So I started writing a blog, but I ended up sounding quite serious and like I was actually attempting to be a serious football blogger, as if that’s me.
It’s quite obvious that I’m not going to be in a good mood right now. I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped out and trod on by a pack of ogres, which ironically is what a lot of the Liverpool players look like they’re related to. I did a post to cheer people up after Tuesday, but I’m not going to try and do that now. Why, you may ask? Because there’s no way of getting cheered up losing to Liverpool in the way we did.
This isn’t about the league, we’re still top and Arsenal have to play their match in hand at the Lane against Spurs, I’m not concerned about the league. It is about having your heart ripped out, stepped on and spat on. Actually, that would probably hurt less. Losing to Liverpool isn’t just losing, it’s not about losing the three points that will help secure our 19th title and it’s not something you can take on the chin, not the way we played today.
Carragher’s challenge on Nani was horrendous, yes. One of the goals may have been offside, maybe at a red tinted stretch. The Liverpool goals were scored because we fucked up, not because they had a brilliant game. However, when it comes down to it, we were embarrassing today. Pathetically so. Our midfield made me cringe. Our defensive mistakes made me hide behind my green and gold scarf. We didn’t turn up today, and we should have done. We should have wanted it more. We should have fucking wanted it at all.
What pisses me off almost as much though would be the comments I’ve seen some United fans make. We were shit, and we’re all hurt and disappointed because of it, but turning off the match? Giving up on the league? Fucking come on. Are you the same people who make fun of Chelsea fans and their tendency to boo their team? The same people who complain about fans leaving early when we’re winning (or even losing) at Old Trafford? Because turning off today would have been as bad as leaving early or booing your team. You support your team through thick and thin, you don’t pick and chose. I’d hate to see what some of you would do if we dropped out of the top five or if in years from now we get relegated. It’s alright to get upset, it’s alright to be pissed off, I feel sick to my stomach after today, I really do, but let’s be honest, we’ve been shit all season and we’ve lost THREE matches and we’re top of the league. Most fans would give their right leg to have their team be in our position.
There is one bright spark in the post apocalyptic black out though, that boy Chicharito. The only reason I’ve not finished a bottle of Vodka by now.
I’m going to go take my aggression out on the Xbox now; I’ll be back to my cheerier and more entertaining posts soon. Promise.
So I may have mentioned this before, but nothing makes me smile quite as much as watching my boys at Old Trafford. I actually would go as far as saying that nothing makes me happier than when I’m watching my boys winning at home (or away), there is a reason why football comes before both sex and rock’n'roll in the title on my blog.
It finally feels like my life is whole again and I cannot wait to be spending days and nights in my favourite city in the world. It can get pretty messy though, so watch this space.
Now I love football. I’m a born red, and I will die a red. If you don’t have any interest in football, I reckon you should probably stop reading now because the next paragraphs will mean absolutely fuck all to you.
Watching your team win I imagine is like falling in love. Watching your team loose is like falling in love then coming home early to find your man, or woman, shagging the ugly tramp next door. Guess what, just because you’ve seen them, that doesn’t mean they will stop, they’ll keep going to rub your nose in it. Then they will put a recording of it on the internet, and spam your e-mail and phone with pictures till you get to the point where you feel like hanging yourself, because your heart is that shattered into a million little fucking pieces. Then, just as you think it’s all going to be ok again, they’ll tell you they also fucked your sister/brother, AND they’re having a baby together. They will then take you to a dark alley, beat you senseless before burying you alive.
That’s pretty much how I feel right now. All of those emotions is what I went through tonight when I watched my team go three nil up, then waste it away. Slowly. Painfully. Sickeningly. Heartbreakingly. If you have ever had your heart broken, then imagine it happening twice in five days. Imagine two lots of ninety minutes ruining your entire year. Then imagine having to see the images of your other half crushing your sprit and soul for days to come.
As if that wasn’t enough, there is one more thing that has managed to really, really piss me off tonight. Every time I go to Old Trafford, I see other women like me who go there because we love our team, we sing as loudly as the men, and we cry and scream both from happiness and misery. Then I see the stupid little girls in their tiny little skirts and their high heels who doesn’t even know the fucking offside rule, who during the match tell the rest of us to sit down, spend the whole fucking ninety minutes talking about fucking shoes and how bored they are and don’t give a shit once it’s over. Thank you for making it even harder to be a female football fan you silly little bints. Thank you for taking up seats that real fans could have used just because going to football might make your boyfriend so happy he won’t ask for a blowjob later so you don’t have to mess up your precious lip gloss. Most of all, thank you for staying the hell away from me after the match, because if you hadn’t, right now you’d be in hospital with a stiletto stabbed into your airhead brain and I would be locked up for GBH.
That is all.
Waking up and realising that there’s only two more sleeps till I’m going to Old Trafford again. Yes I’m a Manchester United fan, and I try to go to as many matches as possible… figured I may as well admit it, as quite frankly it will come out at some point or another anyway. Don’t worry though, I won’t make my blog into a crazy football blog, mainly because I cannot be bothered arguing about who is going to win the league when I’d rather just focus on my team’s performance!
What else makes me happy? Attention from someone special, having sex in the rain, yes I mean outside, music and friends. Mostly though, especially right now, it’s football. Despite our terrible result at the weekend. (Chelsea only beat us because we were shit, so there).
Oh, and apparently Rooney’s going to be back for the City match at wastelands, at least according to SkySports, suddenly I feel a bit better about everything. He may be Shrek to all of you, but there’s not a single club out there who wouldn’t trade the world to have someone like Rooney in their squad. Besides, I’m pretty sure how good looking you are has nothing to do with how good a footballer you are, if it did there would have been a few Brazilians over the years being a hell of a lot more shit than they were.
What I find funny though is that quite a few, and I mean far from all, male football fans are a tiny tiny bit homophobic. By which I mean phobic of gay men, they still fancy the idea of two girlies getting down and dirty. Yet they have no problem judging how ugly a footballer is? Surely that’s a little contradictory?
Time for my morning coffee and cigarette, maybe I’ll wake up and manage to write something a bit more entertaining?