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
Showing posts with label Americanised. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Americanised. Show all posts
15 March 2010
22 February 2010
Sunderland at home (Birthday weekend!!!)
Let's be honest, it was all a blur this weekend. Well a bit more of a blur than what the usual weekend is, so to speak. My actual birthday was on Friday, just to keep the record straight, and I spent the evening quietly sipping New Castle's with an old friend at his establishment for a couple hours before calling it an early evening.
Saturday
Our intrepid adventure begins at the well known pub, a familiar place of contemplation and introspection. Here is the summation of what I can actually remember from that morning. Firstly, NO IRISH. What the heck??? I could not believe he would go on vacation and miss this match. Yes there was a match, MancScum and Toffees. There was a score line, which was quite a nice surprise for all to enjoy.
Thank you Blue Scouse.
I also know there were a lot of strangers in the pub. I am not complaining about that but it was very odd. I believe there was a total of two that I actually knew beyond mere facial recognition. However, I couldn't be bothered with the strangers... FERGIE was turning RED!
I just read something today about him forbidding his young players from wearing colourful boots.
-Guardian, Sir Alex Ferguson sticks the boot in...
NOW, I do not fully disagree with him, for once; it can happen. I think you better be the bees knees if you're going to put on some hot pink boots. Your goal average better be somewhere near 1.5/match or one hell of a play-maker. Yes, I'm looking at you Mr. Bendtner. I can score from the 6 yard box, actually that's my specialty but then again I spent more time playing indoor and I wasn't getting paid the GNP of a small island nation.
Anyways, back to Saturday. The Arsenal faithful started streaming in shortly prior to the end of the MancScum match. The Chelski boys came in drips and drabs but since it was my birthday weekend, we got the big screen. I actually think we may have been even on numbers. Chelski boys decided they would try their luck on the second floor since the rugby was not being televised.
Interestingly enough, we were having a conversation about Arse St. Nick, who had done a sojourn to Kenya and "got married" and hadn't been seen since. There had been some conjecture and speculation about what he had really been up to. He walks in around 60 minutes, to cheers and several well placed jibes about his trip.
He seemed happy to be back with the boys. He immediately started buying me shots since it was my birthday. I don't think we did the same shot twice. I kept complaining I had to make it out to band practice but that didn't stop the shots.
The Chelski boys came down after their match and got into celebration mood with the Arsenal. Songs and jokes started going back and forth. I believe with the dozen and half hooligans we had assembled, it was the loudest the pub had been in a long time. I am sure the drinks flowing had quite a bit to do with it as well, but it was definitely a good time.
Somehow StormtrooperChelski thought it was funny to go grab a pile of snow and stuff it down the back of my shirt. Cheeky bastard! I guess I deserved it for calling them all a bunch of batty boys as they headed upstairs to watch their match.
Band practice went off pretty well. We have a Clash tribute show coming up this next weekend. We will be preforming Spanish Bombs and Guns of Brixton at the Sidebar. Doors at 5 and we will be on second. Flyer, for those who care.
If you want something more cerebral, GrumpyGooner will be reading from his book, Hated and Proud at Atomic Books, at 7 PM. Here's some of the text from their site.
Yes, I shamelessly promote my mates as well. So if you got something going on, let me know and it will be added in here.
Saturday Night
Birthday Spectacular time! ChelskiGirl's birthday was Sunday and mine was Friday, so we decided to do a joint party. Initially, our intention was to get the top deck at the pub but to no avail, another party had beaten us to it. Dirty bastards! We were given the second floor at the barnextdoor, which is another nice place.
Let's just say it was a good time. I don't want to get into details but somehow there were some people, not associated with the party that took over about half the bar prior to everyone getting there. I shrugged my shoulders, so be it. I had no idea how many of us were actually going to show but we did turn up in numbers.
Once again, get enough of the pub hoolies drunk and in a space together, the singing begins. Fill up my senses and Arseloba seemed to be the songs of preference for the night, since they were probably the least offensive and neutral.
We closed out the bar and one of my longest known friends, MERN and I stumbled our way down the street. We stood on a corner talking for about 2 minutes when a pair of young ladies decided to join us for a chat. We hung out with them for a bit before I decided it was probably best to tuck it in and head home. I wasn't feeling the scene too much, as I was getting stuck with the grenade or as my Italian friends that I met in Ireland would say, "Bomba Atomica!"
