Midweek fixtures, well as usual, not much to say. Three points to the good and that's about it. I have to admit that I myself was not in form at all this week. This flu thing seems to be wiping out whole offices as we speak. It sort of reminds me of 28 Days Later or some other zombie apocalypse type story. Everyone is infected.
I end up with a 2 day work week and the Carling cup final to look forward to. I took it easy on Friday and spent most of the day in bed on Saturday. I was not going to let this flu hold me back from watching a cup final, so head it off at the pass, so to speak.
Sunday, woke up, not in the best of moods and feeling a bit wonky at best. I headed down to the pub, walked in and said hello to the ManShitty crew before ducking back out and over to the Gooner pre-game at the Inn.
Bakerman and ArseBob had set up a room to have a few drinks and get everyone loose for the cup final. It was nice. I only had a coffee as my body was still not used to what I would call normalcy.
We all start heading to the pub around 10 of for the kickoff. There were several strange punters that I'd never spied before, but that's what you can expect for a cup final; a bunch of johnny-comes as ACMilan would say.
**editor note**
There was just a loud explosion and the electricity went out at the end of the previous sentence. That was really odd. I'm thinking a transformer blew or we are now under attack by martians. The former more likely but the latter, with my luck is quite plausible.
**/editor note**
I was standing next to GrumpyGooner and mentioned to him that there was a strange vibe in the air, almost ominous. I don't know if he really heard me or if I was just talking to myself but something was not feeling right.
Like most games, there was an ebb and flow. They scored, we scored and then the clock starts ticking. The game is 90 minutes; the only thing certain in football. A miscalculation, a bobble and an easy tap in from a seasoned striker settled the cup and lack thereof for the Arsenal once again.
Surprised? No, not at all.
Shocked? Not really.
Disappointed? Of course, who wouldn't be, unless you were a Birmingham fan. It was a real shot to the heart.
I know one thing is for certain, at least in my opinion, if I wanted things to come easy, all the time then I would have choose something more certain. However, I did not.
Every failure makes every success that much sweeter. Two more cups and a league to go.
~LeChat
Showing posts with label being sick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being sick. Show all posts
28 February 2011
21 February 2011
Barcelona at Home (CL) and Leyton Orient Away (FA)
Well a bunch more of the expected.
Earlier in the week, someone had asked me why I hadn't done a write up after the Barca game. Simple reason, I'm only doing the one a week, on the traditional football Monday. I certainly could have but why change?
In all honesty, while Barca are well on form for the last couple of seasons; they are not the be all and end all of the world of football. At the end of the day, they play a game that is determined within 90 minutes, with only one certainty.
The Ball is round.
In the next decade, or maybe in the next couple of years, there will be a new squad on the block that is just clicking and everything is falling down in all the right places.
For every rise, there must be a fall.
I read an article, somewhere that I can't remember, talking about the Dutch total football system and how Ajax employed it for several years cementing their name in the annals of club football history.
So, now while Ajax brings a weepy tear of good time memories to their supporters/fans/wannabes, they're just memories of a once great team. This will too be the fate of Barca and all great teams. Much like the Roman Empire, some nice sculptures and a legacy but little more than a bunch of white marble lying in the sun.
In short, there is no reason to be celebrating until the job is done. And by done, I mean there is still a second half of a series to be played in Camp Nou. The odds stand against the Arsenal but we will see.
Now for the Leyton Orient, another I couldn't really be bothered with. I knew the outcome before I laid my head on the pillow the night before. I'm not a pessimist but a shocking realist, true unto myself.
A game that's supposed to be won, isn't. Simple and true. I have nothing else to say about it but it gives another replay and a bunch of tired millionaires. As a good friend in high school told me once about a girl who would yell at her lovers, "If you're not going to do it right, then why bother?" Truer words have never been spoken. Mind you the girl mentioned above was a bit of a loose one in all honesty.
As many of you may know, this weekend was my birthday as well. If you couldn't make out, than you missed a good time or so I've been told.
Saturday evening I met up with Sheffield and surprised guest appearances by ArsenalBob, The Bakerman and SlainteLOSC. Let's say it was supposed to be a bit of a quiet drink or two before heading up to ChelskiGirl's surprise party.
Little did I know, ArsenalBob had other plans. I think in total it was about 40 odd shots bought and shared amongst a little group that varied in size throughout the early evening hours.
Sheffield, Vinnie, Gingerette and myself decided it was time to go, so we headed up towards the surprise party. Rumour has it that ArsenalBob colourized someone's car and left the Bakerman with a rather large bill.
The surprise for ChelskiGirl went off well. She was late, as usual, but then again it was a surprise so you can never expect those things to go as planned.
Sunday night there was the big party. There are several amongst the pub regulars who share birthdays within the same week, myself included. The birthday extravaganza keeps getting bigger and bigger.
This year, we made sure to grab the society room. Someone asked how many did I expect, but as usual, I had no idea. It's hard to tell 30 odd may respond but you may end up with a lot more or a lot less. One of those things, human nature.
We had some good numbers. I was feeling a bit under the weather, so was not my usual self. To be honest, I was feeling well out of sorts. It appears the flu monster has taken another victim.
I also received some rather sad news on the weekend as well. The man, who I called Santa Claus, a good friend of mine, will be sipping his pints with St. Peter and Gabriel. He lived life to his fullest and was one of the more inspirational people I have ever known.
May the gods bless him and may his soul have a wonderful journey.
~LeChat
Earlier in the week, someone had asked me why I hadn't done a write up after the Barca game. Simple reason, I'm only doing the one a week, on the traditional football Monday. I certainly could have but why change?
In all honesty, while Barca are well on form for the last couple of seasons; they are not the be all and end all of the world of football. At the end of the day, they play a game that is determined within 90 minutes, with only one certainty.
The Ball is round.
In the next decade, or maybe in the next couple of years, there will be a new squad on the block that is just clicking and everything is falling down in all the right places.
For every rise, there must be a fall.
I read an article, somewhere that I can't remember, talking about the Dutch total football system and how Ajax employed it for several years cementing their name in the annals of club football history.
So, now while Ajax brings a weepy tear of good time memories to their supporters/fans/wannabes, they're just memories of a once great team. This will too be the fate of Barca and all great teams. Much like the Roman Empire, some nice sculptures and a legacy but little more than a bunch of white marble lying in the sun.
In short, there is no reason to be celebrating until the job is done. And by done, I mean there is still a second half of a series to be played in Camp Nou. The odds stand against the Arsenal but we will see.
Now for the Leyton Orient, another I couldn't really be bothered with. I knew the outcome before I laid my head on the pillow the night before. I'm not a pessimist but a shocking realist, true unto myself.
A game that's supposed to be won, isn't. Simple and true. I have nothing else to say about it but it gives another replay and a bunch of tired millionaires. As a good friend in high school told me once about a girl who would yell at her lovers, "If you're not going to do it right, then why bother?" Truer words have never been spoken. Mind you the girl mentioned above was a bit of a loose one in all honesty.
As many of you may know, this weekend was my birthday as well. If you couldn't make out, than you missed a good time or so I've been told.
Saturday evening I met up with Sheffield and surprised guest appearances by ArsenalBob, The Bakerman and SlainteLOSC. Let's say it was supposed to be a bit of a quiet drink or two before heading up to ChelskiGirl's surprise party.
Little did I know, ArsenalBob had other plans. I think in total it was about 40 odd shots bought and shared amongst a little group that varied in size throughout the early evening hours.
Sheffield, Vinnie, Gingerette and myself decided it was time to go, so we headed up towards the surprise party. Rumour has it that ArsenalBob colourized someone's car and left the Bakerman with a rather large bill.
The surprise for ChelskiGirl went off well. She was late, as usual, but then again it was a surprise so you can never expect those things to go as planned.
Sunday night there was the big party. There are several amongst the pub regulars who share birthdays within the same week, myself included. The birthday extravaganza keeps getting bigger and bigger.
This year, we made sure to grab the society room. Someone asked how many did I expect, but as usual, I had no idea. It's hard to tell 30 odd may respond but you may end up with a lot more or a lot less. One of those things, human nature.
We had some good numbers. I was feeling a bit under the weather, so was not my usual self. To be honest, I was feeling well out of sorts. It appears the flu monster has taken another victim.
I also received some rather sad news on the weekend as well. The man, who I called Santa Claus, a good friend of mine, will be sipping his pints with St. Peter and Gabriel. He lived life to his fullest and was one of the more inspirational people I have ever known.
May the gods bless him and may his soul have a wonderful journey.
~LeChat
24 January 2011
Leeds Away (FA) and Wigan at Home
Well FA is said and done. Well Leeds got done, something to be said in that. It's always a good day when Leeds gets done. I spent my fine afternoon at work, looking at the Guardian play by play concerning the doing of Leeds.
Funny part about it, the Guardian is not allowed in Elland Road. It has something to do with reporting a story about the shadowy ownership of Leeds a few years back. There was a call for transparency which was met with a "you're not allowed in here, again, ever." Real mature but it is Leeds, should you expect more.
So, the weekend comes with no real surprises. Somehow along the way I had picked up a cold from someone. I don't want to point any fingers but someone did shake my hand and explain to me how they were sick all week. To that person, thanks a mil brutha, now I got this bloody cold.
It was bound to happen one way or another. It's the sickness time of year.
There was a fair number of MancScum supporters out this weekend, which was nice to see. It wasn't even a big game or anything, even a newer face. It's always good when someone new comes in and just jumps right in, like they belong; none of this trying hard to impress drek or any sort of thing like that. Hop up on a couch/stool or what have you, give a friendly nod and on with the football. Too bad everyone can't be like that.
