I should really start this week on the Friday since the Friday almost made my Saturday not happen. Due to the suggestion of a so called friend aka Scouse supporting drummer, we had a few drinks at a place called Bad Decisions. Mind you, it's a good place, but the temptation of actually having Brugal, my number one rum, sitting on the shelf made for an interesting evening. I made it home safely.
Saturday, began on an unusual note, dropping people off at the airport on 4 hours of sleep. Driving home from the airport my body decided it had enough. I prayed to all of them to get me home and let me catch a few bites of sleep before heading down for the early chelski match, the free buffet and seeing some of the regulars who hide during the summer.
I swear, I tried, rolled over, then decided I felt alright and headed on down. I prayed once again and declared that it must be some weird motion sickness.
"come on body, 10 minutes, just let me park..."
It would be a shame to destroy my not looking too great at the moment interior, does need a vacuum and once over for dust on the dashboard. The negotiations worked and I was able to park, a prime free spot with a bit of shade.
The walk to the pub was uneventful, yah free parking requires walking and I was planning on trying to make it all day. The upside down-ness of my stomach disappeared the closer I got, all anticipation to greet the new season. I yank open the doors, to the game already in progress and belt out..
"You're just a shit club in Fulham! You're just a shit club in Fulham!
You're just a shit club in Fuuulham! You're just a shit club in Fuulham!"
That was my high point in the morning. I shook some hands, said Hey to some Hi to others and a simple nod of recognition to those who were too far away. After my grand entrance, my stomach decided to give me a nod of recognition and immediately ordered me a coke.
I went upstairs, took a look at the buffet and decided half a bagel would suffice. Thinking I'd ease my way to the back once I got back downstairs and lay down in one of the booths. Apparently sitting in comfy booth land also makes one nod off if they aren't up to par.
A couple Chelski natives let me know that I wasn't going to get any rest and proceeded to harass me until I walked back up and joined them by the big screen. I tried to hang as long as I could. My mate from Sheffield shows up and I try to hang a bit longer but my body was saying "GO HOME YOUNG MAN!" So, I said see you at noon around the 80th minute. Apparently missing some high points of that game.
The middle of the day I could actually care less about but since it was opening weekend I wanted to see it all. However, the 2 hours of sleep I got really made a difference. Slightly refreshed and more energized I made my way back to the pub.
The way people look at you and tell you that you looked like "death warmed over earlier today" is actually kind of funny. Anyways took my seat next to the Bladesman and my Gooner mate and we decided to check out the Sheffield United score.
A little secret, we all have a soft spot for Sheffield United just because of my mate. Great guy and always is looking out for you. The result of course led into a course of "You fill up my senses!" to which 4 or 5 pub faithful joined in, including the wonderful Irish bartender we all love to hate.
"You fill up my senses" can actually be heard at random times, depending on how many of the pub faithful are within singing distance from each other. It's a great song. As well as the other favorite of mine, "Who the fuck are Man United?", "Down the pub, Have some pints" and the winter time medley of "Feed the Scousers" and a couple of naughty tunes about ice and runways.
So we get a glorious showing of what a team full of under 25's thinks of what such and such pundit has to say about them having nothing to play for but fifth place this season. Like clockwork they were giving Arsene a handjob in the papers this morning.
Sunday Sunday Sunday, much better. I spent most of the rest of Saturday either in bed or watching movies. I ventured out for a 6pm Chipotle burrito and hit the bed around 10PM with a shot Theraflu, to make sure I had no more sickness.
I headed down to enjoy a little harassment of the Manc supporters, one of my favorite past-times. Some of them are really good guys, so they give it back just as much, fun time had by all. What's the sense in going to the pub if you can't have the friendly rivalries? Well at least here in the states.
I got myself a bit of the buffet and sat down next to Grumpy Gooner. I think that's a great name from him but he's one of my best mates, just came out with another book that I need to get him to sign. The first was fantastic. I expect more of the same.
One of the Mancs had a Saturday like my Friday, so I tortured him with my plate of beans and tomatoes. Funny thing is the rum did him in as well, different brand but it was still rum. Even funnier part is that it was his girlfriend's birthday and she was feeling just fine.
I decided to try my hand with a Newcastle Brown. Things were looking up, slowly sipping. Grumpy Gooner and I got bored so we decided to sit outside at the tables and chat about life, the universe and everything.
