I awoke this morning and lay in the dark as my wife slept next to me and gave this Thanksgiving thing a serious thought.
As I did not emigrate to the States until I was nineteen I do not have the childhood recollections of Thanksgiving traditions, just pictures of saw in magazines and the imprint on my mind of other traditions passed down from the families of my various wives.
The one I like the best and passed on to my children is the Macy parade early in the morning (yes I was up before anyone in my household - I have in-laws staying for the holiday - were even awake).
Anyway as I lay there in the dark I realized how thankful I am for my health and my family this year. A tear or two moistened my face as I thought of a couple of people. My second wife, Paula, and my friend Phil both back in Oklahoma, and coincidentally confined to the same nursing home. Paula is diabetic and both her parents dies some time ago. She was adopted and after her father passed ten years ago her two brothers, both older, snubbed her as the 'adopted sister' and allowed her to be sent to a State-run convalescent home for the rest of her life. Since the age of 43 she has had three strokes and a kidney transplant and when I saw her two weeks ago was swollen up from all the steroids in her system and is confined to a wheelchair. Phil, my old running buddy from back in the day is also in a wheelchair having been most recently bed-ridden for almost two years with a mystery ailment that has seen him drop over 60 lbs, to the point where his prosthesis (he has had a prosthetic leg and foot since his teens)falls off as his legs are so skinny. His family has abandoned him here too. Just what would they ever find to be thankful for today. In their place I don't think I could even be thankful for life. Their life is not one worth living, rotting away in a modern-day workhouse as if in some Dickensian novel.
I grew up in a family whose religious beliefs did not celebrate Christmas so I never experienced that family-around-the-dining-table style big get-together as you always see portrayed in holiday movies. I always yearned for the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving celebration. You know the type, snow on the ground as the family pulls up to the house with the while picket fence as the mother in her apron pulls out a huge steaming-hot turkey and the father cheerfully slices off pieces of white breast for the grandparents and uncles and aunts while the tweens and kiddies sit at a separate table, toasts are drunk and football is playing on the TV in the next room.
Instead my first wife's family lived in rural Arkansas and we always drove to their little ram-shackle home to eat with hill-billies. The second wife's family. well these are the brothers that would not look after her when the parents died , so lets just say family gatherings where few and far between and markedly chilly when the did occur. The third wife was on the outs with her Dad and her Mum was dead.. in fact I recall doing the fixing myself as we had a baby just home from the hospital less than ten days from Thanksgiving and wife four's family were the epitome of dysfunctional.
Today I won't have my boys around me (I visited with them in Oklahoma a week or two ago) but I will sit and eat with my mother-in law and a brother-in-law and my wife. We will at some point be visited by the step-daughter and her boyfriend and our grandchild and we will enjoy turkey and football. We live in the Arizona desert and there is no snow and the homeowners association in our town homes would frown on a white picket fence but I can have one in my mind. So while I am sure there are a family or two out there who are sitting down to a traditional Norman Rockwell-type dinner most of us will have to just enjoy what we have made for ourselves and you know what, that is enough. I have the picture in my mind of what I think it should be but America's melded family unit has changed over the years, and so have our ideals of the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving, so lets be thankful for what we have.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Rat
I didn’t set out to be a rat; it just turned out that way.
They came at midnight. A chief inspector and six constables. Thumping on the door. Hard. My father stumbled down the stairs in his slippers and striped pajamas, pulling a robe around him as he came. Bleary-eyed he opened the door. When he saw the flashing red and blue lights his first thought had to be ‘what have I done’?
“We’ve had a report that Mark’s been badly beaten.”
Belting his robe my father allowed himself to be led to the back seat of one of the patrol cars and to be driven the five hundred yards around the corner to the Gnosall Police department. Here they find me bent over the bleeding body of young Mark, a local teen. As he emerged from the patrol car I saw Dad. Confusion and relief were all over his face.
I’d met Mark, or Sharkey, as the locals called him, when his mother, a co-worker at the government offices in Stafford, gave me a ride home one evening. When he had introduced himself by his nick-name I didn’t have to ask. The proportion of his curved proboscis as it extended from the middle of his face was enough. As for the shaved head, leather jacket, jeans with a wide cuff and ‘bovver’ boots, well they all spoke of his character. Over the next several months we exchanged nods as we passed on the street or in the pub. A casual acquaintance; no more.
