Another pleasant weekend goes by, and the Arsenal take three points. I would guess that I should be taking away some satisfaction but the reality of it all is that it feels quite hollow. Three points is three points, no matter what, right? I don't give in easily with that philosophy but I do understand it.
Saturday at the pub was quite fun. The Scousers and Mancscum seemed to make it a game. Which at the end of the day, is what you really want to see. The mega blow out things are a bit... lacking... For lack of a better word.
The marathon kept a couple people pinned in to our little bubble which wasn't a bad thing. It's nice when folks stick around a bit. That hasn't been happening much at all lately. Myself, Camo, and HalfArseDean made a day of it though, even caught up with ACMilan, who was his usual self.
Sunday... well outside of the fact that I thought the game was at 10, was pretty nice. All the regular cast of characters, who jeered me for showing up in the middle of the second half, so sort of a homecoming, in an odd sort of way.
Afterwards, I found myself, Ginger, and SlainteLOSC surrounded by Geordies and Scum. Some new scum, I'd never spied before. They seemed a nice enough lot but not ones who have been bled upon the altar before.
One, who I know was kidding, asked if I had Adebayor's name on my kit. Of course I sneered in my sneery way and said, “I don't put anyone's name on my back, least of all a mercenary like half your lot.”
He laughed a bit nervously. Maybe between that and me saying earlier that he was lucky I couldn't find a knife fast enough to stab him when he had sat down next to me. Albeit they did put the one lads girlfriend between me and them. I don't think it was on purpose but it did happen.
Whilst I was waiting for my check, this guy comes up to me, introduces himself and starts asking about the game. I mention that I only made it down for the second half. Then he asks where I watch the Arsenal games. My reply of course was “Here, This is my home-bar.”
The next words that come out of his mouth were something something bistro. I took a deep breath and shook my head, “I don't go to that place.”
This led into a long conversation. He explained that he actually helps out preparing the place for the games and what not. He also mentioned how a certain person has made himself quite a few enemies. I explained to him the reasons why I don't patron that place and how I felt about, in gentle terms.
Mind you, the guy was simply a nice guy but he kept trying to convince me to go over to the bistro for a game. I tried being a nice and diplomatic as I could about it before finally tiring of the conversation, but it kept going for some odd reason.
Now I know exactly how it feels to be tapped up when your happy playing for your own club or in this case watching the football at your home-bar.
Ginger had been waiting patiently, while me and the bistroguy chatted, so I conveniently slipped in that we both needed to go and nodded towards her. He let me escape, but seriously it made me wonder if he had come over on a recruitment mission and I just happened to be the only one left.
Who knows? All I can say, as I have said before, I will never be setting a foot in that bloody place.
~LeChat
Showing posts with label sunderland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunderland. Show all posts
17 October 2011
07 March 2011
Orient at Home (FA) and Sunderland at Home
My what a lackluster week. To be honest, I could care less about either tie. It's kind of funny how one can be a hero on a Wednesday and a complete muppet by the weekend.
Nicklas Bendtner, please stand up!
Fact of the matter is you may think you're the bees knees but your consistency is severely lacking. The big head and the big feet need to be in communication.
Ahh, I'm not here to slag off on poor Nicky alone. Honestly there's no reason, no concrete reason to drop points at this stage of the season. With the United scum falling prey to the team that once was Liverpool, the Arsenal would be 1 point, ONE BLOODY SODDING POINT off the title.
However, this is not the team to do things the easy way. Let's not revisit the should have, could have and would haves of these last couple of weeks. It's trying. A man could be dying slowly in a pool of quicksand and you have about 33% chance of the Arsenal throwing the rope within arms reach, whether or not the rope doesn't break is a different story.
I know there are some reading this saying, "What kind of fan are you, slagging off your own squad like this? Are you some kind of glory hunter? If they don't win, you just whine."
To those I say, when you've been doing this as long as I have, you would understand the intimate and almost salacious relationship you have with your club. How that club comes to define your very being to the point of perversion. How, if you come up to my face and say those words to me, that I might actually haul off and hit you with nary hesitance or judiciousness.