Chelski girl decided to show up a little later to the party, fashionable I guess. We decided that eating all the salmon would be a good idea, well at least I did. Forgive me I hadn't really ate for a whole day, minus half a bagel and a burrito.
So the pub becomes awash with reds..."mind your wallets." The weird thing was some odd Spurs fans that decided to show up. I didn't realize that these people actually existed. I thought they were only in fairy tales, like hobbits. You know, nothing threatening more of something to laugh at.
However, the poor, poor Scousers were not laughing and hardly smiling. I can't say I don't blame them myself. It was a few pitiful calls and the game is lost. I had told someone on Saturday that there are only two things certain in football; the first is the game is 90 minutes, the second and the most important...
The ball is round.
Ciao
~LeChat
17 August 2009
10 August 2009
Charity Shield
Aww it was a lovely Sunday. I can't complain either way, for a boring game and a just result. It really is a shame that more elbows did not fly. A mean a broken nose here and a fractured cheek bone there, would have held no complaints from me.
The atmosphere at the pub was nice. A few of the choice locals, chelski and mancscum, were in attendance. It was good to see some old faces, not many new ones but I am sure that will change as the season actually begins.
There was talk of the other place...which I will call by name for it is not forsaken but I do not wish to even give it credit. It has become more of a bad joke on the pub gooners than anything else. Let's just call it the bistro. And then one must ask themselves whether they can say with a straight face, "I am going to watch the football at the bistro." Yes do it in that drawn out posh accent because that is what you will need to make it sound right.
Now I am not one to judge, so I lie, but I can not see myself going there to watch a game. There is also the issue of the fair-weather factor of it and the lack of loyalty to an establishment that has dealt with football/soccer fans when there were only a few that would come. It is a shame to turn your back on a place that would open up it's doors so that an ex-pat could watch crummy united play fc whatchacallit in the nothing worthwhile cup quadra-quarter-semi-finals.
I don't know maybe I have some weird thing about it but it is how I feel about the whole situation. Sure the prices could drop a bit. Sure they could get some new stools. Sure whatever other complaint you want to make. It doesn't really matter though because at the end of the day it's home.
It's where you belong.
~LeChat
The atmosphere at the pub was nice. A few of the choice locals, chelski and mancscum, were in attendance. It was good to see some old faces, not many new ones but I am sure that will change as the season actually begins.
There was talk of the other place...which I will call by name for it is not forsaken but I do not wish to even give it credit. It has become more of a bad joke on the pub gooners than anything else. Let's just call it the bistro. And then one must ask themselves whether they can say with a straight face, "I am going to watch the football at the bistro." Yes do it in that drawn out posh accent because that is what you will need to make it sound right.
Now I am not one to judge, so I lie, but I can not see myself going there to watch a game. There is also the issue of the fair-weather factor of it and the lack of loyalty to an establishment that has dealt with football/soccer fans when there were only a few that would come. It is a shame to turn your back on a place that would open up it's doors so that an ex-pat could watch crummy united play fc whatchacallit in the nothing worthwhile cup quadra-quarter-semi-finals.
I don't know maybe I have some weird thing about it but it is how I feel about the whole situation. Sure the prices could drop a bit. Sure they could get some new stools. Sure whatever other complaint you want to make. It doesn't really matter though because at the end of the day it's home.
It's where you belong.
~LeChat
03 August 2009
Emirates Cup Weekend.
Around 1000 Saturday
Phone Ringing
"Hey...nothing, watching a movie... what? What game?...Are you serious?.. You down the pub? Fuck.... Where? No fuck that place... haha funny... I'll see ya down the pub."
That was the beginning of a very strange day.
I figured the pub would be empty, as it was raining and the mass-hole roaches who were here for the baseball game, don't like to venture out in the rain. At least that is what I was hoping for. It ended up being true. The pub is usually empty pre-season besides the tourist and other locals who come down for a pint.
Pub + Summer - World Cup(Euros)= Tourist Haven
"Hey Martha, look an Irish Pub. What's it called?"
(horrible mispronunciation)
"We must buy a drink here."
(sounds of Ride the Ducks going by which is quacking and YMCA or some other equally annoying disco sounding song)
"Martha, we got to go ride the ducks!"
Not that I am saying that I am something special but it does get a little annoying when you just want to have a pint and some breakfast, watch the football and enjoy pleasant conversation with like minded individuals.