I was a short-timer at this point. My parents had moved our family from the home I had known since I was three, to another in neighboring Gnosall. Small village to small village. This would never be my home. I had been accepted to university in America and was just biding my time, working over the summer to have a little spending money for when I moved to Texas.
I had been a well behaved child, not involved with the kind of trouble that would require the intervention of law enforcement. Whenever I thought of the police, which to be honest wasn’t often, I often recalled the rhyme my Mother recited to as me as a youngster. “If you want to know the time, ask a policeman.” It left a prevailing image of the typical British bobby; helpful, kind and respected.
After the policeman had called an ambulance and Sharkey was whisked away to hospital the questioning began in earnest. Yes I am a witness and yes I did recognize one of the assailants; Chris, long blonde hair, about nineteen I’d guess, football player. In fact we’d had a game tonight and we all just caught the bus home together. The assault happened as they exited the bus and I had been the one that had called nine one one.
When they knocked on his front door another father was met by flashing lights. Chris stood there with him, swathed in the light from the porch light. The constable handling the questioning turned his flashlight on me, sitting trembling in the cold in the back of the police car, illuminated my tired pale face and asked Chris if he recognized me. And so the rat was born, and my opinion of the boys in blue became a little fuzzy in the helpful, kind and respected department.
Luckily this story does have a happy ending, for this Mark anyway. After a couple of close calls, occasionally walking home the seven miles because Chris and his friends where again riding the last bus home, I managed to ensure I was never dealt a similar fate as Sharkey. This rat left town in one piece never to return.
They came at midnight. A chief inspector and six constables. Thumping on the door. Hard. My father stumbled down the stairs in his slippers and striped pajamas, pulling a robe around him as he came. Bleary-eyed he opened the door. When he saw the flashing red and blue lights his first thought had to be ‘what have I done’?
“We’ve had a report that Mark’s been badly beaten.”
Belting his robe my father allowed himself to be led to the back seat of one of the patrol cars and to be driven the five hundred yards around the corner to the Gnosall Police department. Here they find me bent over the bleeding body of young Mark, a local teen. As he emerged from the patrol car I saw Dad. Confusion and relief were all over his face.
I’d met Mark, or Sharkey, as the locals called him, when his mother, a co-worker at the government offices in Stafford, gave me a ride home one evening. When he had introduced himself by his nick-name I didn’t have to ask. The proportion of his curved proboscis as it extended from the middle of his face was enough. As for the shaved head, leather jacket, jeans with a wide cuff and ‘bovver’ boots, well they all spoke of his character. Over the next several months we exchanged nods as we passed on the street or in the pub. A casual acquaintance; no more.
I was a short-timer at this point. My parents had moved our family from the home I had known since I was three, to another in neighboring Gnosall. Small village to small village. This would never be my home. I had been accepted to university in America and was just biding my time, working over the summer to have a little spending money for when I moved to Texas.
I had been a well behaved child, not involved with the kind of trouble that would require the intervention of law enforcement. Whenever I thought of the police, which to be honest wasn’t often, I often recalled the rhyme my Mother recited to as me as a youngster. “If you want to know the time, ask a policeman.” It left a prevailing image of the typical British bobby; helpful, kind and respected.
After the policeman had called an ambulance and Sharkey was whisked away to hospital the questioning began in earnest. Yes I am a witness and yes I did recognize one of the assailants; Chris, long blonde hair, about nineteen I’d guess, football player. In fact we’d had a game tonight and we all just caught the bus home together. The assault happened as they exited the bus and I had been the one that had called nine one one.
When they knocked on his front door another father was met by flashing lights. Chris stood there with him, swathed in the light from the porch light. The constable handling the questioning turned his flashlight on me, sitting trembling in the cold in the back of the police car, illuminated my tired pale face and asked Chris if he recognized me. And so the rat was born, and my opinion of the boys in blue became a little fuzzy in the helpful, kind and respected department.
Luckily this story does have a happy ending, for this Mark anyway. After a couple of close calls, occasionally walking home the seven miles because Chris and his friends where again riding the last bus home, I managed to ensure I was never dealt a similar fate as Sharkey. This rat left town in one piece never to return.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Embarrased in Tucson
One evening last week as I wrapped up my evenings bill paying on the computer I noticed that I had a new message on Facebook.
