Fucking hell. All those non-football people out there - women and blokes whose parents are cousins mostly - you can wonder all you want about why people get so emotional over what is essentially just a game. Just a game it may be, but the emotions it provokes are very real and there's no other experience I can think of that can take you by the testicles on a roller-coaster ride of emotions and leave you at the end of it with either a gestalt persecution complex born of frustration, anger, resentment and incredulity or a sense of euphoria synonymous with a lottery win or a sexual encounter with a randy Felicity Kendall wearing only wellies and covered in runny custard.
As I've matured, my ferocious intellect has demanded more sophisticated diversions than football, consequently I've adopted a more and more laissez-faire attitude towards the beautiful game. There was a time when I hated every other team but Arsenal. My weekends were ruined when Arsenal lost and they were ruined frequently. My summers were pointless if they followed a trophy-less season and going to jail in Paris before the 1993 Cup Winners Cup Final seemed like a small price to pay for the cause. In retrospect I have no idea what that cause really amounts to..but anyway..while my growing older has assuaged these confrontational and over zealous sentiments, I still to this day hate Tottenham. Fucking hate them I do. There's very little I can do to address this, even though I have and have had close personal friends who follow them. Despite my political compass pointing me in Ghandi's direction and the very essence of my soul being the antithesis of partisanship, I want them all culled. I want their stadium to collapse around them.
So with this in mind it's no surprise I vomited my very soul up against my living room wall last night after about 92 minutes of the North London derby. Now, I am an atheist. Or at least I am agnostic, but agnostic about God to the same extent I am agnostic about garden fairies and the Loch Ness Monster, but it's experiences like these that prevent me from declaring myself a hard-core 100% atheist. You see, within the virtual pages of my blog I've not been very nice to God and it's this sort of thing I'd do to me if I was God to exact my revenge. If God is omnipotent, he can read my thoughts and would have known I had plans to compose a post about Gael Clichy and how much I admired him. Consequently God would, if he were feeling particularly ruthless and vindictive, make Clichy just fall over for no apparent reason with a couple minutes to go in the game and from said inexplicable loss of balance allow Tottenham an opportunity to salvage a point from the game by cutting Arsenal's lead to one goal with about 5 minutes remaining.
If I was God I would also make Manual Almunia a laughing stock for having a silly tash by hitting him in the face with a shot that would then land straight at Darren Bent's feet. I'd also let an ex-Arsenal player score from about 45 yards. That's what I'd do if I was God and I was so fucking pathetically insecure that my ego couldn't cope with a dude from a small Cotswold town in the middle of nowhere making suggestions that I didn't exist and was a petty cunt even if I did.
Well God showed me didn't he. We're playing Stoke at the weekend. I'm terrified of what might happen there. If only I could ignore it. That's the problem with being indoctrinated into football at a young age. Unlike religion, once it's a part of you you can't escape it. One can't question the rationality of it one has to just endure it. Ours not to wonder why, ours but to do or die.
I felt shit anyway tonight even before the game. I have an 'orrible sore throat. It's my own fault though, not Gods this time - I mean that God, I'm not blaming you - don't give me fucking rabies in my sleep. I stood outside on Toosday night in the freezing cold cause I had a headache and thought the cold would reduce the swelling in my head that I thought was causing the throbbing pain or something. I don't know...what the fuck was I thinking? I could have won a Darwin award had I stayed out there much longer. I showed no more logic and intelligence than if I had just drilled a hole in my temple to relieve the pressure.
I can't sleep now, cause I can't swallow and I'm sore and I'm haunted by football and I've run out of lollies too. I'm done for. I don't think there's anything anyone can do for me now. Go now...just go. Save yourselves.
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As I've matured, my ferocious intellect has demanded more sophisticated diversions than football, consequently I've adopted a more and more laissez-faire attitude towards the beautiful game. There was a time when I hated every other team but Arsenal. My weekends were ruined when Arsenal lost and they were ruined frequently. My summers were pointless if they followed a trophy-less season and going to jail in Paris before the 1993 Cup Winners Cup Final seemed like a small price to pay for the cause. In retrospect I have no idea what that cause really amounts to..but anyway..while my growing older has assuaged these confrontational and over zealous sentiments, I still to this day hate Tottenham. Fucking hate them I do. There's very little I can do to address this, even though I have and have had close personal friends who follow them. Despite my political compass pointing me in Ghandi's direction and the very essence of my soul being the antithesis of partisanship, I want them all culled. I want their stadium to collapse around them.
So with this in mind it's no surprise I vomited my very soul up against my living room wall last night after about 92 minutes of the North London derby. Now, I am an atheist. Or at least I am agnostic, but agnostic about God to the same extent I am agnostic about garden fairies and the Loch Ness Monster, but it's experiences like these that prevent me from declaring myself a hard-core 100% atheist. You see, within the virtual pages of my blog I've not been very nice to God and it's this sort of thing I'd do to me if I was God to exact my revenge. If God is omnipotent, he can read my thoughts and would have known I had plans to compose a post about Gael Clichy and how much I admired him. Consequently God would, if he were feeling particularly ruthless and vindictive, make Clichy just fall over for no apparent reason with a couple minutes to go in the game and from said inexplicable loss of balance allow Tottenham an opportunity to salvage a point from the game by cutting Arsenal's lead to one goal with about 5 minutes remaining.
If I was God I would also make Manual Almunia a laughing stock for having a silly tash by hitting him in the face with a shot that would then land straight at Darren Bent's feet. I'd also let an ex-Arsenal player score from about 45 yards. That's what I'd do if I was God and I was so fucking pathetically insecure that my ego couldn't cope with a dude from a small Cotswold town in the middle of nowhere making suggestions that I didn't exist and was a petty cunt even if I did.
Well God showed me didn't he. We're playing Stoke at the weekend. I'm terrified of what might happen there. If only I could ignore it. That's the problem with being indoctrinated into football at a young age. Unlike religion, once it's a part of you you can't escape it. One can't question the rationality of it one has to just endure it. Ours not to wonder why, ours but to do or die.
I felt shit anyway tonight even before the game. I have an 'orrible sore throat. It's my own fault though, not Gods this time - I mean that God, I'm not blaming you - don't give me fucking rabies in my sleep. I stood outside on Toosday night in the freezing cold cause I had a headache and thought the cold would reduce the swelling in my head that I thought was causing the throbbing pain or something. I don't know...what the fuck was I thinking? I could have won a Darwin award had I stayed out there much longer. I showed no more logic and intelligence than if I had just drilled a hole in my temple to relieve the pressure.
I can't sleep now, cause I can't swallow and I'm sore and I'm haunted by football and I've run out of lollies too. I'm done for. I don't think there's anything anyone can do for me now. Go now...just go. Save yourselves.
1 comments:
Thats the funniest blog entry I have ever read.
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