The following post is about football, so you have been forewarned. I shall offer no explanation for jargons will only take the second name of players and discuss trends without offering a preamble. For the uninitiated the title happens to be my favorite formation that my football club arsenal has displayed for a few years with style aplomb.
A few weeks earlier I woke up with a very disappointing dream. I dreamt that I had won a ticket where I can play a game for arsenal. I won this through the competition called “Oil can buy anything bitch” conducted by Qatar football association.
They had formerly bought blatter and platini for shwarmas and pepsis and now had a free run in all the football games all over the world. They seem to have taken a cue from venky’s chicken ownership circus at black burn.
Back to the dream now: Anyway I got a splendid assist from chamakh inside the box and I beautifully netted it to the bottom corner while Sorenson[of stoke city] stood flummoxed. But suddenly I realized to my dismay that, instead of hearing chants of Dhanesh, Dhanesh I was hearing Xixiang xixiang. Then I realized that some Chinese kid had replaced his jersey for mine. And everyone now thought I was xixiang and not dhanesh.
I knew the politburo had a hand in this. As GW bush said it, they hate us. They hate us for our freedom. Darn you Chinese.
Later I came to my senses and when I woke up my brother [a chelski fan] shouted that we had drawn Barcelona for our CL group of 16. Further depressing news, they shred us and pillaged us through every orifice on our body last time at camp nou and at home. Sagna is suspended for the first leg at the grove, so it might be messi vs eboue. God please be kind to me.
By now you might have realized what a great deal football plays in my life. I love it; it is not the most popular game in the world for no reason. In general guys love it.
There are a lot of fake fans though. You can always spot them easily. They would be the ones wearing Rooney jersey for watching the el classico at the sports bar.
I once witnessed this hippy looking girl standing outside a shop in chembur .She was dressed in patches, I mean patches. It looked like as if pied piper from Prague stitched it in his free time.
This girl with his over achieving boyfriend [read any guy who is taller than me and owns a frigging Kawasaki 300] was constantly pestering the vendor. She yapped “I want Fletcher, how cannot you have Fletcher’s jersey. I mean he is the cutest guy in Manchester united”. Oh, Honey she said with puppy face expression to her man, fetch me Fletcher.
I realized that the girl apart from a few credit cards had the guy’s balls inside her purse too. The guy had a tough time convincing her that Fletcher isn’t as popular as Rooney.
You see readers; to a football fan the game does not end at the last whistle post 90 minutes. It merely begins. It gives us everything and is kind of a horcrux from which the guy renders his passion and zest.
When we get arsed at the office, bullied at home and in relationships all that we linger for is a good game of 90 minutes in which our team wins preferably. And that win or a good game gives us enough zest to crawl through another week.
We are simpletons who love the game. I would have been a brilliant footballer if not for an apparent lack of ability. Even then I was quite a utility player myself.
To me, there is no connection between loyalty and success of a football club. But alas on a broader perspective especially for a non footballing nation it exits. Hence we have more fans of chelski, M*n U and none of the clubs lesser than top 4.
Until we age, get beer bellies, bald and/or committed [read owned] by a female we will cherish this fervent 90 minutes of unfettered joy. To the readers of this post who happen to be fans of football. Let us take this pledge.
One club, one life.
To me it is Arsenal.
Let the games continue