When I clicked on the link I was pleasantly surprised to find a note from my college roommate. He was in town, remembered I lived in Tucson, and had been stood up on his business dinner and wondered if I was free to join him. He went on to say he was working in his room until seven and then planned to eat dinner in the restaurant at the hotel where he was staying The Hotel Arizona. I say I was surprised, as other than an occasional e-mail with his wife, who runs a college alumni website, I had not seen or spoken to him since our college days in 1976. Nevertheless I was pleased to join him as we had always gotten as roommates.
Hurriedly rushing downtown I found him munching on a burger and beer in the Saguaro Lounge, over looking the hotels spacious polished marble lobby. I was impressed with the area having not had the opportunity to visit since the new owners opened the place. Funny how first impressions can be wrong.
It was good to see my friend. He looked about the same as I recalled only thirty years older, and we sat and had a pleasant conversation. When the bartender approached us I asked for coffee – they had none. A bar and restaurant with no coffee? I finally had to suggest he trot off to the employee lounge, where they undoubtedly had coffee, to fetch me a cup. One was produced from somewhere and all seemed well.
Mt friend explained that he is an event planner with a large organization and was in town scoping out the facilities near the convention center, the Hotel Arizona is adjacent to the Tucson Convention Center, however he seemed a little nonplussed with the hotel to this point. As we were speaking the large burly bartender headed over again and asked if we needed anything else. We decided to try the cheesecake. Then we were informed the restaurant had already closed so it was not available. It was at this time only eight o’clock and the hotel advertised the restaurant, The Coyote Café and Bistro, was open until nine. We could not understand why we had not been given the courtesy of at least a ‘last call’… and I still can’t comprehend why even if it was closed, that the barman could not have lifted the lid of the cheesecake container and slid out two pieces of pie. It was not as if the place was crawling with people wanting to eat. The only other occupants of the bar seemed more intent on watching television or drinking beer.
Talking of the ‘other occupants’. In the main lobby a group gathered learning to dance the Flamenco from some gringo that claimed had, we could hear over our conversation and the baseball game on the flat screen TV (By the way this is billed on the hotel website as a “…big screen television to add to the enchanting experience of fine dining…”. Oh really.. beer & a burger in a bar is fine dining - not even in Tucson thank you very much), lived in Argentina at one time. As distracting as they were they had nothing on the ‘working girl’ that was apparently trolling the lobby. In stilettos taller than her skirt was long she approached several gentlemen trying to get a cigarette lit. Seeing as how smoking in public buildings in Tucson is against the law, this was apparently a secret code for “step outside with me I have a van.” One gentleman lit her cigarette and they came back in to the lobby after about twenty minutes. She evidently was a chain smoker as she continued to attempt to get a light.
My dining, well drinking companion actually, went on to explain how the phones in his suite did not work. He had phoned the lobby with his cellular phone to get them to come up and fix the phones in the room. No manager was on duty, the grey-clad, key bearing maintenance man seemed to be in charge. Also the suite had no iron or ironing board (even thought again the website clearly states it has one in each room), and the “complimentary high speed wireless internet” apparently worked in the room but left a little to be desired in the bar/lobby area unless you were standing on one leg, facing north, with your baseball cap on backwards.. well, you get the idea.
I was embarrassed for him and for Tucson. As for whether the hotel is a site for conventioneers to stay well I don’t’ have to make that decision, my friend does.
When I clicked on the link I was pleasantly surprised to find a note from my college roommate. He was in town, remembered I lived in Tucson, and had been stood up on his business dinner and wondered if I was free to join him. He went on to say he was working in his room until seven and then planned to eat dinner in the restaurant at the hotel where he was staying The Hotel Arizona. I say I was surprised, as other than an occasional e-mail with his wife, who runs a college alumni website, I had not seen or spoken to him since our college days in 1976. Nevertheless I was pleased to join him as we had always gotten as roommates.
Hurriedly rushing downtown I found him munching on a burger and beer in the Saguaro Lounge, over looking the hotels spacious polished marble lobby. I was impressed with the area having not had the opportunity to visit since the new owners opened the place. Funny how first impressions can be wrong.
It was good to see my friend. He looked about the same as I recalled only thirty years older, and we sat and had a pleasant conversation. When the bartender approached us I asked for coffee – they had none. A bar and restaurant with no coffee? I finally had to suggest he trot off to the employee lounge, where they undoubtedly had coffee, to fetch me a cup. One was produced from somewhere and all seemed well.