I was going to do a whole rant about the sexism thing. The female linesman and what the two numptys on Sky had said. Honestly, it's been beaten to death already. The problem is inherent in the system, not to paraphrase Monty Python, but it is.
There is no need for the degradation of anyone based on gender, race, sexual or religious preference. It should be about doing the job. Apparently, the young woman in question does her job better than most of the men out there. I would like to add a plus she's much better looking but that just adds to the sexism fire.
I myself can often give into lad culture as well. I'm not going to pretend to be holier than thou or anything like that. However, in my heart of hearts, the referee is still a bastard, the linesman/woman is blind and Chelsea is a bunch of pillow-biting tossers.
In all seriousness though, there is no room for what those announcers did. There is no room for anything like that.
Is it destroying football?
That I do not know because it's been there and is still an ugly mark upon it's face.
Is there an easy solution?
No, there is never an easy solution.
Well what should we do?
Start subtly reminding everyone that they are probably an asshole, just like everyone else and get on with it. It's unnecessary to continue with ideas like that in this century. Whether the person is man/woman/black/white/Muslim/Hindu or whatever they may be; It has no bearing on the scoreline, well, unless the linesman/woman is truly blind.
~LeChat
Funny part about it, the Guardian is not allowed in Elland Road. It has something to do with reporting a story about the shadowy ownership of Leeds a few years back. There was a call for transparency which was met with a "you're not allowed in here, again, ever." Real mature but it is Leeds, should you expect more.
So, the weekend comes with no real surprises. Somehow along the way I had picked up a cold from someone. I don't want to point any fingers but someone did shake my hand and explain to me how they were sick all week. To that person, thanks a mil brutha, now I got this bloody cold.
It was bound to happen one way or another. It's the sickness time of year.
There was a fair number of MancScum supporters out this weekend, which was nice to see. It wasn't even a big game or anything, even a newer face. It's always good when someone new comes in and just jumps right in, like they belong; none of this trying hard to impress drek or any sort of thing like that. Hop up on a couch/stool or what have you, give a friendly nod and on with the football. Too bad everyone can't be like that.
I was going to do a whole rant about the sexism thing. The female linesman and what the two numptys on Sky had said. Honestly, it's been beaten to death already. The problem is inherent in the system, not to paraphrase Monty Python, but it is.
There is no need for the degradation of anyone based on gender, race, sexual or religious preference. It should be about doing the job. Apparently, the young woman in question does her job better than most of the men out there. I would like to add a plus she's much better looking but that just adds to the sexism fire.
I myself can often give into lad culture as well. I'm not going to pretend to be holier than thou or anything like that. However, in my heart of hearts, the referee is still a bastard, the linesman/woman is blind and Chelsea is a bunch of pillow-biting tossers.
In all seriousness though, there is no room for what those announcers did. There is no room for anything like that.
Is it destroying football?
That I do not know because it's been there and is still an ugly mark upon it's face.
Is there an easy solution?
No, there is never an easy solution.
Well what should we do?
Start subtly reminding everyone that they are probably an asshole, just like everyone else and get on with it. It's unnecessary to continue with ideas like that in this century. Whether the person is man/woman/black/white/Muslim/Hindu or whatever they may be; It has no bearing on the scoreline, well, unless the linesman/woman is truly blind.
~LeChat
22 November 2010
SP*RS at home
I'm just going to gloss over the reality of what actually happened and concentrate on positive things. I figure through positive thought good things will happen. When good things start happening then I can relax my positive thinking. Sort of like being 2-nil up.... OH wait... fuck.
Friday was good. I went and saw Brian Poshean or however you spell his name. I ran into the Librarian and T-Bone. It seemed like I hadn't seen T-Bone in quite a while but I know it had only been a few weeks. All and all a good comedy night.
Saturday morning, however, I should have just stayed in bed. The pub enjoyed quite a lively crew, even if I was half asleep and feeling the effects of the night before. I know at one time I had done a cartwheel across Howard Street. I distinctly remember that and running away from ScouseDrummer as he was trying to jump on me. I can't even remember why.
In essence, me and a rolled up hoodie found a comfortable spot to enjoy a nice easy Saturday morning. And like most things in my life, it started out well, shiny and bright. The sun rose in the east and the moon set in the west.
However the bane of my existence decided it would monkey-wrench my good feelings. If ten tons of bricks could come down and knock me in my head, I would call it the second half at Ashburton Grove on 20 November 2010. My own personal disaster.
I remember leaning over to GrumpyGooner at one point and making the statement of how those people had done this before. How the singular instance of stupidity residing in North London had come back from a 2-nil deficit and stole points.
I shouldn't just vent my anger, but in short, it ruined the rest of the weekend. I became physically sick and stayed in bed the rest of the day, dancing between sleep and mild annoyance. Thank the gods for Ken Burns Jazz streaming on Netflix.
The only consolation was a Chelski loss, which I had forecast before walking out the door at the pub. I guess not all is loss then.
QUICK non-football update, for those who care.
STATION, otherwise known as my band, will be playing Sidebar on 26-NOV-10 and 4-DEC-10, for those who care. 4-DEC-10 is ScouseDrummer's birthday show, so make it an effort and show for that one or both if you really like us.
And for sticking around, here's some video from the Barclay Show.
~LeChat
Friday was good. I went and saw Brian Poshean or however you spell his name. I ran into the Librarian and T-Bone. It seemed like I hadn't seen T-Bone in quite a while but I know it had only been a few weeks. All and all a good comedy night.
Saturday morning, however, I should have just stayed in bed. The pub enjoyed quite a lively crew, even if I was half asleep and feeling the effects of the night before. I know at one time I had done a cartwheel across Howard Street. I distinctly remember that and running away from ScouseDrummer as he was trying to jump on me. I can't even remember why.
In essence, me and a rolled up hoodie found a comfortable spot to enjoy a nice easy Saturday morning. And like most things in my life, it started out well, shiny and bright. The sun rose in the east and the moon set in the west.
However the bane of my existence decided it would monkey-wrench my good feelings. If ten tons of bricks could come down and knock me in my head, I would call it the second half at Ashburton Grove on 20 November 2010. My own personal disaster.
I remember leaning over to GrumpyGooner at one point and making the statement of how those people had done this before. How the singular instance of stupidity residing in North London had come back from a 2-nil deficit and stole points.
I shouldn't just vent my anger, but in short, it ruined the rest of the weekend. I became physically sick and stayed in bed the rest of the day, dancing between sleep and mild annoyance. Thank the gods for Ken Burns Jazz streaming on Netflix.
The only consolation was a Chelski loss, which I had forecast before walking out the door at the pub. I guess not all is loss then.
QUICK non-football update, for those who care.
STATION, otherwise known as my band, will be playing Sidebar on 26-NOV-10 and 4-DEC-10, for those who care. 4-DEC-10 is ScouseDrummer's birthday show, so make it an effort and show for that one or both if you really like us.
And for sticking around, here's some video from the Barclay Show.
~LeChat
21 September 2010
Sunderland Away then Spurs Away (Carling)
In not keeping with traditions, I'm writing this today/night. The usual Monday rants got bumped due to me laying in bed with the covers pulled over my head and feeling like some miniature mountain climber was using my esophagus as his Mount Everest.
I am not a big fan of internal pain. External pain, the stuff you can see what's going on, like a skinned up knee or what have you. I can even deal with the pain of a bruise that you get from when someone kicks you in the shin, cause you know what caused it.
I just can't deal with that weird internal stuff caused by whatever flying rhino hypno virus decides to deal you. Call it what you will but all in all the common cold sucks beans.
You know things are just going along fine, just like Saturday. Things are going along fine, never mind the missed penalty. Then all of the sudden, in the 94th minute, you're struck out of nowhere. There is nothing to do but lay under the covers and wish it all away.
Sunday, I personally was not in a cheerful mode. I decided to get up early and make my way to the Manchester - Liverpool tie. There were times I wish I had just stayed in bed. The only consolation to the whole effort was a very beautiful goal by a vampire looking of a man.
I think it was pure dumb luck that I walked back into the pub and glanced at the screen to see it happen in real time. A volley, a touch and a drop of the shoulder putting the ball over his head, off the cross bar and across the line.
Pure beauty. It's what made the other 90 minutes worth sitting through.
All I can say is that while we can watch a player on match day play absolutely horrid, we never have a clue on why the manager keeps picking him. We pray and hope that the boss knows what he's doing but we question it. We all do.
Then one play, amongst the others, shines a brilliant light through the fog that has obfuscated our vision and gives us a glimpse of what the manager sees day in and day out.
Since, I'm cheating a bit and doubling up. All I really have to say about S*urs right now is fuck off. Seriously... fuck off. I won't get to see the highlights until later and frankly knowing the scoreline. I really don't care.
Scum 1 - Gunners 4
It really would be nice if they would just fuck off. Seriously... fuck off.
~LeChat
I am not a big fan of internal pain. External pain, the stuff you can see what's going on, like a skinned up knee or what have you. I can even deal with the pain of a bruise that you get from when someone kicks you in the shin, cause you know what caused it.
I just can't deal with that weird internal stuff caused by whatever flying rhino hypno virus decides to deal you. Call it what you will but all in all the common cold sucks beans.
You know things are just going along fine, just like Saturday. Things are going along fine, never mind the missed penalty. Then all of the sudden, in the 94th minute, you're struck out of nowhere. There is nothing to do but lay under the covers and wish it all away.
