Bolton at Home

I've come to realise after my many many years of supporting a club; just how deeply my affiliation and, for lack of a better word, obsession can be.

Saturday morning, I was headed down to the pub, as usual. I had took a scant glance at the United game before leaving the homestead and not really caring about the scoreline at all. I took the not so usual path down through some of the county roads, as I needed to fuel my car up.

Now, if it isn't obvious to those that read this or know me, I am a pretty way left of center person. One thing I have no care for is the flagrant posting of your cookie cutter political beliefs on your bumper, no matter what your party affiliation.

I don't mean things like "Save the Whales" or "Protect my Guns" or anything with a direct, well intended statement of cause. I'm talking about the stupid "I'm a repub/dem/whatever nonsensical party you choose to make sure everyone else knows you are part of." Honestly, if that is how you fixate your little life, that's all on you.

Yes there is a point to all this, patience.

So I pull up to the stoplight and ahead of me is some yokel with GOP stickers plastered along the back of his not quite full grown SUV. I chuckled a bit cause it's an SUV instead of Fuckemup Pickuptruck. Now it didn't really raise my ire, as stupidity usually does but you know, it was just like, what are you really saying? Do you really believe in all this? Do you just tow the party line without thought or consequence?

Then I come to realise it is an election year, so I let it go. I will give him credit for having a sticker that said, "I'm a Reagan Republican" which was a bit different from the usual milieu of shite.

We pull up to the next light and he pulls into the lane beside another mini SUV. This one had a big old St. George on the back with England in bold letters scribed in the center. I smile, comparing the two vehicles, now I sit behind a fellow football supporter.

Not so fast, sir! 'Lo and behold, next to the St. George resided a Union Jack... and... unfortunately... it held a 10 letter word, which I can only say with the greatest disgust. He was not a football supporter. He was fucking MANC SCUM!

I sat there, gripping my steering wheel and gritting my teeth. I stared into his rear view, calling him all sorts of dirty words, hoping he would look up so I could introduce him to some sign language.

I started noticing other stickers on the back of his piece of crap SUV. MancShit this MancScum that. He had a baby on board sign that said something like Careful Little Piece of Shit Supporter on Board.

The light was starting to last too long. It finally changes and I follow him closely, hoping once he would look up. My eyes drilling into his rearview, thinking to myself, "Comeon you fuck, turn around, so I can call you a FUCK!"

I had to put this mong in his place. I looked back at the GOP SUV and shook my head. He was lucky he didn't have any MancScum shit on his vehicle. I would have probably been arrested if he did.

My attention returns fully to the MancScum SUV in front of me. I start praying he turns into the station up ahead. I was a bit low on gas, so I didn't want to risk following him all over the city, just to tell him to fuck off.

He keeps driving straight. I pull into the station, and start looking for a new victim. I had a lot of pure rage going on at this point. I ended up just angrily swiping my card and calling the gas pump a cunt, cause it started making weird noises as I was refueling.

It made me think as I drove onwards to the pub. I have always taken into account what club someone supports and use that to form the basis of opinion about that person.

Don't get me wrong, I do have a few very good friends who are MancScum supporters. I have even spoken to a couple, yah just one or two, decent, proper Scum supporters. Individually, I can say they are all good people. They know the game. They love their club. You can even have a few beers with them. They just picked the wrong ones to support.

It's a funny disease, football. If you try and get away from it, somehow it just keeps creeping back in. If you don't ever have that feeling, then you're not a proper football supporter.

Yes I am judging you.

You may watch the sport. Play the sport. You may even go take in a game or two every year, but if it doesn't affect so that others may see you as even slightly disturbed or refer to you as "the soccer guy" or some other stupid nickname. Then don't ever dare call yourself a supporter; a fan, yes, but not a supporter.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is probably why there is so much distaste for the American support. Yes, they did well in WC2010. The team played much better than expected. The pub was chocked full of punters, however where are those crowds now?

Someone on the street last week spotted me wearing my French kit. He made a comment about something and WC2010. I just nodded and smiled. I think he even asked something along the lines of why I was wearing it, since the World Cup was over.

I just smiled again and said, "I support France."

I didn't feel like explaining Euros to the guy. He was being nice and starting conversation but as a supporter, in general, you just grit your teeth and wish they just didn't say anything at all.

It would be like me discussing the difference between a west coast offence and nickel defence. I could tell you that one means you're attacking and the other means you're defending. I have very little idea on the intricacies of American Football and won't pretend like I do. That's just me though.

Life is funny, so is football. I am glad that I get to enjoy both.