When you have paid your dues and have been allocated your time, in that case, you may question my loyalty as I would question yours. In short, that is not for me to decide nor care about your loyalties or lack thereof.
I'm just saying, I've walked the valley of death and am prepared to stride once more with my head held high, in spite of what mine enemies and detractors would throw down upon me.
Oh to... Oh to be... Oh to be a Gooner!
~LeChat
Nicklas Bendtner, please stand up!
Fact of the matter is you may think you're the bees knees but your consistency is severely lacking. The big head and the big feet need to be in communication.
Ahh, I'm not here to slag off on poor Nicky alone. Honestly there's no reason, no concrete reason to drop points at this stage of the season. With the United scum falling prey to the team that once was Liverpool, the Arsenal would be 1 point, ONE BLOODY SODDING POINT off the title.
However, this is not the team to do things the easy way. Let's not revisit the should have, could have and would haves of these last couple of weeks. It's trying. A man could be dying slowly in a pool of quicksand and you have about 33% chance of the Arsenal throwing the rope within arms reach, whether or not the rope doesn't break is a different story.
I know there are some reading this saying, "What kind of fan are you, slagging off your own squad like this? Are you some kind of glory hunter? If they don't win, you just whine."
To those I say, when you've been doing this as long as I have, you would understand the intimate and almost salacious relationship you have with your club. How that club comes to define your very being to the point of perversion. How, if you come up to my face and say those words to me, that I might actually haul off and hit you with nary hesitance or judiciousness.
When you have paid your dues and have been allocated your time, in that case, you may question my loyalty as I would question yours. In short, that is not for me to decide nor care about your loyalties or lack thereof.
I'm just saying, I've walked the valley of death and am prepared to stride once more with my head held high, in spite of what mine enemies and detractors would throw down upon me.
Oh to... Oh to be... Oh to be a Gooner!
~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
22 February 2010
Sunderland at home (Birthday weekend!!!)
Let's be honest, it was all a blur this weekend. Well a bit more of a blur than what the usual weekend is, so to speak. My actual birthday was on Friday, just to keep the record straight, and I spent the evening quietly sipping New Castle's with an old friend at his establishment for a couple hours before calling it an early evening.
Saturday
Our intrepid adventure begins at the well known pub, a familiar place of contemplation and introspection. Here is the summation of what I can actually remember from that morning. Firstly, NO IRISH. What the heck??? I could not believe he would go on vacation and miss this match. Yes there was a match, MancScum and Toffees. There was a score line, which was quite a nice surprise for all to enjoy.
Thank you Blue Scouse.
I also know there were a lot of strangers in the pub. I am not complaining about that but it was very odd. I believe there was a total of two that I actually knew beyond mere facial recognition. However, I couldn't be bothered with the strangers... FERGIE was turning RED!
I just read something today about him forbidding his young players from wearing colourful boots.
-Guardian, Sir Alex Ferguson sticks the boot in...
NOW, I do not fully disagree with him, for once; it can happen. I think you better be the bees knees if you're going to put on some hot pink boots. Your goal average better be somewhere near 1.5/match or one hell of a play-maker. Yes, I'm looking at you Mr. Bendtner. I can score from the 6 yard box, actually that's my specialty but then again I spent more time playing indoor and I wasn't getting paid the GNP of a small island nation.
Anyways, back to Saturday. The Arsenal faithful started streaming in shortly prior to the end of the MancScum match. The Chelski boys came in drips and drabs but since it was my birthday weekend, we got the big screen. I actually think we may have been even on numbers. Chelski boys decided they would try their luck on the second floor since the rugby was not being televised.
Interestingly enough, we were having a conversation about Arse St. Nick, who had done a sojourn to Kenya and "got married" and hadn't been seen since. There had been some conjecture and speculation about what he had really been up to. He walks in around 60 minutes, to cheers and several well placed jibes about his trip.
He seemed happy to be back with the boys. He immediately started buying me shots since it was my birthday. I don't think we did the same shot twice. I kept complaining I had to make it out to band practice but that didn't stop the shots.
