Stoke at Home (EPL), Birmingham Carling Cup Final

Midweek fixtures, well as usual, not much to say. Three points to the good and that's about it. I have to admit that I myself was not in form at all this week. This flu thing seems to be wiping out whole offices as we speak. It sort of reminds me of 28 Days Later or some other zombie apocalypse type story. Everyone is infected.

I end up with a 2 day work week and the Carling cup final to look forward to. I took it easy on Friday and spent most of the day in bed on Saturday. I was not going to let this flu hold me back from watching a cup final, so head it off at the pass, so to speak.

Sunday, woke up, not in the best of moods and feeling a bit wonky at best. I headed down to the pub, walked in and said hello to the ManShitty crew before ducking back out and over to the Gooner pre-game at the Inn.

Bakerman and ArseBob had set up a room to have a few drinks and get everyone loose for the cup final. It was nice. I only had a coffee as my body was still not used to what I would call normalcy.

We all start heading to the pub around 10 of for the kickoff. There were several strange punters that I'd never spied before, but that's what you can expect for a cup final; a bunch of johnny-comes as ACMilan would say.

**editor note**
There was just a loud explosion and the electricity went out at the end of the previous sentence. That was really odd. I'm thinking a transformer blew or we are now under attack by martians. The former more likely but the latter, with my luck is quite plausible.
**/editor note**

I was standing next to GrumpyGooner and mentioned to him that there was a strange vibe in the air, almost ominous. I don't know if he really heard me or if I was just talking to myself but something was not feeling right.

Like most games, there was an ebb and flow. They scored, we scored and then the clock starts ticking. The game is 90 minutes; the only thing certain in football. A miscalculation, a bobble and an easy tap in from a seasoned striker settled the cup and lack thereof for the Arsenal once again.

Surprised? No, not at all.

Shocked? Not really.

Disappointed? Of course, who wouldn't be, unless you were a Birmingham fan. It was a real shot to the heart.

I know one thing is for certain, at least in my opinion, if I wanted things to come easy, all the time then I would have choose something more certain. However, I did not.

Every failure makes every success that much sweeter. Two more cups and a league to go.

~LeChat

Barcelona at Home (CL) and Leyton Orient Away (FA)

Well a bunch more of the expected.

Earlier in the week, someone had asked me why I hadn't done a write up after the Barca game. Simple reason, I'm only doing the one a week, on the traditional football Monday. I certainly could have but why change?

In all honesty, while Barca are well on form for the last couple of seasons; they are not the be all and end all of the world of football. At the end of the day, they play a game that is determined within 90 minutes, with only one certainty.

The Ball is round.

In the next decade, or maybe in the next couple of years, there will be a new squad on the block that is just clicking and everything is falling down in all the right places.

For every rise, there must be a fall.

I read an article, somewhere that I can't remember, talking about the Dutch total football system and how Ajax employed it for several years cementing their name in the annals of club football history.

So, now while Ajax brings a weepy tear of good time memories to their supporters/fans/wannabes, they're just memories of a once great team. This will too be the fate of Barca and all great teams. Much like the Roman Empire, some nice sculptures and a legacy but little more than a bunch of white marble lying in the sun.

In short, there is no reason to be celebrating until the job is done. And by done, I mean there is still a second half of a series to be played in Camp Nou. The odds stand against the Arsenal but we will see.

Now for the Leyton Orient, another I couldn't really be bothered with. I knew the outcome before I laid my head on the pillow the night before. I'm not a pessimist but a shocking realist, true unto myself.

A game that's supposed to be won, isn't. Simple and true. I have nothing else to say about it but it gives another replay and a bunch of tired millionaires. As a good friend in high school told me once about a girl who would yell at her lovers, "If you're not going to do it right, then why bother?" Truer words have never been spoken. Mind you the girl mentioned above was a bit of a loose one in all honesty.

As many of you may know, this weekend was my birthday as well. If you couldn't make out, than you missed a good time or so I've been told.

Saturday evening I met up with Sheffield and surprised guest appearances by ArsenalBob, The Bakerman and SlainteLOSC. Let's say it was supposed to be a bit of a quiet drink or two before heading up to ChelskiGirl's surprise party.

Little did I know, ArsenalBob had other plans. I think in total it was about 40 odd shots bought and shared amongst a little group that varied in size throughout the early evening hours.

Sheffield, Vinnie, Gingerette and myself decided it was time to go, so we headed up towards the surprise party. Rumour has it that ArsenalBob colourized someone's car and left the Bakerman with a rather large bill.

The surprise for ChelskiGirl went off well. She was late, as usual, but then again it was a surprise so you can never expect those things to go as planned.

Sunday night there was the big party. There are several amongst the pub regulars who share birthdays within the same week, myself included. The birthday extravaganza keeps getting bigger and bigger.

This year, we made sure to grab the society room. Someone asked how many did I expect, but as usual, I had no idea. It's hard to tell 30 odd may respond but you may end up with a lot more or a lot less. One of those things, human nature.

We had some good numbers. I was feeling a bit under the weather, so was not my usual self. To be honest, I was feeling well out of sorts. It appears the flu monster has taken another victim.

I also received some rather sad news on the weekend as well. The man, who I called Santa Claus, a good friend of mine, will be sipping his pints with St. Peter and Gabriel. He lived life to his fullest and was one of the more inspirational people I have ever known.

May the gods bless him and may his soul have a wonderful journey.

~LeChat

Wolves at Home

Happy St. Valentine's day to you and yours or it, or whatever you decide to declare your romantic interests to. Whether it be an actual living breathing human being, a sheep or that nice soft sock/pillow, etc.. and so on.