~LeChat

FAILURE

-interview excerpt clipped from Arseloba Magazine.

M. LeChat, apparently you failed at picking who would come out of group and beyond. Can you explain this to us?

That's correct. I am no ocotopus. I can't believe I got beat on my picks by an 8 armed freak that lives in an aquarium. Seriously, who would have thunk it.

Is that your excuse or better, the reason for your failure?

What do I have to say for myself, absolutely nothing. The cup this year had a fair number of surprises and we're edging up to a final that is probably the least enthralling since... I don't know when. I am not that old, even though there are some who may beg to differ.

What was your desire for the final?

I was really hoping for a minnows versus shark final. Now, we have a bloated whale versus whale plankton eating fest. *le sigh*

Can you hear the whale song?
HOoOOOOOoooland.. spAIIIIIIIIIIINN.... ppppsshshhhhhhh
Last bit is blowhole noise, if you don't know what whales sound like, I suggest you go to one of those new age hippie shops and buy a soundtrack.

Do you at least plan to watch the game?

I will take my normal stroll and head to the pub for the action on the weekend. I will just be there for the football though. I don't really care which side ends up with the cup. Sure, it would be nice for Spain to bring it and it will make me stop with all my paella and gazpacho jokes.

So, any regrets M. LeChat?

My only regret is I didn't get to watch enough games with the local crew. Well that and having to endure the incessant babble from the rabble, which more or less subsided once certain squads got knocked out.

So the crowds were mostly rabble?

No, not at all. It was a good crowd for most every game, that I attended. You know this is good for football in general. I would love to see a regular crowd show up in August when the EPL kicks off but that is just mere wishful thinking on my part.

You don't see the crowds being around come start of the European seasons?

Meh, maybe for the first couple, as it will be right after the ManShitty and Inter game on July 31st. It would be nice if the football fever stuck around, but come the middle of November, they'll be gone. You may get one or two, but it would be a pleasure to have a few more.

Mentioning the EPL and European seasons, what is your take on the Arsenal transfers?

I don't discuss those until I see the man kick the ball in red and white.

There have been two confirmed signings, what are your thoughts?

I do not discuss those.
*glaring at the reporter*

Well, um, alright, what are your feelings on the French meltdown?

The FFF meltdown was bound to happen. Domenech should have been fired years ago. Gallas has a short blurb in the Guardian about it. I mean, he's not the say all and be all of French football but he does make the point I've been making for the last few years.

So mentioning the French, how do you think Koscielny will pair with Vermaelen?

*throws litter box at reporter*

~LeChat

Implosions and Classic French Novellas

I've been keeping my head low on the whole thing. Yes, I've got your messages and texts and fb posts and e-mails. I just haven't cared to respond to anyone on this at all besides a nod and a smile.

When it first went down, was I surprised? NON!

Should I have been? NON!

Should anyone have been? NON!

Why in the world am I here then? Typing this thing that's been done to death like the off-sides call that wasn't because the ref didn't call it. Those things don't beat your team, not scoring long before the call even mattered are the things that beat your team.

Referees are human, however highly or lowly you think of them. They miss calls.

Managers are for the most part human with the same caveat.

Players who make millions off the backs of supporters.... are human and are prone to err. Whether through their inane personas, lack of purpose in big games or general overall stupidity, these things are the things that remind us that they are human.

Professional and World class football has a way of making us, as animalistic and barbaric as we can be at at times, forget that these people are in fact just like us in many ways. They have fears and regrets, moments of clarity and insanity, loves and hates. They bleed when cut, perspire when hot, and after a long night of drink and curry... their shit does stink and probably burns if it is the hot Thai curry that tastes so good.

All that I am saying is that when a squad has lost its faith in the leadership, things do happen. It is a pity that it happened on the big stage with the lights shining down and the curtain wide open during a public dress rehearsal but that's life, isn't it?

The fact that these things happen to teams all the time, usually in a more private matter. I am betting no one remembers the year Brasil struggled through the group stages and barely made it into the Eight... I remember.

What happened? Brasil had a big collapse and lost faith in the manager. The squad had a ton of infighting and as usual, politics were playing a major role, instead of the football. These things happen to every team and many times, not usually at the final tournament but it does happen.

There is no team that wears a mighty armor that can not be undone by the tiniest of thorns.

So where does this leave me? Who shall I be supporting now that Les Bleus are gone? I have no idea and I need to wait until the dust settles.

Je me souviens.

~LeChat

Sunderland Away

This is going to be quick and painless. I am none too happy about the results this weekend at all. NONE.

My first inclination was to avoid writing about anything pertaining to Saturday, but then I thought better.