Sunday, I personally was not in a cheerful mode. I decided to get up early and make my way to the Manchester - Liverpool tie. There were times I wish I had just stayed in bed. The only consolation to the whole effort was a very beautiful goal by a vampire looking of a man.
I think it was pure dumb luck that I walked back into the pub and glanced at the screen to see it happen in real time. A volley, a touch and a drop of the shoulder putting the ball over his head, off the cross bar and across the line.
Pure beauty. It's what made the other 90 minutes worth sitting through.
All I can say is that while we can watch a player on match day play absolutely horrid, we never have a clue on why the manager keeps picking him. We pray and hope that the boss knows what he's doing but we question it. We all do.
Then one play, amongst the others, shines a brilliant light through the fog that has obfuscated our vision and gives us a glimpse of what the manager sees day in and day out.
Since, I'm cheating a bit and doubling up. All I really have to say about S*urs right now is fuck off. Seriously... fuck off. I won't get to see the highlights until later and frankly knowing the scoreline. I really don't care.
Scum 1 - Gunners 4
It really would be nice if they would just fuck off. Seriously... fuck off.
~LeChat
26 April 2010
Man City HOME
Let's say the day started off well... light... not too many cares in the world. I made an easy one out of it. Headed to the pub for some of the early matches, as usual, with no personal agenda. I caught quite a bit of the MancScum match as they handed the proper Scum a proper beating.
An interesting spectacle did happen though. The Karate kid guy has been showing up a lot more lately. I wonder if it's because MancScum actually have a chance to win the title. You know I'm all for supporting your club but seriously just showing up for the big games and a chance at the title? Who are you kidding? We don't see you every weekend.
Enough of my veiled hatred for bandwagon supporters. However, to be in a pub while WestHam fight for relegation and not a single WestHam supporter was there. I find that truly disheartening.
So where should the beginning of the end start to begin. Shortly after the WestHam match, my Saturday began to unravel. I distinctly remember myself, HalfArseDean, MiniMourhino and LilBlondieGooner heading to the bar around the corner... partaking in happy hour shots.. heading back to the pub.
ManCity himself and crew happened to be there and the BeardedGooner showed up shortly after that. In reality, I think ManCity himself had more of a crew than the Gooners, which is very disheartening, indeed.
BeardedGooner and I decided we would out-city ManCity himself. I actually believe at this time the shots of espresso vodka had begun taking it's toll on me. It was a pretty good time. There weren't many in the pub at all but it was a cacophony of chants and songs and apparently some weird dance number.
I can't say there was anything interesting on the telly. So we made our own fun and just enjoyed a day with football on the screen. I had promised myself to go out to the Palace game but got distracted and ended up at MiniMourhino's place with a can of American craptastic in my hand.
I did get some socks with Special's logo on it... Thanks to ChelskiGirl who stopped in for a few before leaving to her ChelskiWorld.
The rest of the night I spent either sleeping or releasing the bile from my stomach into a waste disposal basket. Well I guess third isn't so bad, now that it's out of my system.
~LeChat
An interesting spectacle did happen though. The Karate kid guy has been showing up a lot more lately. I wonder if it's because MancScum actually have a chance to win the title. You know I'm all for supporting your club but seriously just showing up for the big games and a chance at the title? Who are you kidding? We don't see you every weekend.
Enough of my veiled hatred for bandwagon supporters. However, to be in a pub while WestHam fight for relegation and not a single WestHam supporter was there. I find that truly disheartening.
So where should the beginning of the end start to begin. Shortly after the WestHam match, my Saturday began to unravel. I distinctly remember myself, HalfArseDean, MiniMourhino and LilBlondieGooner heading to the bar around the corner... partaking in happy hour shots.. heading back to the pub.
ManCity himself and crew happened to be there and the BeardedGooner showed up shortly after that. In reality, I think ManCity himself had more of a crew than the Gooners, which is very disheartening, indeed.
BeardedGooner and I decided we would out-city ManCity himself. I actually believe at this time the shots of espresso vodka had begun taking it's toll on me. It was a pretty good time. There weren't many in the pub at all but it was a cacophony of chants and songs and apparently some weird dance number.
I can't say there was anything interesting on the telly. So we made our own fun and just enjoyed a day with football on the screen. I had promised myself to go out to the Palace game but got distracted and ended up at MiniMourhino's place with a can of American craptastic in my hand.
I did get some socks with Special's logo on it... Thanks to ChelskiGirl who stopped in for a few before leaving to her ChelskiWorld.
The rest of the night I spent either sleeping or releasing the bile from my stomach into a waste disposal basket. Well I guess third isn't so bad, now that it's out of my system.
~LeChat
01 March 2010
Stoke Away
Every Monday I seem to forget what happened on Saturday. This Monday being no exception. I won't tell you my secret on how I figure things out but somehow I do.
Saturday
The morning started out well enough. Earlier the previous evening, I believe, ManCity himself sent me a message concerning my allegiances for the days early game. I did not declare one but did let him know that the ball is round and he shouldn't worry too much of the result.
So Chelsea City it was. All nice and lined up for a proper little show. I will admit ChelskiBoys v. ManCity himself was going to make an entertaining breakfast treat.
I took a seat at one end of the bar, just to get a good view. To be honest, all I can remember is several chants about random things. ChelskiGirl looking particularly angry and about to glass ManCity himself. I believe MiniMourhino made a good day out of it either way. He had started the day out quite a bit bouncy and was well on his way shortly after.
Myself, well lately I have found my way into a more frilly drink, or so I've been told. Something happened to me after getting sick when it had snowed. I have not been able to drink more than one or two beers, so I've found solace in Cuba Libres. When I know it's going to be a specially long day, as Saturday was, sometimes... yes sometimes I do have a Malibu and Coke. However, some times has turned into quite often.
I think I was drinking Mount Gay and Coke, which by the way is a horrible rum to order. I almost whisper it under my breath, but when you have friends like Irish, everyone is going to know what you order.
Ah WHAT?.... Mount GAY!..... Do you want an umbrella with that?
Cheers mate, how's the world cup going for ya? OH, yah, that's right France won and we did not cheat. The ref did not blow the whistle. I do not control his whistle.
Alright, we did have a motley mob assembled for the proper match. A Certain Scouser and Pimms had shown up. I believe the Librarian, HalfArseDean, the Sheriff and Arse St. Nick rounded out the table. I may be a little foggy on this but somehow we got the Deputy to leave her beauty rest and join us as well. I think she was promised lunch and ended up with cottage chips.
All I can say is that a political conversation was started. I was told I was preaching to the choir. A Certain Scouser said that she wanted to be the Angry Black Man and somehow I became the Suburban White Chick. There was a half ton of laughter for a few hours on that one.
In character, I offered to make out the Angry Black Man but I couldn't date because my parents would kill me. Then I asked if Angry Black Man could get me a drink. To which the retort was something along the lines of "No Bitch! Get ME a drink!"
Yes, that's right, we went there several times. However, all our revelry was stopped short by a freight train of a tackle by the hand of Mr. Shawcross. I am not going to go into the whole STICK A BOOT IN ON ARSENAL rant. That was saved for Sunday but it was a horror show tackle.
Saturday Night
Clash Tribute at the Sidebar. I will say one thing. What a great show by my little band. It shaped up to be a great day. LilBlondieGooner and NightCaller showed up and had a good time, from what I understand. OH by the way, NightCaller needs a new nickname, as in he has reformed his ways but I need to think of one. Personally, I love his nickname but I did promise to give it a new look.
Anyways, funny thing happened to me at the show. I was sitting in a corner after getting off stage, talking to LilBlondieGooner, NightCaller and friends. This young girl comes up to us and starts to ask someone, thinking it was ScouseDrummer, some questions.
I noticed they were actually about me but I was in post-stage haze. She then started asking about me playing in some band I had never heard of and I guess tried to have a conversation with me. I guess I just wasn't grabbing a clue. After she leaves, LilBlondieGooner pushes me and tells me I have a groupie and should go after her.
I just shrug and say to her, Well she needs to try harder.
I thought it was funny. That's all that matters. Kind of like my other quote of the day.
I'm golden in the box but can't always finish.
I really just need to make a book of quotes. There is always the classic.
My god is a vengeful god and I'm warrior of god. I will chop your fucking head off!
Despite my lack of perception, this girl did try hard. There were some great bands and I did a lot of dancing, fueled by Captain Morgan Spiced Rum. Every time I turned around, she was beside me. ScouseDrummer even pushed me into her at one point in time. I was still on my she needs to try harder soapbox.
I will admit, it was a cute little gesture from a cute little girl. It didn't get creepy or anything and maybe I will be nicer the next time. Otherwise, my weekends are for being a complete cunt to all but my closest. Hell, I can even a bit of a twat to them as well but it's born out of pure love.
Sunday
I could be found, at the same approximate table, with the same approximate people, TWENTY FOUR FUCKING HOURS later. I have to admit, another good time watching the Scousers play. ScouseDrummer, his dad and sis showed up and joined the rowdy bunch on the couches.
MancScum were told to fuck off upstairs for the Milk Cup. I did go up and give some abuse but man it was way too depressing up there. I swear, the Scousers were lively, the game was lively and the atmosphere was a bit more than fun.
Mancs... well it was mighty grim upstairs. Their game was worst than watching paint dry on a humid mid-Atlantic day. The Villa fans were smart and stayed downstairs in the Arsenal section watching the game.