The Chelski boys came down after their match and got into celebration mood with the Arsenal. Songs and jokes started going back and forth. I believe with the dozen and half hooligans we had assembled, it was the loudest the pub had been in a long time. I am sure the drinks flowing had quite a bit to do with it as well, but it was definitely a good time.
Somehow StormtrooperChelski thought it was funny to go grab a pile of snow and stuff it down the back of my shirt. Cheeky bastard! I guess I deserved it for calling them all a bunch of batty boys as they headed upstairs to watch their match.
Band practice went off pretty well. We have a Clash tribute show coming up this next weekend. We will be preforming Spanish Bombs and Guns of Brixton at the Sidebar. Doors at 5 and we will be on second. Flyer, for those who care.
If you want something more cerebral, GrumpyGooner will be reading from his book, Hated and Proud at Atomic Books, at 7 PM. Here's some of the text from their site.
Yes, I shamelessly promote my mates as well. So if you got something going on, let me know and it will be added in here.
Saturday Night
Birthday Spectacular time! ChelskiGirl's birthday was Sunday and mine was Friday, so we decided to do a joint party. Initially, our intention was to get the top deck at the pub but to no avail, another party had beaten us to it. Dirty bastards! We were given the second floor at the barnextdoor, which is another nice place.
Let's just say it was a good time. I don't want to get into details but somehow there were some people, not associated with the party that took over about half the bar prior to everyone getting there. I shrugged my shoulders, so be it. I had no idea how many of us were actually going to show but we did turn up in numbers.
Once again, get enough of the pub hoolies drunk and in a space together, the singing begins. Fill up my senses and Arseloba seemed to be the songs of preference for the night, since they were probably the least offensive and neutral.
We closed out the bar and one of my longest known friends, MERN and I stumbled our way down the street. We stood on a corner talking for about 2 minutes when a pair of young ladies decided to join us for a chat. We hung out with them for a bit before I decided it was probably best to tuck it in and head home. I wasn't feeling the scene too much, as I was getting stuck with the grenade or as my Italian friends that I met in Ireland would say, "Bomba Atomica!"
MERN, on the other hand, did quite well for himself. The next afternoon he sent me a text saying the girls were looking for me after I had disappeared. I mean they locked themselves in the bathroom to evacuate their evening's consumption, plus I had to be the one to jump on the grenade; you would disappear too.
Sunday Morning
I am feeling very well. I decide to head towards the pub and have a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict and a warm coffee. To my elated surprise, Bridge was working instead of Irish. I took a seat next to Shane and watched the early game, of which my mind is now testing me, Burnley Villa, maybe, and something else. It did not matter much because the ManCity show was about to begin.
One of the better reasons to awake from about 3 hours of sleep is watching ManCity. It is not so much as ManShitty the team but ManCity himself. I think the comment that was made went something like, "that guy is like four fans in one." To which, my laughter attracted his attention and he came over and said, "I know you guys are talking about me because you're laughing too much." This was followed by more laughter.
Another highlight is that ManCity has taken to calling SWP by my name, which all the locals know and don't pay it much mind. However a pair of Scousers who I had never even seen before kept asking each other, why does he keep calling SWP other names. Now that was hilarious. I think they finally got the joke, but you never know.
Which reminds me, of my Olympics diving competition joke that took half the pub about five minutes to figure out. I do love a good delayed laugh. I got told I was being too cerebral for a Sunday morning. Mighty grim up North, mighty grim.
After the match I sat with Vinny and ChelskiPizzaman for a bit. We talked a bit about the weekend and various other absurdities as in parking tickets, being towed and the MVA.
All in all, it was a great weekend. Thanks to all that came out and celebrated with ChelskiGirl and myself. Thanks to all for the birthday wishes and thanks to ACMilan for the great Arsenal tuke.
ALRIGHT - one last thing. My spell check totally hates me. I am sorry I am not super Americanised and spell every stupid word the way you want me to spell it. It's a bloody tuke, woolie, beanie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. And one more fucking thing. I do use the ~s instead of ~zed at times and fuck you spell check, I said fucking ZED! And how come you don't have trouble with the words fuck or bastard, you stupid fucking, cunting spell check! PISS OFF!
