Thursday, 2 February 2006

Its called soccer

I said in my recent whip that after submitting my blood-streaked papers I go and watch football. If you believe the implication that this is a description of a larger set of processes, then for this last paper I broke with tradition, because I actually went and watched soccer. Soccer, as you'll recall, will never be a match for real football, for any number of excellent reasons.

Rennes were playing Lens in the Coupe de France, and Seb kindly invited me to come along since his better 'arf considered two games in one week somewhat excessive for her tastes. All in all, it wasn't a bad game, certainly better than the France-Bosnia and Rennes-Bordeaux games I'd seen. Having Seb, a season-ticket holder, there to tell me about players probably helped a little, too. Still, there was only one goal, and that an own goal, deftly tucked into the corner though it was. No-one called the ump a white maggot, there were no shirt-fronts, no speccies, no-one ate all the pies, and there was no goal umpire, so no-one was able to inquire about the size of his endowment. Am I asking too much?

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