Hmm, new person sitting at the bar. As you say, first impressions should be good ones and his was a pretty bad one. "Hey man, O2 shirt, love it." One of my top annoyances is calling out the sponsor on my shirt, unless it's within a proper context to be determined by myself. I try and ignore it but it is so hard.
Second impression wasn't much better. Being loud is one thing but being loud and off the mark is a whole different hemisphere. How many times do I have to mumble corrections into your directions? Seriously dude, did you really play this game when you were younger or are you saying that to make it sound like you know something? And honestly, grasping onto a player who has played a total of maybe 100 minutes in my teams kit, does not make that said player a bloody legend.
I'm still calm at this point but between me and the host, we're having a laugh at this poor guy's expense. I'm not a mean person but twice in less than 30 minutes he crossed the line of my sanity, PLUS he is very loud. He is sitting with people I like, so I keep it calm and pray that I don't have to deal with it again.
I have never prayed that hard for the three tweets at 90 minutes in my life.
Sunday on the other hand was rather uneventful. I popped down to the pub ahead of time, had another good breakfast, and one of my Chelsea friends came and sat through most of the game with me. They had a game on later and she was bored or something to that matter. By the way, that is a real woman, not a dig at the nancy boys.
(text out) Hey we are looking really good against the rangers.
(text in) Who doesn't? HAHAHA
The Arsenal pasted the Rangers, onto victory for a useless dinner plate, but hey it's something and at this point in time something is better than nothing.
OH and an internet gem for those familiar with Danny Dyer, Football Factories, The Real Football Factories and Guy Ritchie movies.
This is class and quite funny. A nice piece of satire.
Ciao
~LeChat
Phone Ringing
"Hey...nothing, watching a movie... what? What game?...Are you serious?.. You down the pub? Fuck.... Where? No fuck that place... haha funny... I'll see ya down the pub."
That was the beginning of a very strange day.
I figured the pub would be empty, as it was raining and the mass-hole roaches who were here for the baseball game, don't like to venture out in the rain. At least that is what I was hoping for. It ended up being true. The pub is usually empty pre-season besides the tourist and other locals who come down for a pint.
Pub + Summer - World Cup(Euros)= Tourist Haven
"Hey Martha, look an Irish Pub. What's it called?"
(horrible mispronunciation)
"We must buy a drink here."
(sounds of Ride the Ducks going by which is quacking and YMCA or some other equally annoying disco sounding song)
"Martha, we got to go ride the ducks!"
Not that I am saying that I am something special but it does get a little annoying when you just want to have a pint and some breakfast, watch the football and enjoy pleasant conversation with like minded individuals.
Hmm, new person sitting at the bar. As you say, first impressions should be good ones and his was a pretty bad one. "Hey man, O2 shirt, love it." One of my top annoyances is calling out the sponsor on my shirt, unless it's within a proper context to be determined by myself. I try and ignore it but it is so hard.
Second impression wasn't much better. Being loud is one thing but being loud and off the mark is a whole different hemisphere. How many times do I have to mumble corrections into your directions? Seriously dude, did you really play this game when you were younger or are you saying that to make it sound like you know something? And honestly, grasping onto a player who has played a total of maybe 100 minutes in my teams kit, does not make that said player a bloody legend.
I'm still calm at this point but between me and the host, we're having a laugh at this poor guy's expense. I'm not a mean person but twice in less than 30 minutes he crossed the line of my sanity, PLUS he is very loud. He is sitting with people I like, so I keep it calm and pray that I don't have to deal with it again.
I have never prayed that hard for the three tweets at 90 minutes in my life.
Sunday on the other hand was rather uneventful. I popped down to the pub ahead of time, had another good breakfast, and one of my Chelsea friends came and sat through most of the game with me. They had a game on later and she was bored or something to that matter. By the way, that is a real woman, not a dig at the nancy boys.
(text out) Hey we are looking really good against the rangers.
(text in) Who doesn't? HAHAHA
The Arsenal pasted the Rangers, onto victory for a useless dinner plate, but hey it's something and at this point in time something is better than nothing.
OH and an internet gem for those familiar with Danny Dyer, Football Factories, The Real Football Factories and Guy Ritchie movies.
This is class and quite funny. A nice piece of satire.
Ciao
~LeChat
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