Notes of interest: I had an interesting conversation with one of the bistro boys who was there with his woman. We were just comparing the two places but understood where each other were coming from. I reiterated the story about running into the BigBistroBoy during the Canada-Russia (olympic hockey) match and how he re-introduced himself. I had shook his hand and told him I knew exactly who he was. I don't know if it came off the exact way that it had in my mind but it does make me wonder if you supposedly dislike a place so much, why do you keep showing your face in it?
I don't go and shit on the counter of your Bistro but you say all kinds of shit out of your mouth about how bad people are treated in my pub. If you don't like it, don't come here. Plain and fucking simple. Now I am not trying to start an Us v. Them type of scenario but as I explained to the bistro boys, there is nothing for me at that place. My mates who support other sides, some of whom I've been watching football with for like 7 or 8 years, plus or minus, wouldn't be welcomed there and couldn't watch FuckOff United v. SheepShagger FC at 7 AM for the Godknowswhat Cup.
That's my piece on it. My pub is a football pub, the long and short of it. As a football supporter, I will support my pub until it stops supporting me. At that time, maybe I will look for a new ground. There is still a thing called loyalty, especially when no one else in this fucking city would keep football on the television at any hour of the fucking day from 7AM to 2AM.
Prime example, the pub is showing Hockey in the evenings now. Sunday, OLYMPIC GOLD, CANADA v. USA (I do fly the Quebec flag). ACMilan comes in to watch his game. Do you know what happened? ACMilan got his game on a corner television! ONE lonely fucking ACMilan in a pub filled to the brim with Olympic Hockey fans.
Respect. Football.
oh and the puma Hard chorus....
~LeChat
OH subnote... before I forget.
Crystal Palace supporters group the 35ers are getting a good deal on season tickets. These are good games to go to and something fun to do, especially after WC2010 is done. The 35ers put other supporters to shame. In short, Let me know if you want the Crystal Palace US tickets, plus a free Crystal Palace scarf and a chance to win a trip to LONDON to see Palace at home.
Saturday
The morning started out well enough. Earlier the previous evening, I believe, ManCity himself sent me a message concerning my allegiances for the days early game. I did not declare one but did let him know that the ball is round and he shouldn't worry too much of the result.
So Chelsea City it was. All nice and lined up for a proper little show. I will admit ChelskiBoys v. ManCity himself was going to make an entertaining breakfast treat.
I took a seat at one end of the bar, just to get a good view. To be honest, all I can remember is several chants about random things. ChelskiGirl looking particularly angry and about to glass ManCity himself. I believe MiniMourhino made a good day out of it either way. He had started the day out quite a bit bouncy and was well on his way shortly after.
Myself, well lately I have found my way into a more frilly drink, or so I've been told. Something happened to me after getting sick when it had snowed. I have not been able to drink more than one or two beers, so I've found solace in Cuba Libres. When I know it's going to be a specially long day, as Saturday was, sometimes... yes sometimes I do have a Malibu and Coke. However, some times has turned into quite often.
I think I was drinking Mount Gay and Coke, which by the way is a horrible rum to order. I almost whisper it under my breath, but when you have friends like Irish, everyone is going to know what you order.
Ah WHAT?.... Mount GAY!..... Do you want an umbrella with that?
Cheers mate, how's the world cup going for ya? OH, yah, that's right France won and we did not cheat. The ref did not blow the whistle. I do not control his whistle.
Alright, we did have a motley mob assembled for the proper match. A Certain Scouser and Pimms had shown up. I believe the Librarian, HalfArseDean, the Sheriff and Arse St. Nick rounded out the table. I may be a little foggy on this but somehow we got the Deputy to leave her beauty rest and join us as well. I think she was promised lunch and ended up with cottage chips.
All I can say is that a political conversation was started. I was told I was preaching to the choir. A Certain Scouser said that she wanted to be the Angry Black Man and somehow I became the Suburban White Chick. There was a half ton of laughter for a few hours on that one.
In character, I offered to make out the Angry Black Man but I couldn't date because my parents would kill me. Then I asked if Angry Black Man could get me a drink. To which the retort was something along the lines of "No Bitch! Get ME a drink!"
Yes, that's right, we went there several times. However, all our revelry was stopped short by a freight train of a tackle by the hand of Mr. Shawcross. I am not going to go into the whole STICK A BOOT IN ON ARSENAL rant. That was saved for Sunday but it was a horror show tackle.
Saturday Night
Clash Tribute at the Sidebar. I will say one thing. What a great show by my little band. It shaped up to be a great day. LilBlondieGooner and NightCaller showed up and had a good time, from what I understand. OH by the way, NightCaller needs a new nickname, as in he has reformed his ways but I need to think of one. Personally, I love his nickname but I did promise to give it a new look.
Anyways, funny thing happened to me at the show. I was sitting in a corner after getting off stage, talking to LilBlondieGooner, NightCaller and friends. This young girl comes up to us and starts to ask someone, thinking it was ScouseDrummer, some questions.
I noticed they were actually about me but I was in post-stage haze. She then started asking about me playing in some band I had never heard of and I guess tried to have a conversation with me. I guess I just wasn't grabbing a clue. After she leaves, LilBlondieGooner pushes me and tells me I have a groupie and should go after her.
I just shrug and say to her, Well she needs to try harder.
I thought it was funny. That's all that matters. Kind of like my other quote of the day.
I'm golden in the box but can't always finish.
I really just need to make a book of quotes. There is always the classic.
My god is a vengeful god and I'm warrior of god. I will chop your fucking head off!
Despite my lack of perception, this girl did try hard. There were some great bands and I did a lot of dancing, fueled by Captain Morgan Spiced Rum. Every time I turned around, she was beside me. ScouseDrummer even pushed me into her at one point in time. I was still on my she needs to try harder soapbox.
I will admit, it was a cute little gesture from a cute little girl. It didn't get creepy or anything and maybe I will be nicer the next time. Otherwise, my weekends are for being a complete cunt to all but my closest. Hell, I can even a bit of a twat to them as well but it's born out of pure love.
Sunday
I could be found, at the same approximate table, with the same approximate people, TWENTY FOUR FUCKING HOURS later. I have to admit, another good time watching the Scousers play. ScouseDrummer, his dad and sis showed up and joined the rowdy bunch on the couches.
MancScum were told to fuck off upstairs for the Milk Cup. I did go up and give some abuse but man it was way too depressing up there. I swear, the Scousers were lively, the game was lively and the atmosphere was a bit more than fun.
Mancs... well it was mighty grim upstairs. Their game was worst than watching paint dry on a humid mid-Atlantic day. The Villa fans were smart and stayed downstairs in the Arsenal section watching the game.
Notes of interest: I had an interesting conversation with one of the bistro boys who was there with his woman. We were just comparing the two places but understood where each other were coming from. I reiterated the story about running into the BigBistroBoy during the Canada-Russia (olympic hockey) match and how he re-introduced himself. I had shook his hand and told him I knew exactly who he was. I don't know if it came off the exact way that it had in my mind but it does make me wonder if you supposedly dislike a place so much, why do you keep showing your face in it?
I don't go and shit on the counter of your Bistro but you say all kinds of shit out of your mouth about how bad people are treated in my pub. If you don't like it, don't come here. Plain and fucking simple. Now I am not trying to start an Us v. Them type of scenario but as I explained to the bistro boys, there is nothing for me at that place. My mates who support other sides, some of whom I've been watching football with for like 7 or 8 years, plus or minus, wouldn't be welcomed there and couldn't watch FuckOff United v. SheepShagger FC at 7 AM for the Godknowswhat Cup.
That's my piece on it. My pub is a football pub, the long and short of it. As a football supporter, I will support my pub until it stops supporting me. At that time, maybe I will look for a new ground. There is still a thing called loyalty, especially when no one else in this fucking city would keep football on the television at any hour of the fucking day from 7AM to 2AM.
Prime example, the pub is showing Hockey in the evenings now. Sunday, OLYMPIC GOLD, CANADA v. USA (I do fly the Quebec flag). ACMilan comes in to watch his game. Do you know what happened? ACMilan got his game on a corner television! ONE lonely fucking ACMilan in a pub filled to the brim with Olympic Hockey fans.
Respect. Football.
oh and the puma Hard chorus....
~LeChat
OH subnote... before I forget.
Crystal Palace supporters group the 35ers are getting a good deal on season tickets. These are good games to go to and something fun to do, especially after WC2010 is done. The 35ers put other supporters to shame. In short, Let me know if you want the Crystal Palace US tickets, plus a free Crystal Palace scarf and a chance to win a trip to LONDON to see Palace at home.
04 January 2010
West Ham away (FA Cup) and the New Year.
A New Year and a new blog post!
Thursday (New Year's Eve)
My plans, well there were none technically. I never make concrete plans but I think we all know that. My New Year's usually ends up with me going to the pub and hanging around to watch the fireworks across the harbor.
However, I was blindsided, waylaid, mugged by the most annoying cold that I have ever been on the receiving end of. I woke up and decided it was going to be a thera-flu morning. Which I do highly recommend for all your cold/flu needs.
Now only if I could figure out a way to get paid for my name dropping.
I was finally able to rouse myself from tomb of blankets, as it has been Frostbite Falls cold lately. I am waiting for Boris and Natasha to come ask me if I have seen moose and squirrel. These are the times I miss the husky.
So I kept my profile low and celebrated the New Year with my band mates at the guitarist's home. Quiet, mellow and breaking it down to some good old Michael before he became a shadow of his former self.
Friday (New Year's Day)
Equally quiet. There was nothing happening on the football front. I decided to go join T-Bone at the bar across the way and watch some good old American College Football.
