That's not to say that I am both an Arsenal supporter and morbidly obese; rather, the severity to which I am consumed by Arsenal FC is quite huge. For instance, as I sit here now, typing away at my desk, I can see the following:
- Framed photograph of Arsenal captain, Cesc Fabregas. He was the third man ever to steal my heart, after Michael Jackson (a sentiment I have since retracted ...R.I.P btw) and former Arsenal player, Marc Overmars. He's a quality player, but I fear I may have to take the picture down in the summer, should he decide to go to Barcelona. (And Cesc, if you're reading this, don't go to Barcelona, please. They'll stick you on the bench and you'll be doomed to forever exist in Lionel Messi's shadow. Even though, y'know, you're taller than him and all that.)
- Tiny replica of the Arsenal bus. But shh: I stole it off my brother several years ago and he still hasn't noticed.
- Thierry Henry: The Biography, by Oliver Derbyshire.
- Fever Pitch, by Nick Hornby.
- A stationery box, upon which I covered with Arsenal stickers when I was about 10-years-old, including the old Arsenal crest and Patrick Vieira's former no.4 shirt.
- The Arsenal Enclyopedia, I kid you not.
- Two Arsenal matchday programmes.
- Vieira: My Biography
- Three other random Arsenal books.
- An Arsenal blanket.
Also scattered around this room you'll find an Arsenal calendar, canvas prints of Dennis Bergkamp and Tony Adams, an Arsenal flag, several Arsenal shirts, an Arsenal beanie baby, an Arsenal hoodie, an Arsenal hat, Arsenal gloves, ticket stubs to Arsenal matches, Arsenal pyjamas and a couple of posters of the Arsenal team. Oh yeah, and I'm wearing a 1970s-style Arsenal shirt right now. Not to mention the wallpaper on my phone is a picture I took last year, while at an Arsenal match.
So you get that I like Arsenal, right?
That doesn't mean that if you don't like Arsenal you have to stop reading, though, nor will I hate you if you tell me you support Manchester United (though I will probably roll my eyes and mock throwing up; I should probably warn you now). However, it does tend to mean that I will like you considerably more if you tell me you happen to be a fellow Gooner. I'd make a totally crappy judge; I mean, can you imagine the scene in court?
Me: Mr So-and-so, you robbed seven stores, then ran over a pigeon and left it for dead. I hereby sentence you to six years in...
Defendant: Wait! The only thing I stole from the stores were Tottenham magazines. I was trying to save the small boys and girls the torture of seeing Robbie Keane's judging face staring down upon them as they peruse their favourite comic books. I ran over the pigeon because it called Fabregas overrated, and I only left it there because I had an Arsenal match to get to and I was late. Don't you understand!?!?
Me: Oh. [Long pause] Community service should do it, I would think.
Anyway, there was a point to all this. I'm just trying to remember what it was.
Oh yeah! I went to an Arsenal match last night. Anyone who caught the Arsenal vs. Partizan Belgrade match on ITV1 would surely remember seeing me (the woman looking cold) screaming at the pitch and declaring that "You [the Partizan Belgrade fans] are not singing anymore." Though, actually, they were. At one point one of them whipped off his shirt and waved his pie-gut to and fro, as if it were a football scarf. I'll never know.
[This is my evidence that I was actually there. Don't like it? Well, screw you: I'm a writer, not a photographer.]
I'm beginning to think that fans should get tickets on the basis of how noisy they are. I mean, I'm a quiet person, but stick a football scarf in my hand and chuck a few players on the pitch, and I'll have lost my voice by the morning.
I urge anyone, football fan or not, to get to a match at some point in your lifetime. There's nothing like getting away from it all for a couple of hours, and asking a complete stranger earning 100 times your wages, "Who ate all the pies?"
No comments:
Post a Comment