Mt friend explained that he is an event planner with a large organization and was in town scoping out the facilities near the convention center, the Hotel Arizona is adjacent to the Tucson Convention Center, however he seemed a little nonplussed with the hotel to this point. As we were speaking the large burly bartender headed over again and asked if we needed anything else. We decided to try the cheesecake. Then we were informed the restaurant had already closed so it was not available. It was at this time only eight o’clock and the hotel advertised the restaurant, The Coyote Café and Bistro, was open until nine. We could not understand why we had not been given the courtesy of at least a ‘last call’… and I still can’t comprehend why even if it was closed, that the barman could not have lifted the lid of the cheesecake container and slid out two pieces of pie. It was not as if the place was crawling with people wanting to eat. The only other occupants of the bar seemed more intent on watching television or drinking beer.
Talking of the ‘other occupants’. In the main lobby a group gathered learning to dance the Flamenco from some gringo that claimed had, we could hear over our conversation and the baseball game on the flat screen TV (By the way this is billed on the hotel website as a “…big screen television to add to the enchanting experience of fine dining…”. Oh really.. beer & a burger in a bar is fine dining - not even in Tucson thank you very much), lived in Argentina at one time. As distracting as they were they had nothing on the ‘working girl’ that was apparently trolling the lobby. In stilettos taller than her skirt was long she approached several gentlemen trying to get a cigarette lit. Seeing as how smoking in public buildings in Tucson is against the law, this was apparently a secret code for “step outside with me I have a van.” One gentleman lit her cigarette and they came back in to the lobby after about twenty minutes. She evidently was a chain smoker as she continued to attempt to get a light.
My dining, well drinking companion actually, went on to explain how the phones in his suite did not work. He had phoned the lobby with his cellular phone to get them to come up and fix the phones in the room. No manager was on duty, the grey-clad, key bearing maintenance man seemed to be in charge. Also the suite had no iron or ironing board (even thought again the website clearly states it has one in each room), and the “complimentary high speed wireless internet” apparently worked in the room but left a little to be desired in the bar/lobby area unless you were standing on one leg, facing north, with your baseball cap on backwards.. well, you get the idea.
I was embarrassed for him and for Tucson. As for whether the hotel is a site for conventioneers to stay well I don’t’ have to make that decision, my friend does.
Friday, July 3, 2009
'Dithering Dave" Moyes
It always drives me crazy... especially as an Everton Fan. Not only do we have 'dithering Dave' as a manager, who every season seems to wait until the last moment to buy his players, as he watches what we have been told by the media are supposedly prime targets get sold to Manchester United or worse Liverpool, but then half the teams want our star players. So we are torn do we sell Lescott and Cahill? As a supporter it is clear .. hell no! As a business manager it has to be looked at as fifteen million pounds profit per player if we let them go for twenty million a piece. That would give us a tidy profit and loosen up some funds for the players we do want to bring in.
As for Everton I must say Moyes has bought in some talented players from the lower leagues, Spanish cast-offs etc and made a cohesive unit that if we can stay fit will challenge in Europe and for silverware in England again this year. Wish we just had a fairy godmother to wave a wand and buy us the 3-4 players who would make a difference.
So who goes and who stays.. it's always a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece in frustration levels to me. Stay on top of the action at The Transfer Tavern and watch this space for more ruminations on who goes where as I get my blog bitching going for the new Season. Catch me on Facebook as I pull a Luke Garbutt (actually I correspond regularly on Facebook with several junior members of Everton's 'young lions' and you can too if you check my page out. I want to add a congratulations to Anthony Gerrard, a former youth player at Everton, who has just made the transfer from Walsall to Cardiff to secure a Championship position for this season.
By the way Only 15 days to the first pre-season game for Everton, and then they come to visit America. I had hoped to be able to visit Utah to see the game against the MLS Allstars but looks like I'll have to watch in on the boob-tube after all.
As for Everton I must say Moyes has bought in some talented players from the lower leagues, Spanish cast-offs etc and made a cohesive unit that if we can stay fit will challenge in Europe and for silverware in England again this year. Wish we just had a fairy godmother to wave a wand and buy us the 3-4 players who would make a difference.
