Itâ€™s come to this; I am going to find a soccer team to support. Everyone seems to be into soccer. I tried to console someone over her teamâ€™s loss saying, â€œYou need to remember, that stuff doesnâ€™t happen in real life.â€ The silly team went on to equalize in the 95th minute, but now we are not talking.
I figure I need a reason to justify my highs and my lows. I canâ€™t keep being happy and grouchy â€œjust for justâ€. That would just be weird.
The way I see it, I can be pissed off and miserable (yes. You can do both these things at the same timeâ€¦with close to little or no practice) and if anyone asks me about it, Iâ€™ll say my team lost. We canâ€™t rule out the possibility that I may be in a foul mood even after a stunning performance from team X. So stunning, in fact the pope and queen came down to watch them and fought over who should shake hands with the players after the game. (brrrr, nasty mental picture!) In which case, I will assume a self-righteous stance and say something like, â€œI hate how showy my team has gotten! What happened to playing for the love of the game?â€
When I am on my natural high, even on a Monday, I can claim to be celebrating my teamâ€™s â€œawesomeâ€. (the word is surrounded by â€œâ€ , clearly I know it canâ€™t be right.)
I havenâ€™t figured out which team to support, but I am slowly leaning toward Chelsea. Express FC and SC Villa just bore me. And they donâ€™t have the backing of a wealthy Russian. Shit, dude can buy the moon!
Back then I was all for supporting the underdog, but when you think about it, it as for all the wrong reasons. Iâ€™ll tell you why. I hated going to bars and stuff and being the guy that still had a full drink or a glass in one piece everytime a team scored. So I came up with a brilliant strategy, Iâ€™d support the â€œotherâ€ team. It was particularly messed up during games with the top dawgz (my word processor is bitchin over the spelling of that word, how does Cheri get away with these things?) coz then Iâ€™d feel like a total sell-out.
I havenâ€™t figured out whose name I am going to get on my Jersey. Come on, you must have seen this coming from a mile away. Who doesnâ€™t wear these things? In any case, thatâ€™s something you can wear anywhereâ€¦ even weddings. I have considered getting a jersey with the coachâ€™s name across the back coz he makes me laugh. He probably shouldnâ€™t, but come on, dude looks like The Count from Sesame Street. Hell, he looks like any vampire. Everytime he bares his fangs in glee whenever his boys score, I am delighted.
The only foreseeable problem here is holding onto the Jersey knowing full well that The Countâ€™s manager may tire of buying planets and decide to give him the sack.
We also have to consider an important truth. I am not growing any younger. The list of natural causes is fast running out. I have cut down on my drinking. Seriously. I donâ€™t smoke. (I know what youâ€™re thinking, shut up! THAT is NOT smoking!) I seem to have picked up a fear of experimenting with drugs. Partly due to the fact that Raymond told me Ecstasy leaves holes in your brain. Big, Nasty holes with no clearly defined shape. Just the thought makes me gag.
I realize there are other drugs that donâ€™t need Techno music and mood lightingâ€¦ (come to think of it, other drugs come with their own music and mood lighting. Ecstasy, youâ€™re a freeloading wuss!) But nuh, I think Iâ€™ll pass.
The junk food in Uganda will not leave a layer of fat around my heart. If it does, I think we Ugandans are built to fight that. Our hearts must be lookinâ€™ at that stuff and screaming, â€œWhat the **** do you think youâ€™re doing here?â€. In the western world, hearts be sayin, â€œWhy hello there, make yourself at home. Thereâ€™s room in here for the both of us. Care for an artery?â€ A few months later, the heart realizes its mistake. The fat is that guest that overstayed his/her welcome.
ANYWAY, by getting into soccer, I open myself up to a heart attack or some â€œaccidentâ€ during a bar brawl.