SATURDAY

The usual suspects abound. I made it down to the pub for the ManShitty - Scousers tie and was bored. Not even a slight bit of excitement. *sigh*

Then the Arsenal match. Watching Nightcaller get drunk and still being pissed about a dubious hand ball was more exciting than the match. Let's just say the chants of Boring Boring Arsenal seemed more appropriate than ever.

I was actually so annoyed and bored. I left during the middle of the MancScum game. I think Saturday was the worst day in a long time. The only thing that kept me from going insane was the usual suspects.

It's always good to have a few good mates around. Especially when it rains the shit cloud of boredom that Saturday had become.

UGH I WANT TO STAB MY EYES OUT!

SATURDAY NIGHT

Boredom turned to anger froth and venom. I had to deal with the local cable company and their shenanigans for half the night. I decided it was better for me to avoid any and all groups of people trying to have a good time.

SUNDAY

The sun came out. I decided against my better judgment to head down to the pub and watch the Italian Oscars with ACMILAN. I had nothing better to do.

Now here is the WHAT THE HELL moment for the week. I was actually entertained by Italian football. WHAT? Yah I know. After watching the boring draws on Saturday I was thinking of quitting. Never watching another game again.

Bonus Feature: ACMilan is celebrating his win, mind you, we are the only two in the pub really watching the game. A bunch of normals are sitting around at the various tables, grazing on their morning meals.

ACMilan is clapping, turns around and tells everyone to join in because Milan just won. I jest not. The whole pub was clapping in unison to the win. I believe one person even inquired about why they were clapping. It was a bright spot on the day.

Afterwards, I bought some pants. They are very nice pants.

Yah this is short. I am not recounting anything else. I am still bored, angered and disappointed in this weekend. Not for my friends, mind you not, but for the stupidity of the football media. Hell the stupidity of the media in general.

*sigh*

Dreaming of a time when Irish people and French people can walk hand in hand together.

~LeChat

Allez Les Bleus! - Midweek WC2010 qualifier

Well, where to begin? Where to begin?

As many of you already know, there was a sleight of hand that allowed Les Bleus to go through. There are arguments about how the game should be replayed, about how Henry has tainted his soul and the such. I think what everyone is truly forgetting here, being a voice of reason, is that it is FOOTBALL!

We know this game. We love this game. We hate this game. We take this game out for dinner, grope it in the backseat and do that thing we are not suppose to do, then profess we didn't mean to do it this time and later that evening tell it about how sexy it's younger sister is in that mini-skirt she wore at Christmas last year.

See that is what the handball is, telling the love of your life how hot the younger sister is in the mini-skirt. Yes it may be true but no you really shouldn't say things like that. Sometimes you get lucky and end up in a threesome, however most of the time it is a right cross to the jaw and being very lonely.

Let me spell it out for the Scum...

You win some. You lose some. Either way, you're still a sneaky bastard.

In some quarters, you may be seen as clever, but that's only if you win. In others, well, I am sure there are some who can come up with better words than I can at the moment. For France, Henry was clever. For Ireland, he's a cheating sneaky bastard.

I could use this on other players, in other situations but what's the point? There is none. WHY? Because it's fucking football, a fucking beautiful game played by artist, judged by those who have a passion for the art.

Wait, I lie.

I will make another reference, one that the Sheriff might appreciate. A young big eared Scouse bastard who looks like Shrek will be our villain or hero, however you want to put it. On the other end, there is this beautiful team in Red and White who have gone unbeaten for several games, hell they may have even broken a few long standing records.

Now our hero/villain decides to take a run into the box. The big eared man is not known for taking advantage of the rules, being English and all that. Now during his run the Shrek-like lummox decides to go against his usual nature (chuckle) and takes a spill. The man in black points to the spot and the beautiful team in Red and White has given up a penalty. This penalty basically ends the longest unbeaten streak by the team in Red and White.

HOWEVER, no one will put our hero in stocks for this, and the fucking scum does it again a couple seasons later and again to another team and again and again. He is lauded by his followers as a hero and by supporters of the beautiful team in Red and White as a sneaky fucking bastard.
Fuck Rooney!

So, I do not blame the Irish for saying, "Fuck Henry!", as I know they will. I can only shrug at that, because it could have easily gone the other way and I'd be saying, "Fuck Keane!", actually I say that all the time cause he is a sneaky little bastard who couldn't cut it at Liverpool.

The reality is, I actually missed the whole thing.

I do want to take a moment and thank all my comrades for sending me updates while I was trying to save people from their legal messes. Good looking out!