So who goes and who stays.. it's always a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece in frustration levels to me. Stay on top of the action at The Transfer Tavern and watch this space for more ruminations on who goes where as I get my blog bitching going for the new Season. Catch me on Facebook as I pull a Luke Garbutt (actually I correspond regularly on Facebook with several junior members of Everton's 'young lions' and you can too if you check my page out. I want to add a congratulations to Anthony Gerrard, a former youth player at Everton, who has just made the transfer from Walsall to Cardiff to secure a Championship position for this season.
By the way Only 15 days to the first pre-season game for Everton, and then they come to visit America. I had hoped to be able to visit Utah to see the game against the MLS Allstars but looks like I'll have to watch in on the boob-tube after all.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Soccerpro.com 2009 review
My friends at Soccerpro.com contacted me a few weeks back and asked if I would be interested in trying some of the gear out as I did last year and letting my readers know about them and their products here in Bollocks. Of course I was delighted to oblige and swiftly went through their online catalog and chose a couple of items as you will see below.
I should preface my comments by mentioning a couple of things. I was recently diagnosed with a bulging disk in my lower back so I have perhaps not had the opportunity to put these items through an intense training schedule, however I believe I have used them a least as hard as any member of the general public would, outside of actually playing a soccer game in the clothes. The doctor did release me for training activities last week so I hope this is sufficient as to give you a good idea of these particular items. Secondly it has been 95 degrees in Tucson this week so I have had to train indoors more than out, so that should give you a different perspective to consider.
The first item I chose was a short-sleeved T-shirt. You can view it at this link, so as you can see it is manufactured by Nike,is colored navy and is emblazoned with the words "Property of U.S. Soccer Federation, EST. 1913" in red.
I really liked this product for a number of reasons. It has no annoying tag in the back, the Nike emblem is printed on the shirt. It is 100% cotton, but has the wicking quality that many work out shirts do these days, and neck is wide and stretches without losing its shape. I took a four-mile hike up Sabino Canyon over the weekend in 90 degree temperatures and worked up a good sweat (actually since this was my first distance hike since my injury I turned around just a little before the two mile-marker, so in actual fact the shirt did better than I. I was comfortable and relatively dry and cool, the shirt did not soak up sweat like cotton shirts normally do. I also wore it work on Casual-Friday ab d it solicited a couple of comments as to being a good-looking shirt.
The second item is a training suit from the LA Galaxy. I was surprised by how heavy the material was, but impressed with the flash colorful yellow and blue. The jacket is nice enough to wear as a jacket with jeans with a nice t-shirt (or at least would be somewhere other than Arizona); perhaps the temperature might be cold enough for a couple of weeks in February! I don't know if it's ever cold enough in California for this outfit to train in, perhaps more suited to the mid-west or back East. I tried on the pants and have to say if you have nice long muscular legs - like my wife who immediately stole them from me saying they would suit her me then me - (I did nick them back when she left the house) - but if you have calves like grapefruit from years of long distance running as I do, then they clip a little uncomfortably around the lower leg. Their is an option to pull open the zipper to mid-calf, however that looks kind of dorky when running or cycling, however the zipper does allow enough room to take the pants on and off with out removing your training shoes if you are so inclined. Adidas does have the tag in the back but it did not seem to itch or bother me at all. The material is 100% polyester, and it has two zippered side pockets voluminous to lose your car keys in.
The top also is equipped with two zippered side pockets and two inner open pockets. It was in these inner pockets that I sequestered my car keys when I went down to the gym and rode the stationary bike for an hour - long enough to work up a slight sheen of sweat, probably because I was wearing the trainer! Somewhere over Random Hills however in this recumbent seating the keys fell out, so use the zippered pockets or spend an hour or so walking back and forth over the soccer filed mumbling cuss words as you try to find your missing car keys.
I wore the outfit to work today as it was casual Friday and the bright yellow top raised some eyebrows from a couple of the more conservative types (including my boss!) but I loved it. The top all though being long sleeved is fashioned, at least length-wise, like a bowling shirt. The only problem I encountered was that, along with the draw-string that tightens the pants, the length made standing at the urinal a little inconvenient!
As it turns out SoccerPro.com is getting serious about Facebook and Twitter and are
spending a lot more resources trying to get people informed. Check out their
Facebook page here which has various contests on a continual basis.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/SoccerProcom/28805721020
http://www.twitter.com/SoccerPro
I should preface my comments by mentioning a couple of things. I was recently diagnosed with a bulging disk in my lower back so I have perhaps not had the opportunity to put these items through an intense training schedule, however I believe I have used them a least as hard as any member of the general public would, outside of actually playing a soccer game in the clothes. The doctor did release me for training activities last week so I hope this is sufficient as to give you a good idea of these particular items. Secondly it has been 95 degrees in Tucson this week so I have had to train indoors more than out, so that should give you a different perspective to consider.
