football

good-friday, [every friday is a good friday in my book, no need to wait twelve month's] after a particularly chilled day, long walk with the dog's, scoring four cd's in oxfam and a chippy dinner, it was time to watch the mighty ram's take on bottom of the table bristol city, as we walked to the ground you could feel the temperature dropping, i'm sick of this cold weather, it's really getting to me now, my thumb's are split and sore, my lip's chapped and i reckon i might have trench-foot because my boot's haven't been dry since last march, to top it all, derby county football club have decided to check season ticket's at the turnstiles, i'm in no mood to stand there having my ticket authenticated and just brush past the steward, the boy jack is a little more forth-right in his answer and gives it to 'em, both barrels, what's all that about? attendances are falling, we have payed up front, two month's in advance for next season's games, we are going to be lucky to finish in mid-table in the second tier of english football and this club are doing it's best to piss off the loyal supporter's? no swearing, no standing, just sit down and applaud politely, bollock's to that, football was always a working class game, not like the egg-chaser's 'rugger' we pay for the privilege of watching run-of- the-mill football, the stewards get paid, that's the difference, don't tell me 'it's for your own safety' i wouldn't have risked hypothermia or poisoning by the pissy lager you overcharge us for if it was for my own safety, don't tell me to 'sit down because you are spoiling the game because other's can't see' when there's acres of empty seats behind me, i'm nearly fifty-four, the last time i got told to 'sit-down' i was at primary school, anyway, back to the football, three-nil to the ram's, we missed a penalty again, bristol look doomed, the trapdoor of relegation is starting to creak,  fair play to the city faithful, travelling to derby on a fucking freezing friday night, a bank holiday to boot to watch your team get dicked three-nil, they got their first shot on goal at eighty minutes, the city fan's going wild, 'let's all have a disco' and 'we're going to win four-three' gallow's humour at it's finest, no bigging it up and baiting the opposition at the final whistle, just a polite ripple of applause at a job well done, no satisfaction from beating a team who were beaten before the kick-off......