~LeChat
Saturday
Our intrepid adventure begins at the well known pub, a familiar place of contemplation and introspection. Here is the summation of what I can actually remember from that morning. Firstly, NO IRISH. What the heck??? I could not believe he would go on vacation and miss this match. Yes there was a match, MancScum and Toffees. There was a score line, which was quite a nice surprise for all to enjoy.
Thank you Blue Scouse.
I also know there were a lot of strangers in the pub. I am not complaining about that but it was very odd. I believe there was a total of two that I actually knew beyond mere facial recognition. However, I couldn't be bothered with the strangers... FERGIE was turning RED!
I just read something today about him forbidding his young players from wearing colourful boots.
Sir Alex Ferguson has become the first top-flight manager to take a stand against brightly coloured football boots.
Under new rules Manchester United's junior players have been banned from wearing anything other than old-school black while on club business.
-Guardian, Sir Alex Ferguson sticks the boot in...
NOW, I do not fully disagree with him, for once; it can happen. I think you better be the bees knees if you're going to put on some hot pink boots. Your goal average better be somewhere near 1.5/match or one hell of a play-maker. Yes, I'm looking at you Mr. Bendtner. I can score from the 6 yard box, actually that's my specialty but then again I spent more time playing indoor and I wasn't getting paid the GNP of a small island nation.
Anyways, back to Saturday. The Arsenal faithful started streaming in shortly prior to the end of the MancScum match. The Chelski boys came in drips and drabs but since it was my birthday weekend, we got the big screen. I actually think we may have been even on numbers. Chelski boys decided they would try their luck on the second floor since the rugby was not being televised.
Interestingly enough, we were having a conversation about Arse St. Nick, who had done a sojourn to Kenya and "got married" and hadn't been seen since. There had been some conjecture and speculation about what he had really been up to. He walks in around 60 minutes, to cheers and several well placed jibes about his trip.
He seemed happy to be back with the boys. He immediately started buying me shots since it was my birthday. I don't think we did the same shot twice. I kept complaining I had to make it out to band practice but that didn't stop the shots.
The Chelski boys came down after their match and got into celebration mood with the Arsenal. Songs and jokes started going back and forth. I believe with the dozen and half hooligans we had assembled, it was the loudest the pub had been in a long time. I am sure the drinks flowing had quite a bit to do with it as well, but it was definitely a good time.
Somehow StormtrooperChelski thought it was funny to go grab a pile of snow and stuff it down the back of my shirt. Cheeky bastard! I guess I deserved it for calling them all a bunch of batty boys as they headed upstairs to watch their match.
Band practice went off pretty well. We have a Clash tribute show coming up this next weekend. We will be preforming Spanish Bombs and Guns of Brixton at the Sidebar. Doors at 5 and we will be on second. Flyer, for those who care.
If you want something more cerebral, GrumpyGooner will be reading from his book, Hated and Proud at Atomic Books, at 7 PM. Here's some of the text from their site.
DANCE OF DAYS - MARK ANDERSEN
HATED & PROUD - SAB GREY
Saturday, February 27, 7PM. .
Admission: Free. Atomic Books.
Mark Andersen will be discussing his book Dance of Days: Two Decades of Punk in the Nation's Capital - a fantastic and comprehensive look at DC's famous punk scene.
Sab Grey - who was part of the very scene that Mark Andersen chronicles is now a novelist. He will be reading from his new book, Hated & Proud.
Yes, I shamelessly promote my mates as well. So if you got something going on, let me know and it will be added in here.
Saturday Night
Birthday Spectacular time! ChelskiGirl's birthday was Sunday and mine was Friday, so we decided to do a joint party. Initially, our intention was to get the top deck at the pub but to no avail, another party had beaten us to it. Dirty bastards! We were given the second floor at the barnextdoor, which is another nice place.