The first item I chose was a short-sleeved T-shirt. You can view it at this link, so as you can see it is manufactured by Nike,is colored navy and is emblazoned with the words "Property of U.S. Soccer Federation, EST. 1913" in red.
I really liked this product for a number of reasons. It has no annoying tag in the back, the Nike emblem is printed on the shirt. It is 100% cotton, but has the wicking quality that many work out shirts do these days, and neck is wide and stretches without losing its shape. I took a four-mile hike up Sabino Canyon over the weekend in 90 degree temperatures and worked up a good sweat (actually since this was my first distance hike since my injury I turned around just a little before the two mile-marker, so in actual fact the shirt did better than I. I was comfortable and relatively dry and cool, the shirt did not soak up sweat like cotton shirts normally do. I also wore it work on Casual-Friday ab d it solicited a couple of comments as to being a good-looking shirt.
The second item is a training suit from the LA Galaxy. I was surprised by how heavy the material was, but impressed with the flash colorful yellow and blue. The jacket is nice enough to wear as a jacket with jeans with a nice t-shirt (or at least would be somewhere other than Arizona); perhaps the temperature might be cold enough for a couple of weeks in February! I don't know if it's ever cold enough in California for this outfit to train in, perhaps more suited to the mid-west or back East. I tried on the pants and have to say if you have nice long muscular legs - like my wife who immediately stole them from me saying they would suit her me then me - (I did nick them back when she left the house) - but if you have calves like grapefruit from years of long distance running as I do, then they clip a little uncomfortably around the lower leg. Their is an option to pull open the zipper to mid-calf, however that looks kind of dorky when running or cycling, however the zipper does allow enough room to take the pants on and off with out removing your training shoes if you are so inclined. Adidas does have the tag in the back but it did not seem to itch or bother me at all. The material is 100% polyester, and it has two zippered side pockets voluminous to lose your car keys in.
The top also is equipped with two zippered side pockets and two inner open pockets. It was in these inner pockets that I sequestered my car keys when I went down to the gym and rode the stationary bike for an hour - long enough to work up a slight sheen of sweat, probably because I was wearing the trainer! Somewhere over Random Hills however in this recumbent seating the keys fell out, so use the zippered pockets or spend an hour or so walking back and forth over the soccer filed mumbling cuss words as you try to find your missing car keys.
I wore the outfit to work today as it was casual Friday and the bright yellow top raised some eyebrows from a couple of the more conservative types (including my boss!) but I loved it. The top all though being long sleeved is fashioned, at least length-wise, like a bowling shirt. The only problem I encountered was that, along with the draw-string that tightens the pants, the length made standing at the urinal a little inconvenient!
As it turns out SoccerPro.com is getting serious about Facebook and Twitter and are
spending a lot more resources trying to get people informed. Check out their
Facebook page here which has various contests on a continual basis.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/SoccerProcom/28805721020
http://www.twitter.com/SoccerPro
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Everton and the 2009 FA Cup
It was 5 am when I stirred feverishly in the confines of my king-sized bed. As usual the wife had managed to pull the blankets around just her so I was laying curled up in a ball, feeling the breeze from the fan making the hair on my legs move as he blades swung. Not cold mind you this is Arizona in May and the temperature outside was probably already 75 degrees.
I pulled my self up into a sitting position and hacked up a loogie; sinus problems in a dry heat make one sound like Tony Randall in the Odd Couple every morning. I yawned and stretched. Looking over my shoulder I debated on whether to wake the missus for a little pre-game celebration but decided naw.. let her sleep. She is not a soccer (football for the purists) fan at all.
I got up bent over and fished my blue t-shirt out of the bottom draw. Has the name Ball and 8 on the back in white. Stumbling out to the kitchen I went through the motions of making coffee and then headed back to my office to pull up Facebook and have a natter with my nephew Michael at Uni in Sheffield. He had played on Man U's youth squad at one time and I caught him getting ready to head off down the pub to watch the game on the telly. 2-0 to Chelsea he predicts 2-1 Everton in OT say I.. good luck and he's off.
