it was mighty grim upstairs. Their game was worst than watching paint dry on a humid mid-Atlantic day. The Villa fans were smart and stayed downstairs in the Arsenal section watching the game.
Notes of interest: I had an interesting conversation with one of the bistro boys who was there with his woman. We were just comparing the two places but understood where each other were coming from. I reiterated the story about running into the BigBistroBoy during the Canada-Russia (olympic hockey) match and how he re-introduced himself. I had shook his hand and told him I knew exactly who he was. I don't know if it came off the exact way that it had in my mind but it does make me wonder if you supposedly dislike a place so much, why do you keep showing your face in it?
I don't go and shit on the counter of your Bistro but you say all kinds of shit out of your mouth about how bad people are treated in my pub. If you don't like it, don't come here. Plain and fucking simple. Now I am not trying to start an Us v. Them type of scenario but as I explained to the bistro boys, there is nothing for me at that place. My mates who support other sides, some of whom I've been watching football with for like 7 or 8 years, plus or minus, wouldn't be welcomed there and couldn't watch FuckOff United v. SheepShagger FC at 7 AM for the Godknowswhat Cup.
That's my piece on it. My pub is a football pub, the long and short of it. As a football supporter, I will support my pub until it stops supporting me. At that time, maybe I will look for a new ground. There is still a thing called loyalty, especially when no one else in this fucking city would keep football on the television at any hour of the fucking day from 7AM to 2AM.
Prime example, the pub is showing Hockey in the evenings now. Sunday, OLYMPIC GOLD, CANADA v. USA (I do fly the Quebec flag). ACMilan comes in to watch his game. Do you know what happened? ACMilan got his game on a corner television! ONE lonely fucking ACMilan in a pub filled to the brim with Olympic Hockey fans.
Respect. Football.
oh and the puma Hard chorus....
~LeChat
OH subnote... before I forget.
Crystal Palace supporters group the 35ers are getting a good deal on season tickets. These are good games to go to and something fun to do, especially after WC2010 is done. The 35ers put other supporters to shame. In short, Let me know if you want the Crystal Palace US tickets, plus a free Crystal Palace scarf and a chance to win a trip to LONDON to see Palace at home.
Saturday
The morning started out well enough. Earlier the previous evening, I believe, ManCity himself sent me a message concerning my allegiances for the days early game. I did not declare one but did let him know that the ball is round and he shouldn't worry too much of the result.
So Chelsea City it was. All nice and lined up for a proper little show. I will admit ChelskiBoys v. ManCity himself was going to make an entertaining breakfast treat.
I took a seat at one end of the bar, just to get a good view. To be honest, all I can remember is several chants about random things. ChelskiGirl looking particularly angry and about to glass ManCity himself. I believe MiniMourhino made a good day out of it either way. He had started the day out quite a bit bouncy and was well on his way shortly after.
Myself, well lately I have found my way into a more frilly drink, or so I've been told. Something happened to me after getting sick when it had snowed. I have not been able to drink more than one or two beers, so I've found solace in Cuba Libres. When I know it's going to be a specially long day, as Saturday was, sometimes... yes sometimes I do have a Malibu and Coke. However, some times has turned into quite often.
I think I was drinking Mount Gay and Coke, which by the way is a horrible rum to order. I almost whisper it under my breath, but when you have friends like Irish, everyone is going to know what you order.
Ah WHAT?.... Mount GAY!..... Do you want an umbrella with that?
Cheers mate, how's the world cup going for ya? OH, yah, that's right France won and we did not cheat. The ref did not blow the whistle. I do not control his whistle.
Alright, we did have a motley mob assembled for the proper match. A Certain Scouser and Pimms had shown up. I believe the Librarian, HalfArseDean, the Sheriff and Arse St. Nick rounded out the table. I may be a little foggy on this but somehow we got the Deputy to leave her beauty rest and join us as well. I think she was promised lunch and ended up with cottage chips.
All I can say is that a political conversation was started. I was told I was preaching to the choir. A Certain Scouser said that she wanted to be the Angry Black Man and somehow I became the Suburban White Chick. There was a half ton of laughter for a few hours on that one.
In character, I offered to make out the Angry Black Man but I couldn't date because my parents would kill me. Then I asked if Angry Black Man could get me a drink. To which the retort was something along the lines of "No Bitch! Get ME a drink!"
