25 November 2008

'What a Brilliant Game' said a complete idiot. Latics 1 Everton 0

‘What a brilliant game’ said a young woman as I crossed the bridge over the canal after the game.

Me: ‘I’m sorry, I disagree. It was an abysmal game with dreadful performances’.

Her: ‘We won didn’t we?’

Me: ‘Just because we won doesn’t mean it was enjoyable, neither team could string two passes together’.

Her: ‘You fucking knobhead’.

Briefly I imagined us on a date together.

Her: ‘What a brilliant pizza’

Me: ‘But someone’s had a shit right in the middle of it’

Her: ‘It’s pizza isn’t it?’

Me: ‘Just because it’s pizza doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable, especially if the ingredients and topping aren’t up to scratch’

Her: ‘You fucking knobhead’

I gave a self-indulgent chuckle as I looked into her vacant eyes, but my feelings of superiority over this dribbling mutant quickly turned to horror as I realised vacuous morons like this are allowed to vote. Provided they can work a pencil.

Her: ‘I can’t believe the Nazi Party got into power, especially after me and my friends voted for them, it’s a fix!’

Me: ‘This isn’t Big Brother you cretin. You’re not voting them off, you’re voting them in!!!’

Maybe James Whale was right, we should sterilise people at birth and only reverse the process if you can provide some semblance of common sense. It’s only a matter of time before this young lady finds someone desperately insane enough to impregnate her, and in twenty years I’ll be watching Latics, surrounded by a baying horde of clueless scruffs.

It will be like watching Manchester City.

OK, maybe this doomsday scenario is an overreaction.

Bizarrely, I actually enjoyed the match, not in a purist sense, quite the opposite. Every misplaced pass, every cross into the back of the south stand, every time Browny kicked Arteta in the back of the legs, I was howling with laughter (at least Browny actually meant to kick Arteta).

When Henri Camara prodded home 5 minutes into the second half, I knew Everton weren’t going to get back in it. We’d dragged them down to our level, and they were finding it difficult to find their arse with both hands. The game petered out, with a few more Laurel and Hardy slapstick moments to illuminate the icy evening, and we all went home, the laughter warm in our bellies.