Thursday, May 26, 2005

My Poor Judgement

Get this. I missed the second half of the European Cup Final last night.

Feck Cakes!

It was poker night round Jim’s you see, and I’d agreed to bring my digi-box round to hook up to his projector so we could have the football on the big screen at the same time. So, at 7.30 I found myself outside his place anxiously pounding at the door with him still not home. Where the hell was he? I was going to miss it! So I nabbed off home.

Halfway during the first half, Jim rang me asking where I was.
“Where? I’m at home! Watching the final!”
“Huh? Oh, I’ve just got back. When did it start?”

When did it start?!? Jeez! Now look, obviously I don’t mind people who don’t like football. Not at all. But what I can’t stand is people who pretend to like football out of some misguided desire for status or why ever it is people do it. Why an earth would you ask someone round to watch an important match if you had so little genuine interest you didn’t even know when it was taking place?

So, at halftime I went back over for the second half only to find Jim’s aerial was knackered, so we couldn’t get the game. After much umming and arring, I decided with Liverpool 3-0 down at halftime, maybe I could give it a miss and play poker instead.


And what a crappy poker game. We were playing for a pot of £70, and I really wanted that money. But the cards just weren’t coming. And these guys Jim had invited along were getting on my nerves and playing so slowly – chatting, arguing, taking ages to shuffle, deal and bet. I was seething: “c’mon, stop faffing and give me a chance to win my money”.

The game was drawing to a close and I was nowhere near winning, when I got a text message from my friend Paul. It read simply “Je-sus!”. I closed my eyes and swore, knowing that unless Paul had had his phone stolen by a Georgian preacher it could only be about the football. As I watched another handful of my chips being dragged across the table by one of my gleeful opponents, it became clear that I’d made the wrong decision.

So I came home, having left Jim’s in a right strop, still not knowing the result and barricaded myself away from the outside world to await the replay on TV, feeling it was the only way to atone for my monumental error of judgement. Radios, TVs, computers and phones were all unplugged to avoid any leaks of what had unfolded.

The replay wasn’t on until just before 2am. It was preceded by this infuriatingly crappy American sitcom called The Pitts. I was admittedly already quite infuriated and eager for the game to start, but I’m sure The Pitts was particularly crap even by standard American Sitcom standards.

Finally, at 4.20 this morning I found out what I’d already suspected since Paul’s text. Having watched countless hours of some of the dullest and, in Southampton's case, most pathetic football this season had to offer, I’d not bothered to tune into the most thrilling Cup Final I’ve ever known.


deanne said...

I want regular poker nights! I have to learn how to play poker first though!

Huw said...

I'd offer to teach you, but I get awfully bad tempered when the cards don't come my way...

hope said...

I'm an American and I've never even heard of "The Pitts", so it must really suck.