Sunday 10/01/10

I didn't make it into work this for a few days this week. Not because of the snow. No, I was ill. And to prove I was ill, it was the first week back from my Christmas break. I am always sick when I return from annual leave. If I never took any breaks I would be the peak of physical health. Instead, I have the body of a slightly decomposed AIDS victim.

If I had stayed at home because of the snow I would have had to make the time up. As it was, I was sick and did not have to make up any time. And that is true. I was sick. Not sick enough, though, apparently.

This weekend I went to see Arsenal play at the Emirates. I booked the ticket a while ago, so wasn't really to know about the weather, but given the price I was pretty much obliged to sacrifice my health for the sake of 30 quid.

Anyone who saw Match of the Day can vouch for how snowy it was. My phone said that when I got to the stadium it was minus 1 degrees. Soon, though, my body was to lower its own temperature to that of the air as I sat, generally frustrated, for a couple of hours. I don't normally give more money than the cost of a ticket to the club, especially given none of the money I spend on Arsenal merchandise goes towards player purchases, but I did give in and buy a hot chocolate.

The guy sat in front of me must've had a little more than a hot chocolate because he was hilarious. He was as much a cliché of a drunken football fan could be. He was gesturing, from 10 rows back, towards the defence as if to tell them to move up. How the players themselves would receive this information is your own guess as he was perfectly silent during this mime, simply waving his hands from side to side. He then got distracted by the big screen. This didn't stop him though. He just continued to wave while staring at the teamsheets on the screen.

Later in the game he became particularly vocal, making up for his reserve in the first half, expressing his anger at Armand Traore;

“Get him off, he's shit.” he screamed towards the pitch. He repeated, “take him off. Bring back Ashley Cole, all is forgiven.”
“Shut the fuck up,” replied a very cockney bloke from a few rows back, “give him a chance, he's our third choice left back. He's only a kid.”

This was enough to put the man back in his seat, leaving him to gesture toward the defence again. That cheered me up on an otherwise disappointing day. Like live music, live football is much a much better experience than seeing it on the television or dodgy internet stream simply by living the atmosphere of it. And this reaffirmed my belief.