I headed down to the pub right after work. I found it to be one of the longest drives that I have ever endured. I parked and metered my car, of course my card wasn't working in the stupid pass machine, so I grabbed some assorted coins and dropped them in, not paying too much attention to how much time I really had. I ran down the street, into the pub and bounded up the steps, knowing the scoreline was 1-1(2-1 agg). I got a ticket, later in the evening.

Some of the Irish supporters that were familiar with me either gave me a solemn nod or a glare followed by something along the lines of cheating bastards. ChelskiGirl and Irish both gave me shit for about 10 seconds and all I could do was shrug and say "I didn't see a thing."

I braved the mass of angry green and found myself in the French Quarter. A very different mood all together. I kept my head low, but had a big grin on my face as I watched the clock keep on ticking. I was really hoping Les Bleus would put in another, just so the one goal would be a mere footnote but to no avail.

Peep. Peep. Peep. It's all over in Paris.

The rest of the evening was spent imbiding Carlsbergs with Vinny, MiniMourhino and the eventual arrival of Sheffield. We kept it going for some time and finally I was able to see the play. Yes about 2 hours after the game was over.

I can say this. Yes, it was a handball.

~LeChat

Internationals/WC 2010 Qualifiers at Dublin

One thing about World Cup, which I still can't figure out. I tend to spend a lot of money. Well beyond my usual amount. I am trying to wrap my head around how it happens but I blame the atmosphere.

SATURDAY
Ireland - Les Bleus: Dublin.

The morning started off with the usual foray onto the good old social network site. Posting some videos, commenting and rallying the troops. I think I spent about a good hour or two playing around on YouTube.

I found myself bored so traveled towards the pub. I figured I had roused and instigated enough on the good old social network site. I had forgotten the US game was on early but it was only a friendly. Upon entering the pub, it was a strange site. There was no one that I even knew by face on the first floor. That is how it is with the US crowd, various people at various times, nothing consistent but a whole lot of them.

To be honest, the morning did start out strange. Irish was in a bad mood unlike his normal bad mood. I figure it had to do with the amount of non-regulars in the pub or some other things going on. We greeted each other with caution.

2-1 and accepting nods.

2-1 is the score of respect. It basically means your team is good but mine is just better. And with the way the France squad was selected, I was a tad bit nervous of who would be the 2 and who would be the 1.

As I settled in and watched the Russian game, I was joined by a strange older man who had a wobbly walk. He asked to sit at the round table where I was since there was nothing at the bar. My first inclination was to be annoyed but after decided that it was a free seat and it had something to do with a greater good.

My mind, however was more focused on the impending game. The old man asked a bit about the Russian game, so I gave him a little knowledge on the game. Doing my duty for the footballing world. The old man left after a while to visit some more pubs, I presume.

ChelskiGirl popped in and gave a little hello. She found a seat at the bar. SlainteLOSC had also come in and told me about claiming some seats near the big television towards the back of the second floor. I guess it would be appropriate to call it the French Quarter.

I found my way upstairs after talking with ChelskiGirl for a few moments. It was early, hours before the game was suppose to start. A few supporters on both sides started showing up. SlainteLOSC and I were joined by a nice couple. Between our small group, we concurred that there would be about a dozen France supporters and a ton of Irish.

ChelskiGirl dropped off some fries that she didn't want but decided to head home to watch the game on her computer. Serbia was already in, so she really didn't want to pay to see the qualifier. ACMilan arrived about the time she left.

ACMilan sat in the French Quarter, chatted and hypothesized about the game and selections with us for a bit. He headed down about the time the second floor started to fill up. The French supporters quickly filled the Quarter. The Irish surrounded us but we were content in our own little bilingual section.

LilBlondieGooner showed up with her boyfriend, NightCaller. Yes, that's right, finally a nick for him, which will be discussed in a minute. It was his birthday, so I will give him a little leeway.

The game was good. It was well worth the Setanta fee and the atmosphere was amazing. I will say it again and again, there is nothing like watching Internationals in a pub. Even if your team comes out on the bad end, there's still that feeling of good will and a unity amongst supporters.

It is sad that sometimes that good will does not always extend out on to the pitch.

A fair result, since the Irish were playing an Italian game. I was walking out and one of the random Arsenal supporters thought I was a Chelski boy. I was nice about it but have to admit I was very much offended. I even exposed my Arsenal shirt to her, just to hammer home the point. We talked for a while and she showed me a picture of her son that the father wouldn't let her name Thierry Henry. She then said she was going to name her daughter that but he wouldn't allow it either. Hater.