Yes, that's right, we went there several times. However, all our revelry was stopped short by a freight train of a tackle by the hand of Mr. Shawcross. I am not going to go into the whole STICK A BOOT IN ON ARSENAL rant. That was saved for Sunday but it was a horror show tackle.
Saturday Night
Clash Tribute at the Sidebar. I will say one thing. What a great show by my little band. It shaped up to be a great day. LilBlondieGooner and NightCaller showed up and had a good time, from what I understand. OH by the way, NightCaller needs a new nickname, as in he has reformed his ways but I need to think of one. Personally, I love his nickname but I did promise to give it a new look.
Anyways, funny thing happened to me at the show. I was sitting in a corner after getting off stage, talking to LilBlondieGooner, NightCaller and friends. This young girl comes up to us and starts to ask someone, thinking it was ScouseDrummer, some questions.
I noticed they were actually about me but I was in post-stage haze. She then started asking about me playing in some band I had never heard of and I guess tried to have a conversation with me. I guess I just wasn't grabbing a clue. After she leaves, LilBlondieGooner pushes me and tells me I have a groupie and should go after her.
I just shrug and say to her, Well she needs to try harder.
I thought it was funny. That's all that matters. Kind of like my other quote of the day.
I'm golden in the box but can't always finish.
I really just need to make a book of quotes. There is always the classic.
My god is a vengeful god and I'm warrior of god. I will chop your fucking head off!
Despite my lack of perception, this girl did try hard. There were some great bands and I did a lot of dancing, fueled by Captain Morgan Spiced Rum. Every time I turned around, she was beside me. ScouseDrummer even pushed me into her at one point in time. I was still on my she needs to try harder soapbox.
I will admit, it was a cute little gesture from a cute little girl. It didn't get creepy or anything and maybe I will be nicer the next time. Otherwise, my weekends are for being a complete cunt to all but my closest. Hell, I can even a bit of a twat to them as well but it's born out of pure love.
Sunday
I could be found, at the same approximate table, with the same approximate people, TWENTY FOUR FUCKING HOURS later. I have to admit, another good time watching the Scousers play. ScouseDrummer, his dad and sis showed up and joined the rowdy bunch on the couches.
MancScum were told to fuck off upstairs for the Milk Cup. I did go up and give some abuse but man it was way too depressing up there. I swear, the Scousers were lively, the game was lively and the atmosphere was a bit more than fun.
Mancs... well it was mighty grim upstairs. Their game was worst than watching paint dry on a humid mid-Atlantic day. The Villa fans were smart and stayed downstairs in the Arsenal section watching the game.
Notes of interest: I had an interesting conversation with one of the bistro boys who was there with his woman. We were just comparing the two places but understood where each other were coming from. I reiterated the story about running into the BigBistroBoy during the Canada-Russia (olympic hockey) match and how he re-introduced himself. I had shook his hand and told him I knew exactly who he was. I don't know if it came off the exact way that it had in my mind but it does make me wonder if you supposedly dislike a place so much, why do you keep showing your face in it?
I don't go and shit on the counter of your Bistro but you say all kinds of shit out of your mouth about how bad people are treated in my pub. If you don't like it, don't come here. Plain and fucking simple. Now I am not trying to start an Us v. Them type of scenario but as I explained to the bistro boys, there is nothing for me at that place. My mates who support other sides, some of whom I've been watching football with for like 7 or 8 years, plus or minus, wouldn't be welcomed there and couldn't watch FuckOff United v. SheepShagger FC at 7 AM for the Godknowswhat Cup.
That's my piece on it. My pub is a football pub, the long and short of it. As a football supporter, I will support my pub until it stops supporting me. At that time, maybe I will look for a new ground. There is still a thing called loyalty, especially when no one else in this fucking city would keep football on the television at any hour of the fucking day from 7AM to 2AM.
Prime example, the pub is showing Hockey in the evenings now. Sunday, OLYMPIC GOLD, CANADA v. USA (I do fly the Quebec flag). ACMilan comes in to watch his game. Do you know what happened? ACMilan got his game on a corner television! ONE lonely fucking ACMilan in a pub filled to the brim with Olympic Hockey fans.
Respect. Football.
oh and the puma Hard chorus....
~LeChat
OH subnote... before I forget.
Crystal Palace supporters group the 35ers are getting a good deal on season tickets. These are good games to go to and something fun to do, especially after WC2010 is done. The 35ers put other supporters to shame. In short, Let me know if you want the Crystal Palace US tickets, plus a free Crystal Palace scarf and a chance to win a trip to LONDON to see Palace at home.
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