Toronto FC, our red soccer team sponsored by the Bank of Montreal, plays their home opener this weekend, and, alas, alack, I will be in rehearsal for a concert at the end of this month and will miss the fucking thing. The home opener. This is our house. The south stand. Beer cups. Seat cushions. The freezing cold. Gone.
This seems to happen to me a lot. I mean, supposing for a moment there is a God; what the hell sort of divine message is this supposed to be? The MLSE basically forces me to go halve-seys on the season back in January before anyone knows anything about anything, I pick the Western conference, the MLS sets the fixture list and I have three conflicts so finely matched as to be beyond the scope of mere coincidence. This after we showed up on Beckham's sparsely-populated front lawn down there in sunny LAX, stealing a win and scoring what I believe is a club record for away goals, finally pumping me up for a season that may not be actually be shitcanned by June. I can't see the home opener because I have to sing some wankerific Purcellian fagopera? What the hell is that?
Does anyone else have this problem? Sometimes I speak with guys from the Red Patch Boys and its like, either they're on welfare and they stole their season's tickets from 'some guy and his family,' or they're massively spoiled basement-dwellers who have no shame writing cheques to themselves from their senile-yet-old-moneyed grandma's chequebook.
Well people I have a job. My job pays for my football. Sometimes my job asks for a sacrifice to keep the football gods happy. Don't ask what I had to do with a bucket of goat's blood and pig entrails to keep Villa above tenth place this year -- I don't use a nom de plume on this thing so anything doesn't go unfortunately. Toronto FC -- you can keep your damn home opener. Get your hattrick Dichio. I don't like it but there it is. In the meantime, don't preach to me from the Gospel of Shankly; trust me, football is life death and whatever is in between, the gooey centre if you will. But I've earned the right to take one off. I've waited long enough to see pro soccer in the town of my birth. I don't owe anything to you, dear wankerish full-season ticket holding, away game attending, beer mooching, stay at homing, non existing reader. Except your sporadic visits to this sticky little space in interspace yes. But otherwise, no.
On that note, anyone willing to trade an Eastern game or two, leave me a message.
Yours in bloggery,