I joined ACMilan, Vinny and MiniMourhino downstairs. MiniMourhino had been upstairs enjoying the match but I did not get much chance to talk to him. We all had a few drinks and joked around for a bit. ACMilan and I headed towards Meli for a quick bite to eat and then back to the pub.

After hanging around for some more time and watching Hockey with the ManagerInBlack, I decided it was time to head out. I started down the road back to the car and ended up following Vinny into a surprise party. I ended up back at the pub shortly after and sat around talking to MiniMourhino and T-Bone for a bit.

That is when the Zyedco music began. There was once a time I could enjoy it a little bit but I have come to despise it. I don't know why, it just grates on me like bad beer and annoying American Football supporters in obnoxious Canton bars.

It was finally time to leave. I headed towards home and got a call from ACMilan. He was at his usual antics of yelling at people while being on the phone. I knew it was trouble when he said "Hey this girl is wearing an Inter jersey."

I have to admit that it was hilarious, to say the least.

Saturday Night

I made it home and was out by 930. It was a long day and I was exhausted. Around 230AM I woke up to my cell ringing. I looked down and it was LilBlondieGooner's number so I thought something bad had happened to her boyfriend. He was a bit toasted when I had last seen him and I am sure he was worst for the wear.

I answer and it was the NightCaller himself. Apparently he was trying to get in touch with the ScouseDrummer from my band. Somehow the conversation, and I mean conversation ended up having to do something with the Ireland France game. Something about a goal that wasn't a goal and a little bit of "I don't mind because we support the same club."

I gave him the number and called the ScouseDrummer. He was at some party but I figure everything got settled. Well at least I hope it all is.

Before I was able to get back to sleep, I took a look at my phone and there was a message from A Certain Scouser. (I know I am surrounded by them, like rats.)

Drunk!Yay!

As a matter of fact, I've been getting random texts asking if she was mentioned this week. Seeing that the Scouser couldn't muscle it down to the pub, I guess I can give full harassment. I mean showing up just like her squad does for big games.

HAHA!

Back to normal football next weekend. Here is hoping mid-week brings World Cup spot to Les Bleus.

ALLEZ! ALLEZ!

~LeChat

Wooooooolves (Away)

I can not say there is much joy happening right now. I am in nervous anticipation for the next weekend. WC2010 qualifiers, France-Ireland. I am usually not too nervous about such affairs but it began preoccupying my mind late Sunday after getting off the phone with ACMilan.

It is funny how a wonderful weekend can turn into a "wonder what the hell next weekend will bring", in a matter of moments. So, does Ireland make me nervous? Yes, I just said that. I wish I really could put my finger on why without resorting to my old stand by of,

Domenech can not be trusted with the national team and he must have some naked pictures of someone in the FFF to have had this job for so long because he has really fucked it up royally on more than one occasion.

SATURDAY

It started off alright... down the pub... have some pints, so to speak. ManCity himself was center stage prior to me getting there. For some reason or another, he kept insisting I looked like Shawn Wright-Phillips. I think I am buying him a pair from Lenscrafters for Christmas.

A couple of the part-time bistro boys came in and were going to take him over to the Bistro for the Arsenal game. They had plans to meet up with someone there, so I forgave them, this time. I also thought it would be hilarious for ManCity and his usually vocal self to be surrounded by a bunch of Gooners (at least they call themselves that) watching the Arsenal play.

I hope to run into him soon to find out how it all went. He was saying he didn't have any issues with going over there and being himself, as the bistro Gooners are a little soft. Everyone nodded in agreement.

The three headed off about the time HalfArseDean came in. It was good to see him as he had not been around for some time. ChelskiGirl showed up shortly after kick off, followed by MiniMourhino after the half. The crowd in general was a little thin but that is to be expected for late games.

Somehow a conversation was started about opening up a Relegation pub. It would be for those who are in the bottom 4 or Championship. No big teams, only BIG games. It would be a neat idea and give people like Sheffield and our local Geordies a place to watch their matches without jockeying for position against the likes of Scousers and Mancs.

After the game, I somehow found myself at the barnextdoor with ChelskiGirl and Jonfromnextdoor. The rest of the day was a bit blurry after that, with the exception of me getting nachos at Friends and running into a kid I hadn't seen in like 12 years.

SUNDAY

I expected this day to be more fun and excitement than what it was. I popped down to the pub a bit early, as I was bored and there was nothing else better to do. ACMilan was there, so we decided to grab a bite to eat and watch his game in the back section, as someone found the vapid Hull Stoke tie to be more entertaining.