I wasn't good luck for his home team this time. ScouseGrubs came by as well. I think I waited half an hour for some breadsticks but they were worth it. I need to remember when going into foreign territory to order before I think I need to order. There's nothing like a slow ass kitchen.
I headed to band practice after the game. I find out at practice the band that was scheduled first for Saturday canceled out. Between myself and ScouseDrummer, we were scrambling to find a replacement.
Thank goodness for a couple of comedian friends, who just happen to be 35ers (Crystal Palace USA supporters).
Saturday
FA Cup Third Round. I do not know of a more interesting competition besides the FA Cup. It pits the minnows of the lower leagues against some of the big boys. It separates those who have heart from those who are just going through the motions. It is the great equalizer and my this weekend no exception.
Third Round, of course, is when the Premiership squads start playing. This is when you get to see sides like Torquay taking on Everton and the like. Well this year I believe Torquay played Brighton Hove Albion but it could have been Everton on any other day.
So Saturday brings us the glory of mighty Reading taking on the minnows, now known as Liverpool. It was really a lopsided draw in my opinion, now I didn't discount the Scousers but This. Is. READING! It was good to see Vinny out for a bit, plus he had a beautiful winterized Reading team anorak to fight off the cold and protect his wallet.
Let's just say it was a just score line and leave it at that.
Saturday Night (Station Debut)
WELL first of all I would like to thank all my football friends that braved the sub-zero temps and joined me at the Sidebar. It was really wonderful to see all of you out there. Seriously thank you from the bottom of my heart and I do hope you all enjoyed the show.
For those that missed, let's just say it was a good debut. From what I hear, many enjoyed it. GrumpyGooner was even impressed, which is a huge compliment coming from him.
I was getting stick all night from ScouseDrummer for wearing my Arsenal top, since we both promised not to wear kits on stage. I promised that I wouldn't and I had my Who the Fuck are Man United, shirt on underneath, complements of BayernMunich.
When we hopped on the stage, I pulled off my kit as promised. ScouseDrummer on cue started singing very quietly, Who the Fuck are Man United, which made me start in on full chorus.
The singer thrusts the mic in my face, cause I had half forgotten about the mic on stage for me and I was still in the midst of strapping my bass on. All I can say is that I was ready to go now. From the crowd came a shout from the Sherrif to shut the fuck up or something of that sort.
Like I said, it was a good show.
Sunday more FA Cup
I had left out early Saturday evening/Sunday morning after the show. I am not really a hang out person unless there is some football on the television. Plus I had still been feeling rather under the weather from the New Year's cold that was bogging me down.
I woke up four hours later and found myself at the pub staring at an HD feed of MancScum discussing the previous night with HalfArseDean. Must I say, this was a very nice Sunday treat. Leeds, which I am not a big fan of either, taking it to those gits. It was a thoroughly impressive showing and to watch old Fergie's head explode was an even better treat.
I spent the better half of the match chatting with HalfArseDean and trying to help LittleSister do a crossword. ChelskiGirl came in and joined us a bit later as well, let's just say all had a bit of a laugh at the Manc's expense.
My thing is, I want to see some of the CCTV feeds from the streets of Manchester. I know there had to be some running battles. Come on, Leeds v United, classic.
So the real match's time was upon us. Some of the usual suspects strolled in at their leisure. GrumpyGooner, quite a bit better than the last weekend. LilBlondieGooner still with her arm in a sling. So like I said, nothing unusual.
To my surprise though, Jazz pops in, without a jacket, walks over to the bar and orders a Stella from Irish. What is this, a New Year's miracle? GrumpyGooner and I get a few jibes in about Leeds on him, as we all settled in for a heart stopping match.
All I am going to say is that the Arsenal were very lucky to come out of this. They really need to do themselves a little better in the favor department. I know someone might nail me on my subject verb agreements above but it's my blog and I can be ungrammatical if I want to.
Monday the unexpected.
First day back to work. That's not what was interesting.
What was interesting is that I got a message from one of Pretzel's armed forces mates. He was looking him up and stumbled across the blog. He was unaware of what had happened and contacted me to get some details. It made me feel good to give him what I knew and that somewhere a interweb spider has linked me to one of the nicest and coolest people that I have had the pleasure of meeting and then giving me a way to share that information with others.
It also made me think about how temporal everything is in this world. I don't mean to sound cliche but sometimes you must seize the moment without regrets.
Live your life as you will not have any other.
or in my usual tongue...
TAKE THE FUCKING SHOT! BLOODY FUCKING HELL!
~LeChat
Thursday (New Year's Eve)
My plans, well there were none technically. I never make concrete plans but I think we all know that. My New Year's usually ends up with me going to the pub and hanging around to watch the fireworks across the harbor.
However, I was blindsided, waylaid, mugged by the most annoying cold that I have ever been on the receiving end of. I woke up and decided it was going to be a thera-flu morning. Which I do highly recommend for all your cold/flu needs.
Now only if I could figure out a way to get paid for my name dropping.
I was finally able to rouse myself from tomb of blankets, as it has been Frostbite Falls cold lately. I am waiting for Boris and Natasha to come ask me if I have seen moose and squirrel. These are the times I miss the husky.
So I kept my profile low and celebrated the New Year with my band mates at the guitarist's home. Quiet, mellow and breaking it down to some good old Michael before he became a shadow of his former self.
Friday (New Year's Day)
Equally quiet. There was nothing happening on the football front. I decided to go join T-Bone at the bar across the way and watch some good old American College Football.
I wasn't good luck for his home team this time. ScouseGrubs came by as well. I think I waited half an hour for some breadsticks but they were worth it. I need to remember when going into foreign territory to order before I think I need to order. There's nothing like a slow ass kitchen.
I headed to band practice after the game. I find out at practice the band that was scheduled first for Saturday canceled out. Between myself and ScouseDrummer, we were scrambling to find a replacement.
Thank goodness for a couple of comedian friends, who just happen to be 35ers (Crystal Palace USA supporters).
Saturday
FA Cup Third Round. I do not know of a more interesting competition besides the FA Cup. It pits the minnows of the lower leagues against some of the big boys. It separates those who have heart from those who are just going through the motions. It is the great equalizer and my this weekend no exception.
Third Round, of course, is when the Premiership squads start playing. This is when you get to see sides like Torquay taking on Everton and the like. Well this year I believe Torquay played Brighton Hove Albion but it could have been Everton on any other day.
So Saturday brings us the glory of mighty Reading taking on the minnows, now known as Liverpool. It was really a lopsided draw in my opinion, now I didn't discount the Scousers but This. Is. READING! It was good to see Vinny out for a bit, plus he had a beautiful winterized Reading team anorak to fight off the cold and protect his wallet.
Let's just say it was a just score line and leave it at that.
Saturday Night (Station Debut)
WELL first of all I would like to thank all my football friends that braved the sub-zero temps and joined me at the Sidebar. It was really wonderful to see all of you out there. Seriously thank you from the bottom of my heart and I do hope you all enjoyed the show.
For those that missed, let's just say it was a good debut. From what I hear, many enjoyed it. GrumpyGooner was even impressed, which is a huge compliment coming from him.
I was getting stick all night from ScouseDrummer for wearing my Arsenal top, since we both promised not to wear kits on stage. I promised that I wouldn't and I had my Who the Fuck are Man United, shirt on underneath, complements of BayernMunich.
When we hopped on the stage, I pulled off my kit as promised. ScouseDrummer on cue started singing very quietly, Who the Fuck are Man United, which made me start in on full chorus.
The singer thrusts the mic in my face, cause I had half forgotten about the mic on stage for me and I was still in the midst of strapping my bass on. All I can say is that I was ready to go now. From the crowd came a shout from the Sherrif to shut the fuck up or something of that sort.
Like I said, it was a good show.
Sunday more FA Cup
I had left out early Saturday evening/Sunday morning after the show. I am not really a hang out person unless there is some football on the television. Plus I had still been feeling rather under the weather from the New Year's cold that was bogging me down.
I woke up four hours later and found myself at the pub staring at an HD feed of MancScum discussing the previous night with HalfArseDean. Must I say, this was a very nice Sunday treat. Leeds, which I am not a big fan of either, taking it to those gits. It was a thoroughly impressive showing and to watch old Fergie's head explode was an even better treat.
I spent the better half of the match chatting with HalfArseDean and trying to help LittleSister do a crossword. ChelskiGirl came in and joined us a bit later as well, let's just say all had a bit of a laugh at the Manc's expense.
My thing is, I want to see some of the CCTV feeds from the streets of Manchester. I know there had to be some running battles. Come on, Leeds v United, classic.
So the real match's time was upon us. Some of the usual suspects strolled in at their leisure. GrumpyGooner, quite a bit better than the last weekend. LilBlondieGooner still with her arm in a sling. So like I said, nothing unusual.
To my surprise though, Jazz pops in, without a jacket, walks over to the bar and orders a Stella from Irish. What is this, a New Year's miracle? GrumpyGooner and I get a few jibes in about Leeds on him, as we all settled in for a heart stopping match.
All I am going to say is that the Arsenal were very lucky to come out of this. They really need to do themselves a little better in the favor department. I know someone might nail me on my subject verb agreements above but it's my blog and I can be ungrammatical if I want to.
Monday the unexpected.
First day back to work. That's not what was interesting.
What was interesting is that I got a message from one of Pretzel's armed forces mates. He was looking him up and stumbled across the blog. He was unaware of what had happened and contacted me to get some details. It made me feel good to give him what I knew and that somewhere a interweb spider has linked me to one of the nicest and coolest people that I have had the pleasure of meeting and then giving me a way to share that information with others.
