The FA Cup

So not many posts in recent times- because so much has been happening you ask?

Well not really.

Things have been progressing along nicely in terms of living a life as an English person. When I last posted (in what is arguably the greatest piece of Gonzo seen on this or other blogs) I was suffering amnesia from the Wytangi day misadventures and was beginning to approach the point of being too poor to go on living the high life. How quickly things change. As luck would have it just as I began to notice that the dwindling of my cash reserves was becoming chronic a nice company offered me some work as a temp- so that is what I have been doing with my week days for the last week and a bit.

But the fun story's come from the weekends, so that's what I should talk about.

I will say nothing of the weekend, two weeks past, but to comment on the fact that none of you replied to my hilarious txt message regarding the Frogs croaking at Croke Park when they played the Irish. I will also comment on the quality of the Rugby- high quality indeed.

So after a quite weekend with Joe Norks in Australia for the weekend and APF hanging out with Amelie, I was keen to get up to some mischief this last weekend, and thankfully our young friend RDP came to the party by organizing tickets to go the FA Cup on Sunday afternoon.

A fixture on nearly everyone's list of things to do when coming to this town is to go to a Football match at a major club, so when young Mr Paul asked if I was interested I said Yes.

Sunday afternoon then, came around far too quickly, as I had spent the previous two evenings taking in the various venues in the area surrounding the Pickle. Friday at the Barracuda Bar watching the mighty Stormers prove that my tipping powers are truly returning (a world cup year, was there any doubt?) and then the Horse and Groom talking loudly and very quickly with old Joe Norks, who wasn't nearly as drunken as I was so not talking nearly as loudly or quickly. Then Saturday turned into quite a pub crawl as a long day on the couch (dealing with a sore head) meant that I had more then enough energy on Saturday night.

So Sunday morning was spent also with a mild hangover- a common state it seems with these heavy English Lagers (Fosters that is). But finally it was time to go to the match, and so finally this post begins to go somewhere.

We headed out to Craven Cottage (near to were RDP lives) home of the cleverly named Fulham Football Club to see the home team take on the might of Tottenham Hot Spur (now thats a name for a team) on a freezing cold afternoon. The stadium is right on the Thames so gets all the benefits of the breeze off the river that the likes of the Shangri La and Marquise enjoyed, except that in sunny old England that is most often not the best thing to have.

So anyways, the game, it was cold (have I mentioned that) but that wasn't going to stop me going to watch the beloved Hot Spurs do there thing to the hated FFC- I was channeling the might of Archie Thompson and knew, deep down in the place we don't often talk about at parties, that the Spurs (who have been terrible for the last month and a half) would not let me down.

And they didn't- 4-0 to the away teams end- FANTASTIC. Although to tell the truth it wasn't really that fantastic- poor old Fulham, played there little hearts out, but in this world of Mega clubs and then not so mega clubs there was no way that they would beat the might of Spurs- the game was fucking boring- yes the standard is a lot better then the A League, and the passing more precise etc. The goals were good, but came from no where, not the scintillating build up of attack that you hope for, but lucky breaks leading to even luckier strikes, that went past the desperate hands of the very unlucky Fulham goal keeper, and then there was no replay screen so you couldn't even see the goals a second time. All in all I would have chosen Suncorp and mighty Dario's two goals in September (?) over this occasion.

But in the end the quality of the match didn't matter at all- I am sure the lads who were at the Reddies on Saturday would agree- in these types of intense match's (local derbies and fifth round cup ties don't happen every week) the crowds are so amped up that what is happening on the field was really a sideshow. The home support was well organised, loud, and extremely passionate for the cause. However, I am afraid to say they were shamed by the undeniably far more incredible performance of the away teams end.

The Spurs supporters were out numbered by at least 3 to 1 (there being 4 sides to a football pitch and them taking up one end makes that claim at least slightly feasible) but were much louder and having a much better time (which is easy when your team is leading 1, then 2, then 3, and then farcically 4 - zip). The two best moments of the afternoon came early in the match, in the early sections of the match both sets of supporters were doing their best to inspire their lads to better things- first the Fulham supports tried there hand at singing a version of When the Saints Come Marching In, and immediately upon finishing the Spur's supporters started their version (aptly when the Spurs come marching in) and blew the roof of the stadium, they were twice as loud, and twice as well organized- and it must have meant something to old Keane who immediately converted the softest goal I have seen scored since Spurs own Paul Robinson let that back pass through when playing for England a few months ago. Which lead to the second best part of the afternoon- watching the away team go absolutely nuts- like you see on TV when a goal is scored they were jumping up and down and waving their arms around and all sorts of other crazy acts that would have you believing that it was the fans themselves, not the lads on the pitch who had scored the goal.

The last thing of note to tell you about is the funny old man who was sitting directly behind us. Now all the world knows that your B A Tron is a passionate die hard for the likely lads from White Heart Lane- so there was no way I wasn't going to be cheering for them when they won 4-0 in the cup (the last bit of silverware they are still in the running for this season) even if we were sitting in the home supporters section(when I stood up to cheer the 3rd goal I was the only person standing up in the entire stand). Now I had spent Monday night reading Fever Pitch, so I was ready for anything the pommie soccer hooligans could throw at me (some would think I was looking for it) but I wasn't ready for the funny old man. This was a guy who was at least 60- at the game with his old lady, so you wouldn't expect that the only prospect of soccer vilionce we would face would be from him- but as I jumped for joy with the fabulous third goal, all reports indicate that he either nearly killed me, or killed himself in what could only be called a fit.

I apologize for the slightly disjointed narrative in this post- I am busy doing other things at the moment as well so this post is coming together slowly.

So anyways, the FA cup- a good time out, although with no replay screen, no drinking in the seats, fucking cold, lame arse home team, did I mention no drinking in the seats ? it wasn't necessarily something I would do every week.

Oh yeah- as a bit of a post script- after the game I headed back to the Willie the IVth for Sunday Roast and a movie at the Loft- which was uneventful but for the moment when Joe Knorks sat on a plate of Ass Jam Tarts- its a long story but try imagining a Smoking Camel walking around with an Ass Tart stuck to her butt, doing a dance to My Little Buttercup (from the Three Amigos)- an image that will live with me for ever.

cheers