I will admit, I am usually not a big fan of Italian football but it was a fairly interesting match. You had your choice between Milan and Lazio. I would have rather eaten a dog bone but choose to at least show a little support to ACMilan and not the facist. Which brings up the question of how can you tell which team is more facist in Italy? I know there is a joke in there somewhere.

Pasta, Spaghetti, Rigatoni. Don't talk about my mama's Lasagna!
That is ACMilan's joke, not mine, so no one come after me with the concrete shoes.

We sat in the back for the United Chelsea tie. We were joined by various others at various times, some just to say hello and some to stay for a while and join in our random commentary on the state of the match. We were like the two grumpy guys on the muppet show.

It was nice to see one of my original Manc friends there, but he disappeared before the end of the match. He tends to get a little riled up when Mancs or England are losing. One time I had to throw him in the back of my car and take him cross town so he didn't throw any more bottles at anyone. Funny thing is, he's one of the best lads there is out there, genuine and true.

Weird moment of the day:
Some random MancScum, actually I know exactly who he is... had some words with M. He didn't like the way she was singing with the Chelski bunch after the game. He actually threatened physical harm to her. I was standing about 1o feet away, waiting for him to take a step, which never appeared.

I figured most of it was just drunken rambling but he had a lot of balls to say some of the things he did. I think M would have handled herself though, maybe even pulled him down ala Elizabeth Lambert style.



MONDAY

I can not believe not a single Scouser gave me a score update today. I'm lumping you all back together. One big old lump of scouse, some friends you are. And by the way, if you are going to dive, at least - A. make it look good. - B. win the bloody game.

halfasses

~LeChat

BIRMINGHAM at HOME and WC2010 Playoff Draw

Where shall I begin?

This weeks blog, like my beautiful little Volkswagen, is having a hard time starting. I am sure that the finishing will be much better than what the Scousers had going on this weekend however.

(Apologies to all my Scouse friends, you may want to stop reading now.)
I believe there was some kind of benefit or get-together on Friday. I only picked up a smattering of what was going on from A Certain Scouser after I was a couple beers into a happy hour before band practice. Needless to say I was unable to attend. I do enjoy their little soirees.

However, I will admit. The beach ball party on Saturday morning was a lot more fun.

Alright, alright, I can feel the ice-picks being thrown across the intertubes now.

So I wasn't in a hurry to watch the first match. I really didn't care too much, either way. I slept in for a few and luckily my car decided to start. So far it was appearing to be a good day.

Making my way into the pub, I get stopped by some of the Chelski jokers about my blue colored jacket. It happens all the time. I quickly opened up and pointed to the cannon on my old school top and laughs were had. I was then told to not turn around and look at the screen.

With confusion on my face, I slowly peer over my shoulder and see it. Villa up and Chelski making very little impact. I smiled, yes only smiled and maybe chuckled a bit and waved myself on. I spoke to ChelskiGirl and Mini-Mourinho before heading down to the Arsenal end of the pub.

I am seriously just going to claim the whole back booth area. For some reason, all our games seem to be on at the same time as the Scousers. And with Irish being a Scouse loving Irishman, we know whose going to be on the main screen. No offense on that, like I've said before, hardest working man in the business. Plus the Scousers do have a rather large contingent, even on beach ball day.

LilBlondieGooner and her man were at the end of the bar. First thing that comes out of her mouth was something along the lines of 'You're late, I expected you to be here already.' Not much I could say, except I decided to sleep in and no one cares about Chelski playing Villa. I now stand corrected.

Also, apparently you can order fruit and toast. Yes, fruit and toast. Go figure.

Well I settle down in the back booths after making some Joe Cole comments and order up some breakfast. A little more substantial than fruit and toast. However this prompts LilBlondieGooner into calling me fat. So I am keeping that one in a little notebook. She will get hers. *insert evil laughter*

I have to admit, nothing too exciting happened. The Gunners showed up, a little sloppy to say the least. Someone started singing 99 Red Balloons after Sunderland scored against the Scousers. Well it was sung quite a few times but no one could get past the beginning of the song.

I did give consolations to my Scouse friends. It was really a dubious decision by the Ref, who by the way, is always a bastard. I was reading in the Guardian about how it should have been disallowed, which is what my immediate thought was.

I might be an annoying Gooner sometimes, but HEY, I do know what's fair and what some of the more obscure rules of the game, for the most part. It is nice to have some kind of confirmation of the fact without having to look it up in a rule book.

Anyways, it was a positive, albeit London weather like, Saturday for the pub and football, and most of all the Arsenal. Everyone dropping points, except for the bloody Scum. I still can't believe they are one point ahead of us.

