no one, except @BenitoSTARR, is happy with the current performance or trajectory of the club. from changing the manager, to releasing half the first team squad, to returning a rapist to the fold, we’ve had countless suggestions as to the problems and solutions contributing to the current malaise. yesterday was a real eye opener for me, for the first time i could see the actual problem; the fans.
yesterday was supposed to be a big day for me. i’d been having relationship issues of late, some of the old spark had gone. the arguing was the only passionate thing that had occurred for weeks. i decided it was time to return to basics. time to reunite over a common love. united. i spent a not inconsiderable sum of money on some matchday tickets for the semi final. i found a guy online who had 4 tickets, with 3 going spare. i picked up one for myself, one for my lady, and decided to pick one up for her dad as well, who loves united but can never afford to go these days, despite having a season ticket for most of the 70s and 80s. the guy was really nice. he only wanted face value for the tickets, so we chucked him an extra 50, which he really didn’t want to take, to show our gratitude.
game day arrived and we decided to make a day of it. a nice brunch in soho, a walk around sunny london, taking in a cocktail or two in front of some of the major sights, before heading to wembely to get our tickets and watch the game. i go to wembley a fair bit; nfl, concerts, rugby, england games, cup games, it’s an easy one for me to get to, tickets aren’t like hen’s teeth. the crowd there is usually a good laugh. sometimes it’s a bit home counties, due to the cost of entry, but usually everyone is jovial and knowledge about what they’re going to see. or at least so i thought.
as kick off is fast approaching, we make our way to our seats. as seasoned united, and sport, watchers, we don’t feel the need to be videoing the warm ups or taking selfies, we’d much rather stay on the concourse, interacting with passionate reds, buying them some beers (the guy who gave us the tickets didn’t put his hand in his pocket all day,) talking about the away days we’ve been on. it’s all going great. those little moments of contact are back. a squeeze of a hand here, a stolen kiss there. her dad mentioning how good we were as a couple. it was all working. how i wish we’d just gone home there and then. we get to our seats about 5 minutes before the players are scheduled to come out of the tunnel for kick off. we don’t bother sitting down. we’re at the football. the players will be out in moments and you can’t give them the support they deserve whilst sitting on your hands. cue the southerners muttering under their breath, “why won’t they sit down?” “no one will be able to see if they do this the whole match.” “we always get lumbered with the loud ones. i bet they even try to get some chants going.” “i bet they’ve been drinking.”
like any posho twats, eventually, this under current of social unease forces one of them to grow a pair and actually say something, before expecting a ripple of applause from their adoring crowd as the ruffians find their place and slink off back to their council houses. i politely informed him “i am here to support my team. my uncle is here to support his team. we’re used to standing to show our support. let’s turn this into a home game. the coventry fans are up for it. let’s stand up and shout.”
he pipes down but a minute later he gets up. not a big man by any means. nor a looker. a scraggly pencil moustache the only hint of him being more than 14. not really a threat, but the kind that looks like he’d hit you around the back of the head whilst you’re not looking three hours later, just to show how big he is. i clenched my fist, ready to respond to a no doubt poorly thrown punch. it turns out i was overthinking it, he simply walked away. the players emerged, we began clapping and cheering. “bruno! bruno! bruno!” “argentina! argentina! argentina!” all the catchy one word ones that only true fans know.
as the game kicked off we let out one final pour of pent up energy and slowly sit down, standing up and cheering when something happened or wanting to inject some atmosphere. the coventry city fans were amazing. how i longed to be in that end, far away from what felt like a nonce’s wake.
before long a steward came over and told us if we didn’t sit down he would be forced to eject us. i turned around to see a shit eating green plastered on the shit eater’s face. he’d clearly been off crying to the stewards earlier. if this were indeed a nonce’s wake, how i wished it was his. my enjoyment of the game all but vanished. rather than cheering for the boys, this negative energy took a hold and i started to critique the performance. “why are our fullbacks pressing so high by themselves? even a championship side can play through that.” “bruno looks a bit better sitting deep and dictating, rather than forcing.” we score. i stand up again. we shout, we cheer. i remember why i’m there again. after the euphoria of the goal i sit down. my mood is broken. i turn around to try and build bridges with the guy behind, who proceeds to backhand slap me, weakly and pathetically. “every time you turn around, i’m going to do that.” he harrumphs. what had i done to deserve this? was i a bit loud? yes. was i a bit annoying? again, probably yes. but this is the football. i was behaving like i was at the football. i tried to dissect it all in that instance. he was of a different ethnicity to me, whilst nothing of a problem for me, was that his motivation?