MERN, on the other hand, did quite well for himself. The next afternoon he sent me a text saying the girls were looking for me after I had disappeared. I mean they locked themselves in the bathroom to evacuate their evening's consumption, plus I had to be the one to jump on the grenade; you would disappear too.
Sunday Morning
I am feeling very well. I decide to head towards the pub and have a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict and a warm coffee. To my elated surprise, Bridge was working instead of Irish. I took a seat next to Shane and watched the early game, of which my mind is now testing me, Burnley Villa, maybe, and something else. It did not matter much because the ManCity show was about to begin.
One of the better reasons to awake from about 3 hours of sleep is watching ManCity. It is not so much as ManShitty the team but ManCity himself. I think the comment that was made went something like, "that guy is like four fans in one." To which, my laughter attracted his attention and he came over and said, "I know you guys are talking about me because you're laughing too much." This was followed by more laughter.
Another highlight is that ManCity has taken to calling SWP by my name, which all the locals know and don't pay it much mind. However a pair of Scousers who I had never even seen before kept asking each other, why does he keep calling SWP other names. Now that was hilarious. I think they finally got the joke, but you never know.
Which reminds me, of my Olympics diving competition joke that took half the pub about five minutes to figure out. I do love a good delayed laugh. I got told I was being too cerebral for a Sunday morning. Mighty grim up North, mighty grim.
After the match I sat with Vinny and ChelskiPizzaman for a bit. We talked a bit about the weekend and various other absurdities as in parking tickets, being towed and the MVA.
All in all, it was a great weekend. Thanks to all that came out and celebrated with ChelskiGirl and myself. Thanks to all for the birthday wishes and thanks to ACMilan for the great Arsenal tuke.
ALRIGHT - one last thing. My spell check totally hates me. I am sorry I am not super Americanised and spell every stupid word the way you want me to spell it. It's a bloody tuke, woolie, beanie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. And one more fucking thing. I do use the ~s instead of ~zed at times and fuck you spell check, I said fucking ZED! And how come you don't have trouble with the words fuck or bastard, you stupid fucking, cunting spell check! PISS OFF!
~LeChat
Saturday
Our intrepid adventure begins at the well known pub, a familiar place of contemplation and introspection. Here is the summation of what I can actually remember from that morning. Firstly, NO IRISH. What the heck??? I could not believe he would go on vacation and miss this match. Yes there was a match, MancScum and Toffees. There was a score line, which was quite a nice surprise for all to enjoy.
Thank you Blue Scouse.
I also know there were a lot of strangers in the pub. I am not complaining about that but it was very odd. I believe there was a total of two that I actually knew beyond mere facial recognition. However, I couldn't be bothered with the strangers... FERGIE was turning RED!
I just read something today about him forbidding his young players from wearing colourful boots.
Sir Alex Ferguson has become the first top-flight manager to take a stand against brightly coloured football boots.
Under new rules Manchester United's junior players have been banned from wearing anything other than old-school black while on club business.
-Guardian, Sir Alex Ferguson sticks the boot in...
NOW, I do not fully disagree with him, for once; it can happen. I think you better be the bees knees if you're going to put on some hot pink boots. Your goal average better be somewhere near 1.5/match or one hell of a play-maker. Yes, I'm looking at you Mr. Bendtner. I can score from the 6 yard box, actually that's my specialty but then again I spent more time playing indoor and I wasn't getting paid the GNP of a small island nation.
Anyways, back to Saturday. The Arsenal faithful started streaming in shortly prior to the end of the MancScum match. The Chelski boys came in drips and drabs but since it was my birthday weekend, we got the big screen. I actually think we may have been even on numbers. Chelski boys decided they would try their luck on the second floor since the rugby was not being televised.
Interestingly enough, we were having a conversation about Arse St. Nick, who had done a sojourn to Kenya and "got married" and hadn't been seen since. There had been some conjecture and speculation about what he had really been up to. He walks in around 60 minutes, to cheers and several well placed jibes about his trip.
He seemed happy to be back with the boys. He immediately started buying me shots since it was my birthday. I don't think we did the same shot twice. I kept complaining I had to make it out to band practice but that didn't stop the shots.
The Chelski boys came down after their match and got into celebration mood with the Arsenal. Songs and jokes started going back and forth. I believe with the dozen and half hooligans we had assembled, it was the loudest the pub had been in a long time. I am sure the drinks flowing had quite a bit to do with it as well, but it was definitely a good time.
