The dream is over. It has been long over, but sometimes you just the need the final pinch to tell you that it is really over. And this pinch doesn’t even come close to pain. It just makes me laugh. Laugh at myself. For having dreamt for so long. And for what. I was watching the match but really I was looking into a mirror. And laughing at how much of a gullible twat I could have been. I have managed to sell myself a dream. I am probably hardly able to sell the Mediterranean sun to the pale English in mid February and yet I have been selling myself the lure of the February cold and snow to myself when I am positioned in a place that without any constraints has one of the best climates in the world. It can be a strange place this world but probably I have been acting even stranger than the world itself.
It’s a pinch in the morning to wake up. But I haven’t been in deep slumber. And there is no annoying alarm calls. I have woken up, smelt the coffee, and this morning seems to be a Sunday, so it’s not too bad to wake up to. A short walk and alongside the coffee I will smell that nice smell of the Sunday papers. They made be full of shite alright and too many supplements, but they won’t change my mood either. And when am fed up I’ll just put them aside. Simple as that.
Football is supposed to be an escape from reality. A fight against the establishment. But sometimes it has become the reality of life, or maybe even worse, the club I have followed most of my life and incessantly for the past ten years has become the establishment itself. So am I hopping from the fire into the frying-pan? Avoiding a Maltese road hole to get into a barrier? Avoid a puncture to do both my front lights? Partisan politics do my head in. The Maltese reds will understand this more than anyone. In the boardroom of Liverpool F.C. it’s not just partisan politics. It’s a whole masquerade of people wearing fairy masks to cover their grotesque intentions. They want to fit in a children’s Christams party when really they want an Eyes Wide Shut type of party and fuck everyone’s brains out. They want to look good with Liverpool’s fanbase, when all they want is to exploit it. This is not hard headedness. This is macabre deceptiveness. Who do you believe? Am fed up of it. I just watch the match. But even that is not sacred anymore. The players might be simple pawns. They are not your average soldier though or the legendary poor scouser Tommy dying for the cause in the Arabian sun. They are paid enough not to feed an army but to equip the whole army.
Liverpool today made a mediocre Boro side look good. Not brilliant. Just good. Enough to allow them a slice of luck from a corner and then their striker Tuncay to finish off beyond Pepe Reina. Luck favours the brave, or maybe in this case it punishes the half-hearted. The lads didn’t seem to have a hangover from Madrid. I would allow to that. They seemed to be carrying a nausea towards the Riverside Stadium.
They might want to have the club’s doctors to check their stomachs but travelling fans today would need more than a doctor to check their heads after witnessing such an ineptness. But at least Barack Obama might change the world and another type of dream is in place.
It’s a pinch in the morning to wake up. But I haven’t been in deep slumber. And there is no annoying alarm calls. I have woken up, smelt the coffee, and this morning seems to be a Sunday, so it’s not too bad to wake up to. A short walk and alongside the coffee I will smell that nice smell of the Sunday papers. They made be full of shite alright and too many supplements, but they won’t change my mood either. And when am fed up I’ll just put them aside. Simple as that.
Football is supposed to be an escape from reality. A fight against the establishment. But sometimes it has become the reality of life, or maybe even worse, the club I have followed most of my life and incessantly for the past ten years has become the establishment itself. So am I hopping from the fire into the frying-pan? Avoiding a Maltese road hole to get into a barrier? Avoid a puncture to do both my front lights? Partisan politics do my head in. The Maltese reds will understand this more than anyone. In the boardroom of Liverpool F.C. it’s not just partisan politics. It’s a whole masquerade of people wearing fairy masks to cover their grotesque intentions. They want to fit in a children’s Christams party when really they want an Eyes Wide Shut type of party and fuck everyone’s brains out. They want to look good with Liverpool’s fanbase, when all they want is to exploit it. This is not hard headedness. This is macabre deceptiveness. Who do you believe? Am fed up of it. I just watch the match. But even that is not sacred anymore. The players might be simple pawns. They are not your average soldier though or the legendary poor scouser Tommy dying for the cause in the Arabian sun. They are paid enough not to feed an army but to equip the whole army.
Liverpool today made a mediocre Boro side look good. Not brilliant. Just good. Enough to allow them a slice of luck from a corner and then their striker Tuncay to finish off beyond Pepe Reina. Luck favours the brave, or maybe in this case it punishes the half-hearted. The lads didn’t seem to have a hangover from Madrid. I would allow to that. They seemed to be carrying a nausea towards the Riverside Stadium.
They might want to have the club’s doctors to check their stomachs but travelling fans today would need more than a doctor to check their heads after witnessing such an ineptness. But at least Barack Obama might change the world and another type of dream is in place.
posted by jean paul at 7:33 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home