The Big Kick Off

Two weeks since the last post and three live games attended, each one a separate microcosm of English football and each one somehow both heartening and depressing at the same time.
First up was Chelsea in the Charity Shield. I tried to make a point of not buying a ticket directly from the club having attended a truly woeful tie against Portsmouth the following year; never has following United seemed so distressingly hollow. Anyway come a drunken weekend and the fact United would be playing up the road against the odious Rent Boys and I gave into temptation, heading up to Wembley Way still pissed from the previous evening and eager to get my first 'dose' of United since January 2009. What can be said about the Charity Shield that has not been said before? Thousands of fans hailing from the home counties wearing both Chelsea and United colors. A unabridged cross section of fuck wits, jester hat wearing numpties and hyperactive children drinking far too much Pepsi. People with about as much connection and love for their clubs as they do for a night at the cinema. An inconsistent referee, a cunt of a man in Ballack and a wonderful injury time equalizer from the Spud Faced Nipper to silence the braying clowns waving their stupid fucking sticks of celery. People taking a friendly Charity games very seriously. Basically a day of mostly downs turned occasionally by the odd surprising up.
Pre-match we found ourselves outside the famous Torch pub, which incidentally United always seem to get these days, drinking a couple of cans. A reworking of the Carlos Tevez song portraying him as 'a money grabbing whore' was appreciated and passing rentboys were summarily abused without exception. Personally I quickly returned to a state of incoherent pissedness which in turn resulted in me lobbing a couple of half empty beer cans into various Rent Boys on the concourse up Wembley Way. They appeared to be quite angry, an emotion reflected by the three mounted police who grabbed me out of the crowd two minutes later. A swift bollocking and a fearful apology later and I was handing a crisp twenty to a friendly Red for a face value seat up in the gods. All in all a mixed bag of a day out that taught me one invaluable lesson: piss in the can before you throw it at a hated rival/enemy.
Next up a rather surreal day out in the midlands for Peterborough-Sheffield Wednesday. Having promised my younger brother (who is a Wednesday fan) many moons ago that I would take him to a game as a birthday present, he persuaded me to take a detour en route to Manc for a visit to the Posh.
My previous trip to this strange town stuck between East Anglia and Leicester culminated in me throwing up for twenty minutes of the first half during a pre-season friendly between United and the aforementioned club. Sometimes all this drinking just gets too much. Anyway more sober and less excited I enjoyed a KFC and a swift pint in the away pub (truly a shocking establishment that took a good half and hour to serve ten cusomers) and then it was onto the Moyes End Terrace with the 2000 or so other Wednesday fans for 90 minutes of 'Leeds Scum' chants and fairly boring football. Observations: fantastic ticket price of £14 for a student and £17 for an adult, opportunity to buy away tickets on the gate, a good loyal Wednesday away following with the usual mix of dour old men, fat middle aged men and designer clad, drug taking young men dreaming of emulating Danny Dyer in a 'Football Factory' style ruck. Also Championship football ain't great, terraces should be brought back to every ground in the UK, Posh fans are shitter than most and the wonderful discovery that Leeds are universally despised as a nasty, scummy club supported only by sheep shaggers, sister fuckers and BNP activists.
Lastly but by no means least Manchester United's opening day at OT against newly promoted Birmingham. £36 for my ticket, and a stadium as resolutely silent as ever, though Strettie Tier 2 where I have moved this season is still standing and still loudish at times. Rooney and Berbatov look good, as did Darren Fletcher, John O'Shea and Evra. Foster made a nice save and Owen fucked up a one-on-one. Birmingham should stay up. By far the best entertainment however was provided by the plebs waddling around the ground proudly sporting their new Chevron emblazoned home shirts. Owen 7 was a dishearteningly common feature, as were slogans such as 'United 18' 'Fact 18' 'I 8 Scousers' and 'Cunt 1.' Ok I understand wearing the shirt is one way of proclaiming you're love for the club ect but why not invest in a T-shirt with United on, or a subtle polo shirt with the crest or just a fucking bar scarf for fucks sake, why spend a small fortune on an ugly piece of nylon covered with sponsors including as the odious AIG and then waste even more money plastering official premiership badges on the sleeves and getting some idiotic 'hey look at me' load of shite on the back? Kids up to the age of twelve are the exception but after that it should be nothing but the odd scarf, t-shirt or wooly hat.
So two weeks of differing emotions, surprisingly good value tickets and the Vermin loosing on the opening day. But then again so did United back in 1996 before going on to win the domestic double with 'kids' and making Alan Hansen look like a twat. It's going to be an interesting year, I just hope it doesn't involve too much of Alan Shearer on MOTD or people wearing stupid clothes. Til next time.