Alright folks, hope ye are enjoying the podcast
JJ here with random Thursday thoughts….
As we get into the home straight towards Athens – where heavy drinking will come hand in hand with glory or heartbreak for Liverpool fans – I thought I’d share two tales of absolute woe that I came across recently. You see, while I have block-booked the last week in May for celebrations and a tremendous amount of alcohol and junk food, some people have ended up on the cutting room floor of life when it comes to next Wednesday. Was that a bad enough metaphor for ya?
Ahem, let's move on….
The first tale is of Bob, and Bob needs no sympathy whatsoever because he got himself into this mess. Some time ago this Liverpool fan of over 20 years purchased tickets to a gig for his mate’s birthday. It’s for Ray Davies at Vicar St in Dublin and Bob, being the kind of bloke he is, said he’ll go to the gig with this mate. The other bloke doesn’t like football by the way… which wouldn’t be important except that doors open for the gig at 7.30 next Wednesday (http://www.ticketmaster.ie/event/18003D66A33CF03E?artistid=759679&majorcatid=10001&minorcatid=1 ).
I’ve come up with a huge amount of excuses for him to get out: the plague; a debilitating cold; his leg fell off; he’s getting divorced and life is really hard right now; he was abused by a man called Ray Davies as a child; and that’s to name but a few. All untrue of course (in case any lawyers are looking at that abuse remark) but just use one, or even one of your own Bob, this thing has to be skipped. For the love of Cheryl Cole’s arse, it has to be skipped.
He won’t do it. He’s saying he can’t get out of it while I bemoan that he ever doubted that May 23 should have been kept sacred. Had he no faith! Okay so I picked Chelsea for the semis but I still wouldn’t have bought those feckin tickets. Get him a book for his birthday! A TV, a pet chicken, anything else but those feckin tickets!
He’s even talking about getting a small portable TV that he can fit into his pocket. Do these even exist? I think the pressure has got to him to be honest and he’s plucking at straws.
The second tale is of Ronan, another lifelong Pool fan who is currently selling software to a bunch of Americans while in Boston for two weeks. He left last Monday. Next Wednesday he is supposed to be in a meeting with someone called Chad or something when kick-off is approaching. He’ll spend at least two hours discussing going forward; realising goals; quarterly figures; customer relationship management and all manner of bollocks while anyone in their right mind is in the corner of a pub cursing the ref and getting Guinness lips.
He says he can’t get out of it.
Bob says he can’t get out of it.
I say – and I speak confidently as a complete layabout – that these fellas have to ask themselves some serious questions. If Liverpool win, this will be an amazing night, one that won’t be repeated for… well two years on their current record. But fuck it, if you’re missing this then you’re just not giving back to football. It gives you Saturday after Saturday and Champions League classic after Champions League classic as well as much, much more. And how do you repay it?
You sing along to ‘You Really Got Me’ on acoustic guitar and sell data security to yanks.
Lads, you’re letting us all down.
Does anyone else have similar tales of such foolish men out there?
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3 comments:
My pal, a Chelsea supporter of the old stock; as in twenty odd years, is having his first child christened tomorrow - Sat 19th, cupán FA day. I'm Utd myself so we'll have a interesting afternoon.
Point is, the only time they could get the christening was at two o'clock so, seeing as the priest has an awfully busy morning with all sorts of church goings ons, he takes his lunch around 12:30 therefore getting the christening put back from two to one o'clock was fairly out of the question, until... my pal offered the priest a fortnights worth of go's on his own personal running machine in the spare room of his house. The priest said that he'd get his houselady to make an extra large breakfast for him using such upgrades as marmalade with the bits in it instead of without and Special K with the berries instead of the plain sort, so he could briefly postpone his lunch. Sure he'll be able to work those berries and bits off on the running machine. Thereby we can all head down to the pub's upstairs piano bar (which is booked out for the christening do and the match) in stroll motion and be able to let the baby lap up the adulation in her own good time. All for the sacrifice of letting a priest, whenever it pleases him, perspire all over ones running machine in ones own home.
A football man of the old stock.
Ya see, now that's commitment right there. There is always a solution that will allow you to watch a match; be it breaking promises or getting a priest sweaty. Good work.
Hi
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