Somehow StormtrooperChelski thought it was funny to go grab a pile of snow and stuff it down the back of my shirt. Cheeky bastard! I guess I deserved it for calling them all a bunch of batty boys as they headed upstairs to watch their match.
Band practice went off pretty well. We have a Clash tribute show coming up this next weekend. We will be preforming Spanish Bombs and Guns of Brixton at the Sidebar. Doors at 5 and we will be on second. Flyer, for those who care.
If you want something more cerebral, GrumpyGooner will be reading from his book, Hated and Proud at Atomic Books, at 7 PM. Here's some of the text from their site.
DANCE OF DAYS - MARK ANDERSEN
HATED & PROUD - SAB GREY
Saturday, February 27, 7PM. .
Admission: Free. Atomic Books.
Mark Andersen will be discussing his book Dance of Days: Two Decades of Punk in the Nation's Capital - a fantastic and comprehensive look at DC's famous punk scene.
Sab Grey - who was part of the very scene that Mark Andersen chronicles is now a novelist. He will be reading from his new book, Hated & Proud.
Yes, I shamelessly promote my mates as well. So if you got something going on, let me know and it will be added in here.
Saturday Night
Birthday Spectacular time! ChelskiGirl's birthday was Sunday and mine was Friday, so we decided to do a joint party. Initially, our intention was to get the top deck at the pub but to no avail, another party had beaten us to it. Dirty bastards! We were given the second floor at the barnextdoor, which is another nice place.
Let's just say it was a good time. I don't want to get into details but somehow there were some people, not associated with the party that took over about half the bar prior to everyone getting there. I shrugged my shoulders, so be it. I had no idea how many of us were actually going to show but we did turn up in numbers.
Once again, get enough of the pub hoolies drunk and in a space together, the singing begins. Fill up my senses and Arseloba seemed to be the songs of preference for the night, since they were probably the least offensive and neutral.
We closed out the bar and one of my longest known friends, MERN and I stumbled our way down the street. We stood on a corner talking for about 2 minutes when a pair of young ladies decided to join us for a chat. We hung out with them for a bit before I decided it was probably best to tuck it in and head home. I wasn't feeling the scene too much, as I was getting stuck with the grenade or as my Italian friends that I met in Ireland would say, "Bomba Atomica!"
MERN, on the other hand, did quite well for himself. The next afternoon he sent me a text saying the girls were looking for me after I had disappeared. I mean they locked themselves in the bathroom to evacuate their evening's consumption, plus I had to be the one to jump on the grenade; you would disappear too.
Sunday Morning
I am feeling very well. I decide to head towards the pub and have a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict and a warm coffee. To my elated surprise, Bridge was working instead of Irish. I took a seat next to Shane and watched the early game, of which my mind is now testing me, Burnley Villa, maybe, and something else. It did not matter much because the ManCity show was about to begin.
One of the better reasons to awake from about 3 hours of sleep is watching ManCity. It is not so much as ManShitty the team but ManCity himself. I think the comment that was made went something like, "that guy is like four fans in one." To which, my laughter attracted his attention and he came over and said, "I know you guys are talking about me because you're laughing too much." This was followed by more laughter.
Another highlight is that ManCity has taken to calling SWP by my name, which all the locals know and don't pay it much mind. However a pair of Scousers who I had never even seen before kept asking each other, why does he keep calling SWP other names. Now that was hilarious. I think they finally got the joke, but you never know.
Which reminds me, of my Olympics diving competition joke that took half the pub about five minutes to figure out. I do love a good delayed laugh. I got told I was being too cerebral for a Sunday morning. Mighty grim up North, mighty grim.
After the match I sat with Vinny and ChelskiPizzaman for a bit. We talked a bit about the weekend and various other absurdities as in parking tickets, being towed and the MVA.
All in all, it was a great weekend. Thanks to all that came out and celebrated with ChelskiGirl and myself. Thanks to all for the birthday wishes and thanks to ACMilan for the great Arsenal tuke.
ALRIGHT - one last thing. My spell check totally hates me. I am sorry I am not super Americanised and spell every stupid word the way you want me to spell it. It's a bloody tuke, woolie, beanie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. And one more fucking thing. I do use the ~s instead of ~zed at times and fuck you spell check, I said fucking ZED! And how come you don't have trouble with the words fuck or bastard, you stupid fucking, cunting spell check! PISS OFF!
~LeChat
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)