I went out and switched on the telly so I could here the US commentators drone on about the up coping game, and grabbed a mug off coffee heading back to the computer to read what the Beeb had to say on it's pre-game notes. Everyone seems to agree that Everton is the under-dog and stands no chance; would be out-classed by Chelsea's wonder-men. Typical; no respect. Look who we knocked-off to earn the right to be in this game for the first time in 13 years, Man U, Aston Villa, Liverpool, all teams higher than us in the premier league at the time we faced them. We have a chance I told myself.
7 am and kick off. Thank God I had taken a mug of coffee with me to the sofa instead of getting one in the opening seconds 'cos Saha pops up and scores the fastest goal in FA Cup history. Just like that 28 seconds, he lashes on to Fellani's header and Chelsea are a heavy-weight on the ropes. The noise in Wembley Stadium was so overpowering that I could not hear the commentators clearly for a good five minutes. Othe r than jubilation the only thought I had was it's too early. What a terrible time to score. How the hell are we going to hold them for 90 minutes? If had been the 45 minute I would have been happier.. and then of course 20 minutes later Drogba gets on the end of a cross that Hibbert did not get at fast enough and it was all even.
The resat is history, Lampard pulled out a typical 20 yard screamer and that was all she wrote. My biggest disappointment, other than the actual score line was the way Everton's midfield men disappeared. The must have just wilted in the almost 100 degree heat that London was blessed with that day. Osman and Pienaar were not effective, Hibbert was replaced at the break by Jacobsen, more for his sin of not getting at Malouda faster than anything else, but for the rest of the lads well done. It just wasn't to be but look how far we have come.
Next year we will challenge again, and a top four league spot is open for us to take. Watch Moyes buy us a couple of replacements, get the squad fit and were ready to push Arsenal out of the way next year!
I pulled my self up into a sitting position and hacked up a loogie; sinus problems in a dry heat make one sound like Tony Randall in the Odd Couple every morning. I yawned and stretched. Looking over my shoulder I debated on whether to wake the missus for a little pre-game celebration but decided naw.. let her sleep. She is not a soccer (football for the purists) fan at all.
I got up bent over and fished my blue t-shirt out of the bottom draw. Has the name Ball and 8 on the back in white. Stumbling out to the kitchen I went through the motions of making coffee and then headed back to my office to pull up Facebook and have a natter with my nephew Michael at Uni in Sheffield. He had played on Man U's youth squad at one time and I caught him getting ready to head off down the pub to watch the game on the telly. 2-0 to Chelsea he predicts 2-1 Everton in OT say I.. good luck and he's off.
I went out and switched on the telly so I could here the US commentators drone on about the up coping game, and grabbed a mug off coffee heading back to the computer to read what the Beeb had to say on it's pre-game notes. Everyone seems to agree that Everton is the under-dog and stands no chance; would be out-classed by Chelsea's wonder-men. Typical; no respect. Look who we knocked-off to earn the right to be in this game for the first time in 13 years, Man U, Aston Villa, Liverpool, all teams higher than us in the premier league at the time we faced them. We have a chance I told myself.
7 am and kick off. Thank God I had taken a mug of coffee with me to the sofa instead of getting one in the opening seconds 'cos Saha pops up and scores the fastest goal in FA Cup history. Just like that 28 seconds, he lashes on to Fellani's header and Chelsea are a heavy-weight on the ropes. The noise in Wembley Stadium was so overpowering that I could not hear the commentators clearly for a good five minutes. Othe r than jubilation the only thought I had was it's too early. What a terrible time to score. How the hell are we going to hold them for 90 minutes? If had been the 45 minute I would have been happier.. and then of course 20 minutes later Drogba gets on the end of a cross that Hibbert did not get at fast enough and it was all even.
The resat is history, Lampard pulled out a typical 20 yard screamer and that was all she wrote. My biggest disappointment, other than the actual score line was the way Everton's midfield men disappeared. The must have just wilted in the almost 100 degree heat that London was blessed with that day. Osman and Pienaar were not effective, Hibbert was replaced at the break by Jacobsen, more for his sin of not getting at Malouda faster than anything else, but for the rest of the lads well done. It just wasn't to be but look how far we have come.
Next year we will challenge again, and a top four league spot is open for us to take. Watch Moyes buy us a couple of replacements, get the squad fit and were ready to push Arsenal out of the way next year!
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