It also made me think about how temporal everything is in this world. I don't mean to sound cliche but sometimes you must seize the moment without regrets.
Live your life as you will not have any other.
or in my usual tongue...
TAKE THE FUCKING SHOT! BLOODY FUCKING HELL!
~LeChat
31 December 2009
Portsmouth Away (New Years Eve)
Alright, alright.
First of all I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year. I hope all your celebrations went well and you are looking forward to the fun of the weekend. My celebrations will be tame by virtue of falling ill once again with a cold. Figures, the last day of the year, I spend half of it in bed. However, the second half is proving to be more of the usual show.
(I believe it was the shot of Brugal in the tea.)
Quick reminder, for those who are coming. Station (my band) is playing the Sidebar on the 2nd. I hope that you all can make it out, but if not, so be it.
So Portsmouth, a team I actually feel kind of bad for, is having tons of issues both on and off the pitch. I hope they can get it together. Here is to wishing Pompey a better new year and to a great escape out of relegation.
I remember, fondly, Leeds dropping... dropping... dropping and I really didn't care too much. They, well didn't deserve to drop, but I had no real feelings for it either way. Portsmouth on the other hand I have a soft spot for.
Play up Pompey. Play up!
So shall I do a quick look back? Well not really, nothing exciting is happening. I started this blog on a whim, well a well thought out whim. I felt like there were stories from a supporter's perspective that needed to be told. We all hear about this player and that, this coach and that, but we seem to forget about what makes the teams keep going.
They cynic in me would say, the all mighty pound, dollar, euro or what have you. In essence though, the bare bottom of it, is heart. Now I sound like one of the Cantona Joga Bonito adverts.
The fact of the matter is, if there wasn't this heart, passion or rabid spirit for these teams/leagues. There would be no teams/leagues. For comparison, while the MLS is still a toddler there is not as much support, even in comparison to say Coca Cola division 2. Better yet, let's talk about the defunct NASL.
The NASL had names with star power, even changed some of the rules to accommodate the masses, however it did not enjoy the same support as some of the European and South American leagues and teams. It's this support, the cogs in the wheel that keep things going.
The only time you hear about supporters of proper football, it is usually in the light of "hooliganism" reported by some short-sighted journo who needs a story before their deadline. While I'm not against like minded individuals stomping the shit out of each other on a Saturday afternoon. I am against the over-simplification and denegration of the wide range of supporters that do exist.
This is why I do this blog. Hopefully someone will stumble across it and it will open their eyes and they will go "Hey, this doesn't seem all that bad Martha." They will come to understand that because someone puts on a kit and scarf and sings mildly offensive songs at the top of their lungs at 9 AM on a Saturday morning, that they are not bad people or even miscreants or soccer hooligans, as a woman put it to me a few seasons ago.
Well here's to a new decade and hopefully an excellent finish to an already surprising EPL season. I hope to see those that are near soon and those that are far, some time later.
Bonne Annee
~LeChat
First of all I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year. I hope all your celebrations went well and you are looking forward to the fun of the weekend. My celebrations will be tame by virtue of falling ill once again with a cold. Figures, the last day of the year, I spend half of it in bed. However, the second half is proving to be more of the usual show.
(I believe it was the shot of Brugal in the tea.)
Quick reminder, for those who are coming. Station (my band) is playing the Sidebar on the 2nd. I hope that you all can make it out, but if not, so be it.
So Portsmouth, a team I actually feel kind of bad for, is having tons of issues both on and off the pitch. I hope they can get it together. Here is to wishing Pompey a better new year and to a great escape out of relegation.
I remember, fondly, Leeds dropping... dropping... dropping and I really didn't care too much. They, well didn't deserve to drop, but I had no real feelings for it either way. Portsmouth on the other hand I have a soft spot for.
Play up Pompey. Play up!
So shall I do a quick look back? Well not really, nothing exciting is happening. I started this blog on a whim, well a well thought out whim. I felt like there were stories from a supporter's perspective that needed to be told. We all hear about this player and that, this coach and that, but we seem to forget about what makes the teams keep going.
They cynic in me would say, the all mighty pound, dollar, euro or what have you. In essence though, the bare bottom of it, is heart. Now I sound like one of the Cantona Joga Bonito adverts.
The fact of the matter is, if there wasn't this heart, passion or rabid spirit for these teams/leagues. There would be no teams/leagues. For comparison, while the MLS is still a toddler there is not as much support, even in comparison to say Coca Cola division 2. Better yet, let's talk about the defunct NASL.
The NASL had names with star power, even changed some of the rules to accommodate the masses, however it did not enjoy the same support as some of the European and South American leagues and teams. It's this support, the cogs in the wheel that keep things going.
The only time you hear about supporters of proper football, it is usually in the light of "hooliganism" reported by some short-sighted journo who needs a story before their deadline. While I'm not against like minded individuals stomping the shit out of each other on a Saturday afternoon. I am against the over-simplification and denegration of the wide range of supporters that do exist.
This is why I do this blog. Hopefully someone will stumble across it and it will open their eyes and they will go "Hey, this doesn't seem all that bad Martha." They will come to understand that because someone puts on a kit and scarf and sings mildly offensive songs at the top of their lungs at 9 AM on a Saturday morning, that they are not bad people or even miscreants or soccer hooligans, as a woman put it to me a few seasons ago.
Well here's to a new decade and hopefully an excellent finish to an already surprising EPL season. I hope to see those that are near soon and those that are far, some time later.
Bonne Annee
~LeChat
05 October 2009
Blackburn HOME (Mr. Wenger's 13th anniversary)
Where to begin, where to begin?
A little background for those who don't know.
Mr. Wenger began his Arsenal career v. Blackburn at home.
Mr. Wenger celebrates his anniversary v. Blackburn at home.
Mr. LeChat fondly remembers a George Graham led Arsenal kicking the yarbels out of same said club at home. (little fuzzy on details, not even sure if it was a league game the more I think about it.)
Blackburn brings me the happy.
Friday Evening
...began with a call from Sheffield. Calls from Sheffield on a Friday usually start out with, "let's have a pint and call it an early evening." However, he and I both know that is not the way it ends, ever. I took a rain check and headed home for a restart in the morning.
SATURDAY
Ahhh the Fun Festival. Nothing butters up your day as a million lost souls looking for worthless trinkets sold by some vendors. There is only one, well a few good things about the Fun Festival. PIT BEEF being the first and second.
The local crew were around, as there weren't many interesting games on in the morning. It started off with just myself, MiniMourinho and ChelskiGirl. We demanded the Burnley game but were given Scum v. Bolton, which was only down to Scum being near the top of the table. (I refuse to acknowledge their place in the league)
I also believe Irish was trying to make me suffer, cause he did ask me which game for the big screen. Bastard.
A Birmingham supporter came in but that didn't persuade him any either. Irish told him the game was upstairs, so he went on up. We all chuckled about it. Honestly, I don't think anyone of the three of us cared which match was on, just nice to sit with old friends talking about inane things.
11AM rolls around and it was decided that the time was nigh for PIT BEEF. Step outside and standing on the curb is Sheffield with Brummie. Brummie was digging into some Pad Thai she got from one of the booths and Sheffield had already began the PIT BEEF mission. Needless to say ChelskiGirl and I hit up the first PIT BEEF stand we saw. Sheffield had a secret spot, that he waited until after we had gotten ours and then decides to go there. Bastard.
It did not matter. There was PIT BEEF and it was GOOD.
Back at the pub, MiniMourinho decided to call it early and jostled off to home. The rest of the crew stuck about for the MancScum match. MancSheriff shows up but was really the only one to actually show up for the screening. He had been up the street and walked down.
I have to say, Sunderland put on a great show for the first half. ChelskiGirl is hungry and decides Pad Thai sounds good. I agree to share it, just because neither one of us are big eaters but enjoy a good meal. Brummie's Pad Thai had looked so delicious as well. I believe Sheffield might have also taken a bite or two. Community eating while watching MancScum drop points to Sunderland.
AHHHHH Saturday.
SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY the main event. 830AM
Let's just say I won't discuss my Saturday evening but I had the fond memory of being reminded that I was still suffering from a mild chest cold. Sleep what is that thing you call sleep. Half-a-dozen Carlsbergs... BAD IDEA.
However, I awaken to nice crisp, not quite Autumn day. It was beautiful. The sun was shining. It was nice light jacket weather. I woke up at 630 or so... popped my Pandora on the laptop -Ska/Dirty Reggae station, which decided to play like a dozen of my favorite songs in a row... drive down to the point in 15 minutes... find parking at the corner of Wolfe and Aliceanna (free!)... walk to the pub, whistle happy song!
HalfArseDean was at the pub, apparently he was there on Saturday as well but was across the street when I was leaving. Anyways, Irish starts trying to work his wit against me but I pull out my rapier.. touche touche... I score a few good ones.
The room starts to fill. GrumpyGooner has a seat next to me and HalfArseDean. ArseSaintNick rolls in, late as usual. Half way through the first half LilBlondieGooner is texting me like crazy about wanting to miss work. She actually sneaks down and catches the end of the half before running out the door.
A Certain Scouser was trying to get me to save some seats for her and her friend. However I sent her a text back saying that all the seats were nicked by Scousers. I am sure she found that amusing. Anyways the surge of non-Arsenal red was penetrated by the ever jovial Chelski bunch.
And were they penetrated!
Highlight reel moment: ScouseGrubs was standing in the corner, being mellow, as usual. The Chelski bunch are singing One man went to Mo and ScouseGrubs, like a man possessed, leaps over a table, knocks over like 10 people and starts in with You Ain't Got No History. The next thing I notice the pub was at a deafening pitch; Scousers, Chelski trying to out sing each other.
