Sunday, August 30, 2009

Arshavin to score first, Arsenal to win

Sunday, August 30, 2009
64 minutes. Glassy-eyed and limp he stares at the screen. Watching their last chance slip and slide and dive. She gazes at the half drunk pint of blackcurrant and then at the floor. He leans down, thinking to kiss her. She looks at her watch through her thick cracked glasses, unaware of his movement and the consequences, wishing merely for the game to end. He stops halfway down and remains in this position as his eyes lift again to the screen. 65 minutes. Their last €200 ticking away. He straightens, stroking his stubbled chin with a slow, deliberate hand, hoping to rub the pockmarked skin away. To remove the face, start again. Still time, though, maybe. Maybe still time.

He has heard that gamblers do not want to win, that their joy and satisfaction comes from losing. The sick feeling in his stomach belies this apparent truth. He spots a blue shirt making a break above, surging forward, dancing through the defence. His heart surges, dances. The shot is pulled wide. Everything sags again. He does not want to lose.

"Is it over?"

"Fifteen minutes, about."

She stifles her sigh, takes a sip. He wants to sit but fears that she will then see the sweat on his brow, feel his trembling and thus know all. He remains standing. The time ebbs away. The sickness in his stomach dissipates, replaced by a full body numbness, a blank disbelief. It had felt fated. He was fearless on entering the pub, firm in his believe. No long shot this. All but certain. And when the ball crashed past the outstretched arm, from, as he laughed to himself, a long shot, there was no relief, just an unnecessary reinforcement of his faith. The first part of the wager fulfilled, he had ordered her a second blackcurrant and an extravagant packet of crisps. It all was meant to be.

89 minutes. No time now, no time for two. One no use. Has to be two. Suddenly the ball is in the net. Hope. Only takes a second to score. Two goals in extra time. Happens. And then the flag goes up. Off field incident and now no more, no more time.

"Alright, so."

"It's finished?"

"Yeah."

She drains her drink. He has a final fiver and change in his back pocket. He takes her for chips.

9 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Andrew said...

When we thought van Persie had equalised my brother and I both stood up, bellowed in a most inhuman way, appalling our girlfriends (who could not have given less of a fuck), and grabbed each other in the most troubling of bear hugs, sandwiching my Liverpool supporting mate inbetween (who could not have given less of a fuck), only to see some cunt with an offside flag up.

Worse still, there was about a five second delay between the two screens showing it in the pub, meaning that the gathered United fans were already looking over and pointing, the glee-sodden fucks.

Still, I didn't lose any money.

NaRocRoc said...

I had a euro on Arshavin to score a hat trick at 175/1. I thought of his four goal legendariness at Anfield last season you see and dreamt of a similar adventure at Old Trafford.

In the end I didn't even have enough left for chips.

Manuel said...

mwahahahaha....the best bit was when the United chap behind wenger (when he went walkabout thus making a massive tool of himself - it was a very scouse moment) tried to give him a pair of specs.....aces....

K8 the Gr8 said...

Arshavin. You should do that to give you more aerodynamics on the bike.

Red Leeroy said...

Had to watch the last 30 minutes with the sound turned down, I couldn't listen to Sky and their sick bias anymore. Andy Andy Andy when I bump into you it shall be a slow painful Arsenal kit wearing death.

gimme a minute said...

Andrew:
That delay is an annoying phenomenon. The same thing was happening where I was watching. I would have moved to the tv with the earlier broadcasting rights had it not been surrounded by cunts.

NaRocRoc:
That was quite the dream.

Manuel:
I must have missed that as I sang along with the paedophile song.

K8:
That would be one reason...

Red Leeroy:
You're going to make him wear Arsenal kit before you kill him? Won't that grubby up the shirt a little?

Manuel said...

ah yes the vexed question of that cheeky song.....seriously though I agree it's not very nice but let he who is without sin cast the first stone and by first stone I mean make the first airplane on the runway joke with their arms stretched out.

football fans are like the residents of northern ireland.....they can and will take offence at anything if it increases their victim status.....and masks their own underlying problems...

gimme a minute said...

Manuel:
Touché.

Manuel said...

is that touche or touchy hehehehe

 
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