This weekend we were met with the MancScum v. ManShitty derby. However, for myself, it was at a very inconvenient time in the morning. I decided it would best be spent getting myself ready for the proper match and not deal with the fair-weather rabble that tends to show up for these things.

Did I ever tell you how much I detest many MancScum so called fans? I'm not talking about the ones that I actually call friends, albeit in the loose vernacular term. I mean the ones who discovered United when xxx played for them or they won the double or the store down the street sold Beckham kits and he was/is still the best player ever.

You know the people I'm talking about. All clubs, at least on this side of the world have them; the glory hunter fan. There are a ton of these people, who don't know the history, only understand the geographical significance of this weekend's derby and only show up for the big games... when they're winning.

Now, I'll give you the respect if you just happened upon the sport at such a time and it is the reason you became interested, but don't feign interest when it's convenient. If I can't hold a conversation with you about the tactical significance of Coventry's midfield when they are playing Doncaster during a mid-table skirmish during a rainy boring nil nil on a Wednesday night, then we have nothing to go on about, do we?

Don't get me wrong, like I said, if you want to learn and spend time in the salt mines, like we all have, then much respect. However, you need to show up for more than the just the big games, when you are on top of the league.
/rant

The Arsenal match just happened to be on during the same time as the Liverpool match, so we were regulated to the side screen without sound. It didn't matter much to me as it was a much more comfortable match for the boys in red and white.

The Liverpool affair, I must say, was quite fun. At some point during the match, Shorts decided that Wigan needed some props, so to speak. He carefully blended a little ditty off of a Wu-Tang Clan chant, which started to bug a Scouser I'd never seen before. It was kind of funny but to his credit.

WIGAN ATHLETIC AIN'T NOTHING TO FUCK WITH!

He was all about it until he found out that it was the 'latics was just short for athletics and had nothing to do with milk, courtesy of the Lady of Manchester. We'll accept that as true.

This morning was filled with an unusual surprise. Ronaldo (the real one or the fat one, whichever you prefer) is retiring. I remember when he first stepped out for Brasil and was a complete phenom. I even bought his biography, something I never do for footballers but it's an interesting story.

Actually, if Anelka wrote one, I'd buy that too, because I'm sure that's an interesting story. Also, I still haven't seen the Zidane movie, a 21st century portrait. If anyone can get your hands on it, I'd be truly grateful.

Anyways, I knew he'd been hurt and not playing much, definitely not playing to his full 100%. I can admit I actually shed a small tear. The goofy smile, big head and funky hairdo will be missed. I don't see him staying in football, maybe in a back office, running some camps or scouting or something but not as manager.

So to Ronaldo Luis Nazario de Lima, BOA SORTE!
(that bloody well better be correct!)

~LeChat

Everton at Home and Newcastle Away

Well Tuesday was Tuesday. There isn't too much to say about it. It was a mid week game. The Arsenal played... won... 3 points to the good.

Now Saturday was a whole new ball of wax.

LilBlondieGooner sent me an early morning text. She was still jet-lagging from the wrong coast and was wondering when people were coming down. I let her know I'd be right around game time. I couldn't see myself getting there any earlier.

I arrived to the general milling around of the ManShitty by the door, followed by a few of the faithful. Gingerette and I grabbed a booth and invited LilBlondie to come over for a seat. She reminded us that it was MiniMo's birthday.

After a few, some Geordies started filing in. I have to admit I don't have a problem with the Geordie lot from the pub. Most of them are nice guys, at least from my experience with them. They know their football and are proud of their team. One can't complain about that.

However, somewhere along the line, there must be something that happened that a few others make comments about them. I usually just shake my head because I've never had any bad experiences with them. At least not with this lot.

Someone had mentioned they come off a little brusque and boisterous. I am going to chalk it up to people forgetting that they existed. I mean, they are Newcastle fans, what can one expect. It just goes back to my supporters are a reflection of their team and vice-versa. They're honest, I like that.

The first half was good. I can't complain one bit. I did see Shorts walking a small dog in the rain. It was an odd sight.

At halftime, there was cake to be had. The Bakerman, had done up a nice rich chocolate thing and we sang Happy Birthday to MiniMo. It was all quite nice.

The second half, well, how do I say this? I don't know. It happened. I think all my vulgarities for the week left my mouth within a span of 10 minutes.

Later that day, I had gone shopping with Gingerette. While she was in line waiting, I was standing around, checking scores on the phone and just trying not to be in the way. I was the typical guy waiting around the girly section of the store, while stuff was being purchased, not that I really mind or anything.

This lad comes up to me, we give each other the nod, it was obvious he was looking for something but what I didn't know. Somehow he spied enough of my kit, which was half hidden by my jacket.

"Eh? Ya Arsenal mate?" He had a thick London accent that caught me off guard.

"Yah..." I must have looked utterly confused

"Gutted, simply gutted."

"True. It was a different second."

He quickly chimed in, "Ya see United lost."

Nodding and smiling, "2-1 Wolves, just saw it on my phone."

He then asked for the lift, then correcting himself and saying elevator, to which the cashier pointed out. We nod and express good wishes to each other. Funny how you can randomly run into someone and have this random conversation about something completely relevant to your life.

I don't know, maybe I read too much into it. There is something about sport in general though that can make two random people, all of the sudden relate to some particular thing. It's hard pressed to find anything else like it, devoid of race, creed and religion.

In some circles, there are those that say sport is religion. Or you could have one of those shirts from the 90's that read along the lines X is life, the rest is just details.

The fact is, it's a leveling factor in many of our lives, at least for those reading this blog. I guess I'm saying that my life has been enriched by those I've come into contact with through football, the pub and sheer randomness.

For good and for bad, the world keeps getting smaller.

By the way, someone just hacked my yahoo account and spammed from it. Watch your passwords and change them often.

~LeChat