What No Football

I was so excited about the return of premiership football this weekend, the international break had left me itching to see football that really mattered but as it turns out this week end was the same weekend my wonderful girlfriend was moving down to Portsmouth to attend university. Being the caring and loving boyfriend I am I came down with all her family to get her settled in. I held out a small hope of managing to convince them that we should get some lunch at three o clock and that it would be best if we went some where with a TV, I knew this was never really an option because anyone who has ever moved house before will testify that it is an absolute nightmare, let alone moving to a new country, I see Wales and England as separate regardless of how united the sell out politicians would like us to think. If I hoped for the full game then I was certain I would see the highlights on Match of the Day later, so come Friday night I placed my bets (including United to win obviously) and tried to get as much team information as I could.

After a hideous drive that involved getting lost three times, driving the wrong way down a one way street and speeding through a red light it was safe to say all involved were stressed and on the verge of snapping. It was just after arrival that I began  regretting  coming on this trip. As the only man it became my responsibility to heave all but the lights bags, boxes and equipment up and down nine flights of stairs, now I may write about football but I do not train like a footballer and I am convinced that this assault on my poor excuse for muscles will have left lasting damage but like a trooper I powered through fuelled by the fact that soon the football would arrive. At some point in the day I got a text off a friend of mine to tell me that at half time United were drawing 0-0 and City were also drawing 1-1. I immediately text him back to say thanks but I will watch match of the day later and I would rather not know the scores, how naïve I was, how stupid.

The family left for home and I was in my girlfriends new room unpacking her things and be a general dogs body just trying not to get in the way. At around nine o clock there came a knock at her door, her new flat mates wanted to introduce themselves and invite us to a party, this was a nice thing to do and I hold no ill will towards them but for that they are bastards, an hour and a half before the football comes on and I am forced to act nonchalant while inside I am screaming “Don’t you knowI have money on these games god damn swine’s” . The first night in uni is a big deal though so I continued my chivalry (its really not dead you know) and went to the shop to pick up some beer and go to the party. The next day I woke up to find that my phone had died meaning I couldn’t phone anyone to get results. My girlfriend suggested getting a paper but I don’t like getting match results from papers its to heart breaking to get bad news from those devils. Apparently nobody in Portsmouth knows what football is much less likes the sport, every person I asked just looked blankly back at me offering small apologies but what do you expect from a city whose club as steadily been going down the toilette for a number of years. So that’s how I find myself on a train hurtling back towards Newport with absolutely no clue how United got on or how much money I have won or lost. If that’s not love then I don’t know what is .

(just incase my wonderfully intelligent, beautifull and all round great  girlfriend reads this, i will say that there is supposed to be a lot of humour in this and i am 100% glad i went and i did have a great time, even if i did have to wait until 11:00 pm on sunday to find out the results, haha jokes.)