Any Great Pleasure

Can’t say that it gave me any great pleasure but in retrospect, last night I did something of which I am extremely proud. I was watching my team, Crystal Palace get beaten 5-1 by the mighty Arsenal. I was cold, tired and feeling poorly before we went and sat in the chilly seats at the Clock End. Highbury was full of people in expensive coats, not like proper football at all. G&T soccer set.

I watched my team play well for 30 minutes, then in ten minutes we went 3-0 down. Killed the game stone dead for me. I was with my gooner mate, who graciously had got me a ticket down the front with him. I was watching my team getting hammered, or rather, shot to pieces, being the Arsenal. At half time, the team went in dazed.

I turned and said, sorry mate, I’m off. This is not for me. I couldn’t sit there passively with all these gooners celebrating my team’s demise. I didn’t even stay for the inevitable Andy Johnson goal (penalty) which came later in the second half.

The well-managed streets were deserted as I passed police vans, motorbikes, a burger van, generator running and ablaze with light, asian guy inside waiting for the crowd’s return, listening to the radio echoing loudly as it bounced from tower block to terrace. I walked on up to the very top of Highbury Hill, and I heard the home crowd cheering more goals as I started the 15 minute journey home in cold, blowy, dry winter’s night weather.

I thought, fuck that for a laugh. It was Valentine’s night. My gorgeous girlfriend having spent the day seeing her ex-boyfriend, would be home. There was a beautiful crescent moon and clouds scudded dramatically across it. I immediately felt better, and went to the off license and bought a bottle of cava and took it home to where my gorgeous girlfriend was pleased to see me early. It was romantic. I had been slightly jealous, I told her. We kissed and sipped champagne, and that felt a lot better. Football, fucking football.

Cupid’s revenge is that he rescued me from football. Nice one you fat bastard.