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
Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts
23 November 2009
19 November 2009
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
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
16 November 2009
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.)
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
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
19 October 2009
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
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
12 October 2009
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
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
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