the reality of the situation hit. my gf could see the telltale signs of that red mist falling over me again. i had a history of violence in my younger days. i was handy. usually white knighting or finishing arguments, rather than picking fights just because i knew i could win. i felt a squeeze of my thigh. she shook her head. this was the relationship right here. go with every fibre of my being and unload on this day tripping teenager or keep the love of my life? i had only one choice. i shook my head and turned around. the nonce thought his christmas had come early. straight to the top of his wank back. he’ll long be dreaming of this moment rather than being locked in a primary school. as i turned back around i knocked the pie off my girlfriend’s lap, spilling it all over the jacket of the guy in front. i apologised profusely and offered him 20 for the dry cleaning. he said “no, you’re alright. and you’re right. the likes of him ruining days like this.” some faith in humanity restored.
i could hold my fists, but not my tongue. for the rest of the match i did my best to ruin his day. remarking loudly how between 115 charges and soulless day trippers, the football i once loved was dying. i made a big song and dance of getting up to let people passed me to go to the toilet or get their drinks. i made sure to ask my girlfriend if we were allowed to celebrate our goals. the higher iq’d individuals around us could see what i was doing and gave it a little chuckle. i think it flew a little over his fluffed lip as he didn’t seem to react. probably still basking in the erection of his feeble backhand.
as the match progressed, the performance declined. when coventry scored their first, you could sense in the ground it was only going to go one way. the players began feeding off the negativity. i couldn’t be bothered to try and get our section going anymore. even if my relationship was saved, my day had been ruined. we all know how it ended, and i’m thankful for that result. the high of the penalty win, only topped by the feeling of the affection restored to my relationship. followed closely in third place by the guy behind me leaving when coventry scored their fourth, only to not be allowed back to his seat for penalties once it had been ruled out.
so to the guy sitting behind me, i hope you read this. i hope you’ve had time to reflect. i hope you can grow as a person, as i have, and i hope you can get behind this team the next time they play, because by god, they need each and every one of us united.
yesterday was supposed to be a big day for me. i’d been having relationship issues of late, some of the old spark had gone. the arguing was the only passionate thing that had occurred for weeks. i decided it was time to return to basics. time to reunite over a common love. united. i spent a not inconsiderable sum of money on some matchday tickets for the semi final. i found a guy online who had 4 tickets, with 3 going spare. i picked up one for myself, one for my lady, and decided to pick one up for her dad as well, who loves united but can never afford to go these days, despite having a season ticket for most of the 70s and 80s. the guy was really nice. he only wanted face value for the tickets, so we chucked him an extra 50, which he really didn’t want to take, to show our gratitude.
game day arrived and we decided to make a day of it. a nice brunch in soho, a walk around sunny london, taking in a cocktail or two in front of some of the major sights, before heading to wembely to get our tickets and watch the game. i go to wembley a fair bit; nfl, concerts, rugby, england games, cup games, it’s an easy one for me to get to, tickets aren’t like hen’s teeth. the crowd there is usually a good laugh. sometimes it’s a bit home counties, due to the cost of entry, but usually everyone is jovial and knowledge about what they’re going to see. or at least so i thought.
as kick off is fast approaching, we make our way to our seats. as seasoned united, and sport, watchers, we don’t feel the need to be videoing the warm ups or taking selfies, we’d much rather stay on the concourse, interacting with passionate reds, buying them some beers (the guy who gave us the tickets didn’t put his hand in his pocket all day,) talking about the away days we’ve been on. it’s all going great. those little moments of contact are back. a squeeze of a hand here, a stolen kiss there. her dad mentioning how good we were as a couple. it was all working. how i wish we’d just gone home there and then. we get to our seats about 5 minutes before the players are scheduled to come out of the tunnel for kick off. we don’t bother sitting down. we’re at the football. the players will be out in moments and you can’t give them the support they deserve whilst sitting on your hands. cue the southerners muttering under their breath, “why won’t they sit down?” “no one will be able to see if they do this the whole match.” “we always get lumbered with the loud ones. i bet they even try to get some chants going.” “i bet they’ve been drinking.”