Yah, Game in Hand, I know. Still Scum sit above The Arsenal in the table.

Sunday

My Sunday was suppose to be heading down to the pub to harass City and catch up with ACMilan. However, German engineering sought to derail my attempts at forming a resistance by staging an occupation of my back yard. Or the Scousers nicked my starter. Someone is plotting against me. So I spent most of the day figuring out that my battery was not the issue and that I would have to go to a real mechanic.

What do you Germans and Scousers have in common...


The English version. You know, whatever you do, don't mention the war.

OH I need to pass on this story, as well. ACMilan, which I must mention, calls me late in the day with a wonderful tale that needed to be witnessed. He sends me an MMS with himself posing with a bunch of guys from a reggae band. He calls it his good luck charm.

Apparently, when all hope was lost. These guys started setting up to perform at the pub that night. ACMilan asked if they could hold off for a bit while the game was finishing. They agreed and were messing around a bit. ACMilan said they started playing Three Little Birds, and Milan started playing like they were all a bunch of 20 year olds, coming back and winning their match against Roma.

He said the music just fit, everything was just working, clicking on all cylinders. Then he started singing, "Don't worry bout a thing, cause every little thing, is going to be alright." Which I will admit, hearing ACMilan singing Bob Marley, was a highlight on a rather dismal Sunday.

MONDAY - World Cup Playoff Draw

As many of you may or may not know, I do not get much time to access the intertubes from work. Today, during my lunch, half not thinking, I decide to have a look at the good old Guardian. The Guardian goes well with cheesesteak subs apparently.

My bookmark is actually on the football page. Top story just happened to be this one.
France will not intimidate Irish

Very interesting indeed. I was expecting the draw to go a little different. I did not expect to be drawn against the Irish. It's going to make for a very uncomfortable mid-November at the pub. My only consolation is knowing that the French games will be on the big screen. I hope that SlainteLOSC does decide to turn up. United we must stand in a sea of green.

I must point out that this still does not discredit my World Cup conspiracy theory. It just proves it, more or less. Ireland could actually be a contender but what would FIFA do if they actually took the thing? Seriously, if Ireland does get lucky and beat France, then at least they can say they beat one of the better teams out there and have proof that they are a serious contender. My guess is there is always wishful thinking or luck of the Irish. HA!

Allez les Bleus!

~LeChat

Internationals or How I plot my move to Faroe Islands!

YES YES it's another INTERNATIONAL WEEKEND!
Throw on your favorite country's colours and dance like you want to...

I took a rare and I mean rare Friday night out. I found myself in my normal spot, amongst the strangers, tourists and ne'er do wells at the bottom end of the Point. I had nothing else better to do and the weather was kind.

All in all uneventful, minus the fact that one of the ne'er do wells and a restaurant next door patron decide to come to a few shoves and a bunch of yelling. Apparently, calling someone's significant other a whore is grounds for an ass kicking. Now I don't make judgments on one's whoredom or lack of whoredom but it really isn't a nice thing to say on a beautiful Friday evening.

ChelskiGirl popped down for her usual Magners shortly after the excitement. BlackSpy joined up and we sat for a few before deciding to move to a different spot. I was still suffering the ill effects of last week's chest cold and the cuba libres weren't doing the job, so I dumped out before turning into a pumpkin.

SATURDAY or better known as my plot to move to Faroe Islands

MiniMourinho gives me a call in the morning to let me know he's heading out for the pub and to warn me about the marathon. We discuss the finer points of avoiding the hassles of getting to the pub and I make the decision to wait about half an hour longer before leaving. I wasn't in much of a hurry to see the Germany game and the England game was more of a "well if I make it down there in time" sort of thing.

You know, whoever was the genius to create a marathon in the middle of football season should be shot. No, really.

I make it down to the pub and am greeted by the trio of ChelskiGirl, MiniMourinho and Pretzels. They had been in there for a while watching the German Russian game. I took a seat down towards the other end with Shane who recounted his hour and half journey into the city because of the marathon. It's usually a 20 minute trip or thereabouts.

After the match, Pretzels and I decided we were hungry and decided to grab burgers next door. He had never had a burger from there or the Chowhound so what better time than now. We headed over and sat at Jonfromnextdoor's bar. It's always nice and laid back up there.

Pretzels and I had a good conversation about internationals, military school, people with security clearances, Afghanistan and crazy girls from central Europe. Jonfromnextdoor, of course, entertained with his usual comedy routine.

We headed back over to the pub for the Faroe Islands game. Well Pretzels had to meet some people for the Hungarian game and I was more interested in the clinical dispatching of my newly adopted island country.