Let's just say it was a good time. I don't want to get into details but somehow there were some people, not associated with the party that took over about half the bar prior to everyone getting there. I shrugged my shoulders, so be it. I had no idea how many of us were actually going to show but we did turn up in numbers.
Once again, get enough of the pub hoolies drunk and in a space together, the singing begins. Fill up my senses and Arseloba seemed to be the songs of preference for the night, since they were probably the least offensive and neutral.
We closed out the bar and one of my longest known friends, MERN and I stumbled our way down the street. We stood on a corner talking for about 2 minutes when a pair of young ladies decided to join us for a chat. We hung out with them for a bit before I decided it was probably best to tuck it in and head home. I wasn't feeling the scene too much, as I was getting stuck with the grenade or as my Italian friends that I met in Ireland would say, "Bomba Atomica!"
MERN, on the other hand, did quite well for himself. The next afternoon he sent me a text saying the girls were looking for me after I had disappeared. I mean they locked themselves in the bathroom to evacuate their evening's consumption, plus I had to be the one to jump on the grenade; you would disappear too.
Sunday Morning
I am feeling very well. I decide to head towards the pub and have a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict and a warm coffee. To my elated surprise, Bridge was working instead of Irish. I took a seat next to Shane and watched the early game, of which my mind is now testing me, Burnley Villa, maybe, and something else. It did not matter much because the ManCity show was about to begin.
One of the better reasons to awake from about 3 hours of sleep is watching ManCity. It is not so much as ManShitty the team but ManCity himself. I think the comment that was made went something like, "that guy is like four fans in one." To which, my laughter attracted his attention and he came over and said, "I know you guys are talking about me because you're laughing too much." This was followed by more laughter.
Another highlight is that ManCity has taken to calling SWP by my name, which all the locals know and don't pay it much mind. However a pair of Scousers who I had never even seen before kept asking each other, why does he keep calling SWP other names. Now that was hilarious. I think they finally got the joke, but you never know.
Which reminds me, of my Olympics diving competition joke that took half the pub about five minutes to figure out. I do love a good delayed laugh. I got told I was being too cerebral for a Sunday morning. Mighty grim up North, mighty grim.
After the match I sat with Vinny and ChelskiPizzaman for a bit. We talked a bit about the weekend and various other absurdities as in parking tickets, being towed and the MVA.
All in all, it was a great weekend. Thanks to all that came out and celebrated with ChelskiGirl and myself. Thanks to all for the birthday wishes and thanks to ACMilan for the great Arsenal tuke.
ALRIGHT - one last thing. My spell check totally hates me. I am sorry I am not super Americanised and spell every stupid word the way you want me to spell it. It's a bloody tuke, woolie, beanie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. And one more fucking thing. I do use the ~s instead of ~zed at times and fuck you spell check, I said fucking ZED! And how come you don't have trouble with the words fuck or bastard, you stupid fucking, cunting spell check! PISS OFF!
~LeChat
18 January 2010
Bolton Away (MLK, Jr. Day)
I swore that today, in celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in the United States I would actually be nice, for once. That means, no sideways comments about how much I despise certain squads and their cretinous ways. No comments on how a certain someone shags their mum up the shitter. No comments on why having a crap load of money does not make one a big club. Yes that's right, no comments as of such, so as you can imagine this will probably be a short blog.
Saturday
It started off as a nice enough day. The weather was a tad above freezing and there was some football on the telly at the pub. I was surrounded by some of my best mates, so who could ask for anything more.
The top two dispatched their adversaries with not much between them. Even though I would hate to admit it, the Chelsea contest was something to behold. The onslaught of goals that were obtained versus Sunderland was, in short keen. I will even concede the point that the young Mr. Ashley Cole, former Arsenal man and supporter, who left for a small sum to the Blues a few seasons ago, had a cracker of a goal. Whilst I do harbor ill feelings for the lad, they are best not expressed under the circumstances.
The public house had the usual crowd of well-doers as well. There was a great banter going betwixt the Liverpool lads and lasses with the Chelsea boys. After which a few of the Manchester supporters appeared. They are short in number in these waning days of the once great Manchester United team who has won a great many trophies in years past. I do hope their form does not slip too bad. I do not know what the Premiership would be like without their constant challenge to keep the Gunners on their toes.
In a more somber yet still celebratory fashion, the kit with Mr. Dauner's name and number went up in the pub this day as well. I was able to capture a simple photograph with a very nice reflection in it. I present such image to you.
SUNDAY
I made my way to the public house a tad bit early, as I was getting calls from ACMilan and BC/BC. They wanted me to enjoy the privilege of observing, as the Italians call it, Calcio. Now I will say, calcio is very similar to the game of proper association football that we have call come to enjoy, however there are some more or less very specific differences of which I do not have much time to entertain at this precise moment. I will say the Brazilian was a joy to watch as he found his stride in a match against a very defensive minded opponent.
It was time to head down to the pub's main floor for the proper entertainment of the mighty Arsenal taking on the football club of Bolton. Sunday, as was Saturday, had the usual milieu of punters who had arrived for the match. All in good spirits with jovial mocking all about. In short it was a good time.
I will say, lilblondiegooner is no longer blond but now an intriguing shade of brunette. It does suit her well and we all acknowledged it. I do not believe there is a style the young woman could not wear and look more than presentable.
After the match I headed home for some much needed rest. These weekends do become quite long, to say the least. It is as I have a second job, just keeping up with all the goings on and excitement that there is to partake in. I enjoy it, to be honest.
Later on Sunday evening, I received a surprising call on my mobile. It was from Sheffield who had been gone for quite some time. He had arrived back to the colonies in one piece. I met up with him and his betrothed at the public house and had a grand conversation of the month and fortnight they had been away.
It was a good evening. Now, as I said earlier, I must be off. I do wish for all those reading my words to at least consider the disaster that has struck the western side of the Isle of Hispaniola and the Haitian peoples. There is a lovely shirt that can be found here, in which all the proceeds go towards the relief effort.
Also, in celebration of the legacy of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I would like to mention, once again, Show Racism the Red Card, as it combines the efforts of creating racial and ethnic harmony amongst people and preserves the quality of the beautiful game.
Your peaceful author,
LeChat
Saturday
It started off as a nice enough day. The weather was a tad above freezing and there was some football on the telly at the pub. I was surrounded by some of my best mates, so who could ask for anything more.
The top two dispatched their adversaries with not much between them. Even though I would hate to admit it, the Chelsea contest was something to behold. The onslaught of goals that were obtained versus Sunderland was, in short keen. I will even concede the point that the young Mr. Ashley Cole, former Arsenal man and supporter, who left for a small sum to the Blues a few seasons ago, had a cracker of a goal. Whilst I do harbor ill feelings for the lad, they are best not expressed under the circumstances.
The public house had the usual crowd of well-doers as well. There was a great banter going betwixt the Liverpool lads and lasses with the Chelsea boys. After which a few of the Manchester supporters appeared. They are short in number in these waning days of the once great Manchester United team who has won a great many trophies in years past. I do hope their form does not slip too bad. I do not know what the Premiership would be like without their constant challenge to keep the Gunners on their toes.
In a more somber yet still celebratory fashion, the kit with Mr. Dauner's name and number went up in the pub this day as well. I was able to capture a simple photograph with a very nice reflection in it. I present such image to you.
There's only one Nick Dauner...
SUNDAY
I made my way to the public house a tad bit early, as I was getting calls from ACMilan and BC/BC. They wanted me to enjoy the privilege of observing, as the Italians call it, Calcio. Now I will say, calcio is very similar to the game of proper association football that we have call come to enjoy, however there are some more or less very specific differences of which I do not have much time to entertain at this precise moment. I will say the Brazilian was a joy to watch as he found his stride in a match against a very defensive minded opponent.
It was time to head down to the pub's main floor for the proper entertainment of the mighty Arsenal taking on the football club of Bolton. Sunday, as was Saturday, had the usual milieu of punters who had arrived for the match. All in good spirits with jovial mocking all about. In short it was a good time.
I will say, lilblondiegooner is no longer blond but now an intriguing shade of brunette. It does suit her well and we all acknowledged it. I do not believe there is a style the young woman could not wear and look more than presentable.
After the match I headed home for some much needed rest. These weekends do become quite long, to say the least. It is as I have a second job, just keeping up with all the goings on and excitement that there is to partake in. I enjoy it, to be honest.
Later on Sunday evening, I received a surprising call on my mobile. It was from Sheffield who had been gone for quite some time. He had arrived back to the colonies in one piece. I met up with him and his betrothed at the public house and had a grand conversation of the month and fortnight they had been away.
It was a good evening. Now, as I said earlier, I must be off. I do wish for all those reading my words to at least consider the disaster that has struck the western side of the Isle of Hispaniola and the Haitian peoples. There is a lovely shirt that can be found here, in which all the proceeds go towards the relief effort.
Also, in celebration of the legacy of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I would like to mention, once again, Show Racism the Red Card, as it combines the efforts of creating racial and ethnic harmony amongst people and preserves the quality of the beautiful game.
Your peaceful author,
LeChat
30 November 2009
An Open Letter. (Chelsea at HOME)
To the team I love,
It has come to my attention that my affections and prayers that I have sent out to you have now been returned in a manner not much unlike the days of the past. Unrequited I sit here, staring blankly into space at the disastrous lapse or shall I say unfortunate misjudgment beneath the hands of the BlueScum.
At first, I could feel the utter disappointment when you faltered and let the candy cane stripped Sunderland have a few cheap feels. I shrugged and declared that you must have been drunken from the previous international foray. This, I concede, is not unusual for yourself.
I will also admit that this time of year usually produces a string of disappointments, especially in recent years, concerning our relationship. Whatever you may call it, I have accepted it in the past. It is just Arsenal being Arsenal, and loved you no matter what minor indiscretions that November wrought upon us.
Why is it that November is such a hard month for us?
I know I know, you have always come back around by Boxing day but I walk through the whole month a hollow shell of myself. Wanting, desiring, impatiently biding my time when I can celebrate a complete month of you not just being you but being the Arsenal that I know you can be.
Yes. It is a tough life loving you but it's been twenty odd years now.
I remember our younger days. A double here, a league cup there, dropping points to teams that have come and gone. And recent times, remember that run of unbeaten games that was horribly undone by an ogre named Rooney and his accomplice Riley.
Oh those were wonderful times.
Now you know I will be with you forever. It is a promise I made to you a long time ago on a warm spring day from three thousand miles away. It is a promise I will keep.
So no matter what Arsenal. I LOVE YOU!
~LeChat
It has come to my attention that my affections and prayers that I have sent out to you have now been returned in a manner not much unlike the days of the past. Unrequited I sit here, staring blankly into space at the disastrous lapse or shall I say unfortunate misjudgment beneath the hands of the BlueScum.
At first, I could feel the utter disappointment when you faltered and let the candy cane stripped Sunderland have a few cheap feels. I shrugged and declared that you must have been drunken from the previous international foray. This, I concede, is not unusual for yourself.
I will also admit that this time of year usually produces a string of disappointments, especially in recent years, concerning our relationship. Whatever you may call it, I have accepted it in the past. It is just Arsenal being Arsenal, and loved you no matter what minor indiscretions that November wrought upon us.
Why is it that November is such a hard month for us?
I know I know, you have always come back around by Boxing day but I walk through the whole month a hollow shell of myself. Wanting, desiring, impatiently biding my time when I can celebrate a complete month of you not just being you but being the Arsenal that I know you can be.
Yes. It is a tough life loving you but it's been twenty odd years now.
I remember our younger days. A double here, a league cup there, dropping points to teams that have come and gone. And recent times, remember that run of unbeaten games that was horribly undone by an ogre named Rooney and his accomplice Riley.
Oh those were wonderful times.
Now you know I will be with you forever. It is a promise I made to you a long time ago on a warm spring day from three thousand miles away. It is a promise I will keep.
So no matter what Arsenal. I LOVE YOU!
~LeChat
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