like any posho twats, eventually, this under current of social unease forces one of them to grow a pair and actually say something, before expecting a ripple of applause from their adoring crowd as the ruffians find their place and slink off back to their council houses. i politely informed him “i am here to support my team. my uncle is here to support his team. we’re used to standing to show our support. let’s turn this into a home game. the coventry fans are up for it. let’s stand up and shout.”
he pipes down but a minute later he gets up. not a big man by any means. nor a looker. a scraggly pencil moustache the only hint of him being more than 14. not really a threat, but the kind that looks like he’d hit you around the back of the head whilst you’re not looking three hours later, just to show how big he is. i clenched my fist, ready to respond to a no doubt poorly thrown punch. it turns out i was overthinking it, he simply walked away. the players emerged, we began clapping and cheering. “bruno! bruno! bruno!” “argentina! argentina! argentina!” all the catchy one word ones that only true fans know.
as the game kicked off we let out one final pour of pent up energy and slowly sit down, standing up and cheering when something happened or wanting to inject some atmosphere. the coventry city fans were amazing. how i longed to be in that end, far away from what felt like a nonce’s wake.
before long a steward came over and told us if we didn’t sit down he would be forced to eject us. i turned around to see a shit eating green plastered on the shit eater’s face. he’d clearly been off crying to the stewards earlier. if this were indeed a nonce’s wake, how i wished it was his. my enjoyment of the game all but vanished. rather than cheering for the boys, this negative energy took a hold and i started to critique the performance. “why are our fullbacks pressing so high by themselves? even a championship side can play through that.” “bruno looks a bit better sitting deep and dictating, rather than forcing.” we score. i stand up again. we shout, we cheer. i remember why i’m there again. after the euphoria of the goal i sit down. my mood is broken. i turn around to try and build bridges with the guy behind, who proceeds to backhand slap me, weakly and pathetically. “every time you turn around, i’m going to do that.” he harrumphs. what had i done to deserve this? was i a bit loud? yes. was i a bit annoying? again, probably yes. but this is the football. i was behaving like i was at the football. i tried to dissect it all in that instance. he was of a different ethnicity to me, whilst nothing of a problem for me, was that his motivation?
the reality of the situation hit. my gf could see the telltale signs of that red mist falling over me again. i had a history of violence in my younger days. i was handy. usually white knighting or finishing arguments, rather than picking fights just because i knew i could win. i felt a squeeze of my thigh. she shook her head. this was the relationship right here. go with every fibre of my being and unload on this day tripping teenager or keep the love of my life? i had only one choice. i shook my head and turned around. the nonce thought his christmas had come early. straight to the top of his wank back. he’ll long be dreaming of this moment rather than being locked in a primary school. as i turned back around i knocked the pie off my girlfriend’s lap, spilling it all over the jacket of the guy in front. i apologised profusely and offered him 20 for the dry cleaning. he said “no, you’re alright. and you’re right. the likes of him ruining days like this.” some faith in humanity restored.
i could hold my fists, but not my tongue. for the rest of the match i did my best to ruin his day. remarking loudly how between 115 charges and soulless day trippers, the football i once loved was dying. i made a big song and dance of getting up to let people passed me to go to the toilet or get their drinks. i made sure to ask my girlfriend if we were allowed to celebrate our goals. the higher iq’d individuals around us could see what i was doing and gave it a little chuckle. i think it flew a little over his fluffed lip as he didn’t seem to react. probably still basking in the erection of his feeble backhand.
as the match progressed, the performance declined. when coventry scored their first, you could sense in the ground it was only going to go one way. the players began feeding off the negativity. i couldn’t be bothered to try and get our section going anymore. even if my relationship was saved, my day had been ruined. we all know how it ended, and i’m thankful for that result. the high of the penalty win, only topped by the feeling of the affection restored to my relationship. followed closely in third place by the guy behind me leaving when coventry scored their fourth, only to not be allowed back to his seat for penalties once it had been ruled out.
so to the guy sitting behind me, i hope you read this. i hope you’ve had time to reflect. i hope you can grow as a person, as i have, and i hope you can get behind this team the next time they play, because by god, they need each and every one of us united.
Last edited:
