The Manchester Derby is coming up at weekend; and will no doubt be watched through my fingers with a feeling of anxiety, nausea, and trepidation. It's hard to imagine how one single stupid football game can matter so damn much - but it does! The memories of these momentous occasions are mostly of vast disappointment and anger; with rare flashbacks of sheer bliss (Shaun Wright Phillips's goal making it 4-1 at Maine Road; and him celebrating with an impromptu robot dance followed by a fake collapse - Heaven!). And this year, it means more than ever. United could potentially hit the slump everyone's been waiting for and could have possible ramifications on which side of Manchester bag the title (never thought I'd hear myself say such a thing - although I don't think for a minute that we're in with a chance of being Champions!). I will be kakking my knickers!
Being a City fan has never been an easy ride, and it's still torture. I think my team are doomed - I reckon some ageing gypsy hexed us with a miserable curse that can never be broken! The misery of plummeting to the third tier of English football (incidentally, the genesis of the rather existential "We're not really here!" chant); Fergie-Time at Old Trafford (pfffttt!) allowing that shit Michael Owen in; and a million other soul-destroying disappointments, make for dysfunctional bitter and twisted souls.
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| Goaaaaaallll!!! |
And to think, a lifetime of misery and disenchantment is down to piss! I kid you not. Yes, I became a City fan because of the humble human need to wee-wee. Harking back to being 7 years-old at Junior School - the boys' toilets had three urinals. It was customary and understood that the urinal you used denoted your football loyalties: right for Man U, left for Man City, and the middle for all others. I religiously (I didn't pray at it or anything like that!) used the left hand piss-pot. Why? Well, my hometown is primarily United; and who uses a middle urinal anyway, when there's the possibility of someone stepping up next to you (actually, in adulthood, I've always found it very peculiar for people to use a urinal next to someone when they can put that distance in where another spot is available)?; as a result, there was never a queue for the pale blue loo! Maybe, I was exercising the desire to be an individual; to not follow the crowd, sheep-like, and support the obviously more successful, fashionable team. Or maybe it was simply because I had a weak bladder and, to avoid queuing and the subsequent ignominy of dribbling in my under-crackers, I went for the fast-track urinal! Either way, such an allegiance was ingrained in my very being, such that I am hopelessly devoted to Manchester City - and I thank piss for that!!!!
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