I walked in and Jersey was there, whom I forgot moved back to Jersey, and theBlondeguy, whose name I always forget. Nice to see familiar faces for the Faroe Islands match. I sat along the back wall, while Pretzels and friends were in the first booth.

I was soon joined by a nice gentleman who greeted me with a handshake and cheery "Bon Jour". He took the seat next to me and we had a few good exchanges about the surgical slicing of the French attack on the hapless journeymen from the Faroe Islands. It was nice to sit with the FrenchUncle and enjoy the game.

Yes I know I should not gloat about beating the Faroe Islands but I seriously love the idea of that place. I don't know why. I do know that the only legal way to hunt Harbor Dolphins in the Faroe Islands is by shotgun. While I am not a big fan of hunting in general, you have to admit that's a really interesting, if not bizarre, way to hunt a water dwelling mammal.

ACMILAN decides to show up about halftime. He was making his way to the Ireland Italy match. So I wished him bad luck. They were drawn at the half and I was not so secretly wishing for the Irish to actually do something.

While I was in discussion with ACMilan, Pretzels crew consisting of M and TinyScouser were trying to get Irish to switch to the Hungarian game. I, of course, protested stating that the game is 90 minutes and the French have not won just yet.

I won and delicate dismantling of the Faroe Islands continued.

As the game is ending I get a text from ChelskiGirl about how her beloved Serbia just dispatched the Romanians in a much similar way. A few shouts and groans from the upstairs bar could be heard. Apparently the Italians kept their first spot in the group.

ACMilan comes down and confirms the truth. We both acknowledge the Irish fans as they are leaving. A few jokes pass back and forth and good laughs had by all.

TinyScouser decided to make her voice heard for about 5 minutes, apparently she didn't even see the game but insisted the Italians cheated. ACMilan didn't like this one bit. I think I missed half of what happened because of leaving in the middle of it all. I wanted to catch a nap before coming back out that night for the US game.

I got a few updates about it from ACMilan after I got back home. I couldn't tell if it got intense or not but I am guessing TinyScouser had a few drinks in her.

Saturday NIGHT

The pub was one of six places across the country hosting the actual game. I think we were suppose to have it in English but we had the Spanish feed. It didn't matter too much anyways, the English feed had lame commentators and it was really more exciting just to watch the game.

I, myself, am not a big fan of the US Team to begin with. I was really there to hang out with the locals and absorb the atmosphere. Plus what else is there to do on a Saturday night but enjoy some International football.

It was crowded in the Point. I drove around for about 30 minutes before biting the bullet and paying a fiver at the garage. ManCity was out in front of the pub, nice to see a familiar face, we greeted each other and chatted for a few. I walk in and get the star treatment by the ManagerInBlack. ManCity balked about it and I smiled and said I'm a VIP.

The pub itself was chock full when I arrived. I ended up with the round table in the back, soon to be joined by ChelskiDaddy. It was nice to see him out on Saturday night. DJM showed up with M and a couple other locals were around. However, there were plenty of punters I had never seen before.

TinyScouser had some ID issues and ManagerInBlack pulled me up to find out who she was and if she was a regular. I guess VIP status has some responsibilities.

VinnyReading comes in with IrishJim and they head upstairs. Something about a jacket and making sure IrishJim didn't get into any trouble. They had been drinking at IrishJim's bar since the end of the Ireland Italy game. All I know is there is like a ton of whiskey behind that bar, a dangerous place.

ChelskiGirl showed up some time after that and continued to ramble on about Serbs. Then the fact that I was surrounded by Chelski supporters. Which my response is how is that any different from any other Saturday.

Around the half ACMilan comes strolling in wearing a shirt and tie. I didn't ask what he had been up to but I am sure someone is currently in the harbor wearing cement shoes. (I tell a joke.)

ACMilan and I start discussing the finer points of the game and dissecting all the international teams. What makes them tick? We were both in agreement over the lack of creativity in the US side. They have the players but they play a very vertical game. I think they could contend with the likes of some of the top teams and even with a little luck bring themselves home a cup, but they need to be smarter and a whole hell of a lot more creative.

Sometime during the game, ManCity and friends started singing Who the Fahk are Man United. This did not sit well with M and she gave him the business apparently. I could not see the full action but it was pretty funny. I had never seen her without a smile, so that was interesting.

Overall the night went smoothly, no craziness but the overall good feeling you get from Internationals. A ton of people who you don't know, all united in the spirit of the beautiful game.

There is nothing else like it. Football.

~LeChat