THIS. IS. FOOTBALL.
ScouseGrubs turns around with his normal half smiling look, so I give him a guyshake, you know the half hug handshake. He departed along with most of the others. A Certain Scouser stuck around with a pouty face, tried to cheer her up a little bit but I think the under-performance of her club had her down.
By the way, I am still taking offers on a proper Red & White shirt.
MiniMourinho was his old self, which was good to see. Overall the Sunday afternoon was a good time. The crew decided to try and stick around for the American game, which was fun for about 10 minutes.
There were a couple of people that came into the pub from the Fun Fest to watch the game. We let them come to the understanding that this was a proper football pub. A few choruses of some delightful songs began with You Fill Up My Senses, followed by the ARSELOBA melodies. Irish began doing a jig. Some of the outsiders paid their tab and left quickly thereafter.
Mission Accomplished.
If your friends can't sing and if they don't sing then they're no friends of mine!
~LeChat
A little background for those who don't know.
Mr. Wenger began his Arsenal career v. Blackburn at home.
Mr. Wenger celebrates his anniversary v. Blackburn at home.
Mr. LeChat fondly remembers a George Graham led Arsenal kicking the yarbels out of same said club at home. (little fuzzy on details, not even sure if it was a league game the more I think about it.)
Blackburn brings me the happy.
Friday Evening
...began with a call from Sheffield. Calls from Sheffield on a Friday usually start out with, "let's have a pint and call it an early evening." However, he and I both know that is not the way it ends, ever. I took a rain check and headed home for a restart in the morning.
SATURDAY
Ahhh the Fun Festival. Nothing butters up your day as a million lost souls looking for worthless trinkets sold by some vendors. There is only one, well a few good things about the Fun Festival. PIT BEEF being the first and second.
The local crew were around, as there weren't many interesting games on in the morning. It started off with just myself, MiniMourinho and ChelskiGirl. We demanded the Burnley game but were given Scum v. Bolton, which was only down to Scum being near the top of the table. (I refuse to acknowledge their place in the league)
I also believe Irish was trying to make me suffer, cause he did ask me which game for the big screen. Bastard.
A Birmingham supporter came in but that didn't persuade him any either. Irish told him the game was upstairs, so he went on up. We all chuckled about it. Honestly, I don't think anyone of the three of us cared which match was on, just nice to sit with old friends talking about inane things.
11AM rolls around and it was decided that the time was nigh for PIT BEEF. Step outside and standing on the curb is Sheffield with Brummie. Brummie was digging into some Pad Thai she got from one of the booths and Sheffield had already began the PIT BEEF mission. Needless to say ChelskiGirl and I hit up the first PIT BEEF stand we saw. Sheffield had a secret spot, that he waited until after we had gotten ours and then decides to go there. Bastard.
It did not matter. There was PIT BEEF and it was GOOD.
Back at the pub, MiniMourinho decided to call it early and jostled off to home. The rest of the crew stuck about for the MancScum match. MancSheriff shows up but was really the only one to actually show up for the screening. He had been up the street and walked down.
I have to say, Sunderland put on a great show for the first half. ChelskiGirl is hungry and decides Pad Thai sounds good. I agree to share it, just because neither one of us are big eaters but enjoy a good meal. Brummie's Pad Thai had looked so delicious as well. I believe Sheffield might have also taken a bite or two. Community eating while watching MancScum drop points to Sunderland.
AHHHHH Saturday.
SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY the main event. 830AM
Let's just say I won't discuss my Saturday evening but I had the fond memory of being reminded that I was still suffering from a mild chest cold. Sleep what is that thing you call sleep. Half-a-dozen Carlsbergs... BAD IDEA.
However, I awaken to nice crisp, not quite Autumn day. It was beautiful. The sun was shining. It was nice light jacket weather. I woke up at 630 or so... popped my Pandora on the laptop -Ska/Dirty Reggae station, which decided to play like a dozen of my favorite songs in a row... drive down to the point in 15 minutes... find parking at the corner of Wolfe and Aliceanna (free!)... walk to the pub, whistle happy song!
HalfArseDean was at the pub, apparently he was there on Saturday as well but was across the street when I was leaving. Anyways, Irish starts trying to work his wit against me but I pull out my rapier.. touche touche... I score a few good ones.
The room starts to fill. GrumpyGooner has a seat next to me and HalfArseDean. ArseSaintNick rolls in, late as usual. Half way through the first half LilBlondieGooner is texting me like crazy about wanting to miss work. She actually sneaks down and catches the end of the half before running out the door.
A Certain Scouser was trying to get me to save some seats for her and her friend. However I sent her a text back saying that all the seats were nicked by Scousers. I am sure she found that amusing. Anyways the surge of non-Arsenal red was penetrated by the ever jovial Chelski bunch.
And were they penetrated!
Highlight reel moment: ScouseGrubs was standing in the corner, being mellow, as usual. The Chelski bunch are singing One man went to Mo and ScouseGrubs, like a man possessed, leaps over a table, knocks over like 10 people and starts in with You Ain't Got No History. The next thing I notice the pub was at a deafening pitch; Scousers, Chelski trying to out sing each other.
THIS. IS. FOOTBALL.
ScouseGrubs turns around with his normal half smiling look, so I give him a guyshake, you know the half hug handshake. He departed along with most of the others. A Certain Scouser stuck around with a pouty face, tried to cheer her up a little bit but I think the under-performance of her club had her down.
By the way, I am still taking offers on a proper Red & White shirt.
MiniMourinho was his old self, which was good to see. Overall the Sunday afternoon was a good time. The crew decided to try and stick around for the American game, which was fun for about 10 minutes.
There were a couple of people that came into the pub from the Fun Fest to watch the game. We let them come to the understanding that this was a proper football pub. A few choruses of some delightful songs began with You Fill Up My Senses, followed by the ARSELOBA melodies. Irish began doing a jig. Some of the outsiders paid their tab and left quickly thereafter.
Mission Accomplished.
If your friends can't sing and if they don't sing then they're no friends of mine!
~LeChat
30 September 2009
Champions League - Olympiakos HOME
Once again, another mid-week feature goes by and I sit at my desk steadily typing, reviewing, being all work minded and whatever else you want to call it. I won't complain about work. At least I won't complain about my work, because I'm pretty satisfied with the type of work I do. Now if they can get my pay rate correct and put me into the permanent position I might even be quite happy with the work I do.
Tuesday began with me waking up and suffering from this miserable cold. At least I am led to believe it was a cold.. wait, I still have it. It actually interfered with my Monday night hanging out with Jonfromnextdoor and ChelskiGirl. Someone thought it would be funny to text me random words at midnight.
Back to Tuesday...
I start getting a few text from a variety of the usuals:
A Certain Scouser. (yah it's going to stick now) Firstly trying to find out where exactly I was. Doing the good work was my response or something to that effect.
ChelskiGirl was keeping an eye on the Arsenal game and sending me information on that. Then a brilliant text about how Liverpool were already down by TWO!
I quietly sipped my chai while giggling with giddy glee about the possibility of Scousers losing to some Italians. I know it's not really fair but the cold medicine was catching up to my delirious mode.
I think the best one came from ACMilan, which I should explain he has an issue about losing to the Scousers some time ago on a pitch far far away. It simply said.
I have to admit having mates keeping you in the loop while you are on interweb lock-down at work is top notch. Much respect to all of you.
I did send a consolation text to A Certain Scouser.
Later that night I got another message from DJM about how Liverpool looked like a bunch of high schoolers playing football. I haven't had time to catch the highlights but it is hard to believe a team with that much class talent could crumble under the pressure of the Italians.
I spent a good part of the evening downing massive amounts of tea with honey. Hopefully by this weekend I am better. Planning on DCUnited - Chivas game Saturday night and it would be a royale pain in the Arse if I don't feel well enough to go. I'm not a super huge fan of MLS to begin with but hey the tickets were free.
In sore throat agony, yours truly,
~Le Chat
OH OH OH Breaking News Kroneke (USA)has 28.7% of Arsenal shares, just 1.2% more and he gets to do the takeover. This is getting interesting.
OH other Breaking News MARADONA is asking god to lend him a hand!
Yah, REALLY.
Tuesday began with me waking up and suffering from this miserable cold. At least I am led to believe it was a cold.. wait, I still have it. It actually interfered with my Monday night hanging out with Jonfromnextdoor and ChelskiGirl. Someone thought it would be funny to text me random words at midnight.
Back to Tuesday...
I start getting a few text from a variety of the usuals:
A Certain Scouser. (yah it's going to stick now) Firstly trying to find out where exactly I was. Doing the good work was my response or something to that effect.
ChelskiGirl was keeping an eye on the Arsenal game and sending me information on that. Then a brilliant text about how Liverpool were already down by TWO!
I quietly sipped my chai while giggling with giddy glee about the possibility of Scousers losing to some Italians. I know it's not really fair but the cold medicine was catching up to my delirious mode.
I think the best one came from ACMilan, which I should explain he has an issue about losing to the Scousers some time ago on a pitch far far away. It simply said.
Pooor scousers. BWAHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I have to admit having mates keeping you in the loop while you are on interweb lock-down at work is top notch. Much respect to all of you.
I did send a consolation text to A Certain Scouser.
Later that night I got another message from DJM about how Liverpool looked like a bunch of high schoolers playing football. I haven't had time to catch the highlights but it is hard to believe a team with that much class talent could crumble under the pressure of the Italians.
I spent a good part of the evening downing massive amounts of tea with honey. Hopefully by this weekend I am better. Planning on DCUnited - Chivas game Saturday night and it would be a royale pain in the Arse if I don't feel well enough to go. I'm not a super huge fan of MLS to begin with but hey the tickets were free.
In sore throat agony, yours truly,
~Le Chat
OH OH OH Breaking News Kroneke (USA)has 28.7% of Arsenal shares, just 1.2% more and he gets to do the takeover. This is getting interesting.
OH other Breaking News MARADONA is asking god to lend him a hand!
Yah, REALLY.
28 September 2009
Fulham Away
It was a bright and sunny day.
Bloody hell I can barely remember the day. And now I have this sore throat and headache plus other symptoms that I believe someone infected me with swine flu.
I have to admit this was one of those weekends where there was not much happening as far as happenings which can happen. I did pick up my friend SkyBlue so she could work on her research paper for some class that she has. I am still unsure, all I know is that she said she wanted to go to the pub and observe soccer fans in their element.
I am always happy to oblige anyone who wants to come to the pub, of course. If downing a couple of pints and having a good time is your thing, even better. If you can pass it off as research for a paper... then much respect to you.
As I was saying, we take a seat at Irish's bar watching the last half of the first game. Some of the Chelski usuals come in and a few Scousers, not bad but my thought was that it was going to be slow.
All of the sudden the sky went dark, a tide of red began washing upon the shores of the Thames. SOMEONE please tell me how many bloody Scousers are in this city?
I departed upstairs along with the Chelski crew. I figured it would be much more tolerable to listen to them yammer along about how many millions they have to spend, then deal with the incessant GERRARD - TORRES love fest.
I thought it would have been a much closer affair, but it was not. The Chelski game did offer a nice surprise and the crew did what they do best, drown their sorrows in many pints and shots of liquid resolve.
After those games, headed back down stairs to watch the proper game for the afternoon. SkyBlue took up a corner and observed. Chelski lot gathered at one end of the bar and harassed. Mini-Murinho was doing a tour and kept up the hilarity. GrumpyGooner took a spot right in front. St.Nick had arrived prior to me getting down and was a little bit better off then the previous week.
LilBlondieGooner shows up with her usual jovialness (I know it's not a word). There was a discussion of a certain Italian born keeper. Bad impressions were made. I think Tony Spaghetti even came out of some one's mouth. When LilBlondie had to say something about herself being Italian.
The fireworks began to fly for about 20 minutes. We all know that 2006 World Cup was stolen by the cheating Italians. We all know that those cheating bastards conspired to get Zizou thrown off the pitch. We all know this. So why defend?
Personally, I believe I won the "Italy cheated FRANCE out of the World Cup" argument. I practice it all the time. I am sure LilBlondieGooner will disagree. The only good thing is we're both Arsenal at the end of the day. Cheating Italians.
I am sure ACMilan is going to jump all over this. He's been after me today about getting the blog up at a reasonable hour. I have a cold, I'm under the influence.
Towards the end of the match CrystalPalaceUS Manager comes in holding a cup. So I had to inquire since the boys did not do well during the season... I guess I should have been a little less blunt...
"What's the cup for?" I ask.
"It's the Maryland Cup." comes the reply.
"Ooh, how'd you get that, you did fuck-all during the season."
Dirty look from CrystalPalaceUS Manager.
He gave me some guff for breaking his balls so to speak. They were having a benefit that I couldn't quite afford but I do hope that it went well. So after the game we had to all leave for the boroughs from whence we came.
I had to drop SkyBlue off at the train. On my way back to the southside I got some rather interesting text from a certain Scouser.
Well I thought long and hard on it, actually I shot off a quick reply about not hanging out with the Scousers enough to come up with good nicknames. To which I received a less friendly reply, which I'm not going to quote but the final verdict was it is a 38 week season. So we will see.
Actually think it's funny, since Scouse is a sort of thrown together soup like thing. Just like everything goes in there that was leftover from the meals of the week. Or so that is my understanding of it... I don't think I would like it either.
I did have nicknames for a couple of the Scousers though. Oh mentioning Scousers, congrats to GingerScouse. I was wondering what these weirdos walking around in pink ties and sambas were doing.
Sunday-Funday ended up being not really exciting. I spent a great deal of the morning hanging next door with Jonfromnextdoor on the second floor. Try the pulled pork breakfast burrito. I did stick my head in to speak to Irish and see who was around. Sunderland Wolves attracted a whole 4 people from what I saw and I don't believe any of them were there for the match.
ChelskiGirl joined up with us next door and we sat around making fun of each other for a few bits, while American Football was being played. Local team was stomping the other team so I pretended to care.
That game is just too slow and time consuming for me. There is never a flow.. start... stop... start... stop... worst then being on a broken roller coaster or an elevator where someone hits the button for every floor.
I guess it is something that most people grow up on. I never was a big fan. There was not a local team during my formative years and I had caught the bug for proper football during that time. I believe this is probably one of the better things that ever happened in my life. That and knowing who the hell Pele was before the age of 5.
I am making less sense as the cold medicine begins kicking in.
~LeChat
Bloody hell I can barely remember the day. And now I have this sore throat and headache plus other symptoms that I believe someone infected me with swine flu.
I have to admit this was one of those weekends where there was not much happening as far as happenings which can happen. I did pick up my friend SkyBlue so she could work on her research paper for some class that she has. I am still unsure, all I know is that she said she wanted to go to the pub and observe soccer fans in their element.
I am always happy to oblige anyone who wants to come to the pub, of course. If downing a couple of pints and having a good time is your thing, even better. If you can pass it off as research for a paper... then much respect to you.
As I was saying, we take a seat at Irish's bar watching the last half of the first game. Some of the Chelski usuals come in and a few Scousers, not bad but my thought was that it was going to be slow.
All of the sudden the sky went dark, a tide of red began washing upon the shores of the Thames. SOMEONE please tell me how many bloody Scousers are in this city?
I departed upstairs along with the Chelski crew. I figured it would be much more tolerable to listen to them yammer along about how many millions they have to spend, then deal with the incessant GERRARD - TORRES love fest.
I thought it would have been a much closer affair, but it was not. The Chelski game did offer a nice surprise and the crew did what they do best, drown their sorrows in many pints and shots of liquid resolve.
After those games, headed back down stairs to watch the proper game for the afternoon. SkyBlue took up a corner and observed. Chelski lot gathered at one end of the bar and harassed. Mini-Murinho was doing a tour and kept up the hilarity. GrumpyGooner took a spot right in front. St.Nick had arrived prior to me getting down and was a little bit better off then the previous week.
LilBlondieGooner shows up with her usual jovialness (I know it's not a word). There was a discussion of a certain Italian born keeper. Bad impressions were made. I think Tony Spaghetti even came out of some one's mouth. When LilBlondie had to say something about herself being Italian.
The fireworks began to fly for about 20 minutes. We all know that 2006 World Cup was stolen by the cheating Italians. We all know that those cheating bastards conspired to get Zizou thrown off the pitch. We all know this. So why defend?
Personally, I believe I won the "Italy cheated FRANCE out of the World Cup" argument. I practice it all the time. I am sure LilBlondieGooner will disagree. The only good thing is we're both Arsenal at the end of the day. Cheating Italians.
I am sure ACMilan is going to jump all over this. He's been after me today about getting the blog up at a reasonable hour. I have a cold, I'm under the influence.
Towards the end of the match CrystalPalaceUS Manager comes in holding a cup. So I had to inquire since the boys did not do well during the season... I guess I should have been a little less blunt...
"What's the cup for?" I ask.
"It's the Maryland Cup." comes the reply.
"Ooh, how'd you get that, you did fuck-all during the season."
Dirty look from CrystalPalaceUS Manager.
He gave me some guff for breaking his balls so to speak. They were having a benefit that I couldn't quite afford but I do hope that it went well. So after the game we had to all leave for the boroughs from whence we came.
I had to drop SkyBlue off at the train. On my way back to the southside I got some rather interesting text from a certain Scouser.
Why don't any of us scousers get specific nicknames? we all get lumped together
Well I thought long and hard on it, actually I shot off a quick reply about not hanging out with the Scousers enough to come up with good nicknames. To which I received a less friendly reply, which I'm not going to quote but the final verdict was it is a 38 week season. So we will see.
Actually think it's funny, since Scouse is a sort of thrown together soup like thing. Just like everything goes in there that was leftover from the meals of the week. Or so that is my understanding of it... I don't think I would like it either.
I did have nicknames for a couple of the Scousers though. Oh mentioning Scousers, congrats to GingerScouse. I was wondering what these weirdos walking around in pink ties and sambas were doing.
Sunday-Funday ended up being not really exciting. I spent a great deal of the morning hanging next door with Jonfromnextdoor on the second floor. Try the pulled pork breakfast burrito. I did stick my head in to speak to Irish and see who was around. Sunderland Wolves attracted a whole 4 people from what I saw and I don't believe any of them were there for the match.
ChelskiGirl joined up with us next door and we sat around making fun of each other for a few bits, while American Football was being played. Local team was stomping the other team so I pretended to care.
That game is just too slow and time consuming for me. There is never a flow.. start... stop... start... stop... worst then being on a broken roller coaster or an elevator where someone hits the button for every floor.
I guess it is something that most people grow up on. I never was a big fan. There was not a local team during my formative years and I had caught the bug for proper football during that time. I believe this is probably one of the better things that ever happened in my life. That and knowing who the hell Pele was before the age of 5.
I am making less sense as the cold medicine begins kicking in.
~LeChat
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