Liverpool: A draw on the pitch, a loss to the XI, and snow in my shoe.

Getting to Nevada’s is always a pain from Queens, but this morning was especially bad. The three man army had all gone drinking at a local bar the night before (bar Christmas party, very cool), and all arose with too little sleep in their heads and too many beers in their bellies. The walk to the train was a hateful journey, as the rain was turning all the snow on the ground into slush. I also discovered that my shoe had a hole in the sole. Fun times.

But we persevered, and got to the church ahead of schedule. Our normal spot was taken by a variety of unknowns, so we grabbed a little space by the center of the bar. A bunch of boisterous Man U fans were celebrating their victory in the Club World Cup. Mark well described the Club World Cup as ‘that extra handjob you get for winning the Champions League”. Well said. We had a pint and chilled, the energy a little off due to the dank. That bald guy with the Goatee (nicknamed Goat) got the singing off nice and early, but kind of laid into the Liverpool fans a little too much and too early. Now while it is true that if I was asked if I heard those Skousers sing I would have to reply that in fact I don’t hear a fucking thing, lets let the game get going before that. Although, it is true that they will never win in England.

The game itself started promising. We looked dominant in the beginning, and Robin had a tremendous goal. But god damn that sunabitch Robbie Keane getting a set-up from a long ball and getting it past Manuel (who had some excellent saves, especially that free kick from Gerrard).

The second half, everyone was on edge. The bar was as packed as I had seen it in a while, and people wanted that those three points. Seeing Cesc not come back also scared the shit out of everyone (Update. FUCK!). And then the ref lost it. When Ade got the second booking, people lost it. In general, the second half was filled with some shady shit all over, and this was the high point. People at the bar were screaming. This woke up some of the Liverpool fans, who slowly began to cheer. But those Skousers could not do anything with the gift, and the game was a draw.

I had to bail to get to work on time, which was probably for the best given the feeling in the room. I had only had two beers, which feels like the perfect amount to have before work.

I am off for our next couple games, but will return in January, hopefully to see some new blood brought into the squad. Come on Arsenal!

Wigan gets beat, Eboue gets booed, Nick gets tipsy

It was a cold and lonely Saturday morning. The four man army had been felled by sickness/travel/up-all-night, and I was the lone soldier riding the N train to church. I arrived downtown, got by pre-game bagel (I am very in favor of this new tradition, as it helps with the drinking) and grabbed my usual spot at the end of the bar. I met two older Englishmen, one claiming to be a season ticket holder. It always amazes me the number of people who stumble into our little bar from across the pond. The faithful began filing in, a little later than normal. I forget that in these colder months, I don’t need to get to the bar quite so early for a seat. More sleep for Nicko.

The game was not so exciting. An early walk-in goal from Ade put us up, but we could not add to it at all. RVP continues to go high and wide, and Denilson hit the post so hard I swore I heard it in NY (In general, Denilson had a much better game than he has had in a while). Yet Wigan couldn’t put anything together either, so we were fine. Devo called the game ‘cagey’ but I felt safe the whole time. We should have put another two on the board, but three points is three points.

The Atmosphere at Nevada’s was lacking too. I suspect this was due to the cold, as the bar was a tad lighter, and everyone seemed lower in energy. The Captain, that scruffy guy (you know the one), and myself led some songs, but it took a little doing. The Captain did give me a pound after I was the only one who would sing the Sagna song with him (Sagna I still contest is our most consistently strong player). The Captain took this opportunity to break out some rarer songs that no one knew. I do want to learn the Denilson “Black Hole Sun” song though.

A word on the Eboue debacle. He sucked. You know what, he normally sucks. While we may have been fooled by this lesser sucking before he got injured, we are now reminded of his natural state of high degree suck. While I do not agree with booing anyone in an Arsenal jersey (it’s not like he is down thinking, “wait, the fans disprove of my sucking, well then I shall suck no more”), Eboue is just bad. That’s the way it is. I am amazing the whole thing became the issue that it did.

There was a rumor that Abramovich was watching the Chelsea match in the basement with two bodyguards at the same time as the Arsenal game. . I didn’t see the bastard, but if he was down there, never more have I wished for a cave-in.

Not much to add. A win is always lovely, even if it ain’t pretty, and a morning at Nevada’s is always fun, even if it ain’t jumping.

Stamford Bridge is falling Down...

Sunday after Thanksgiving was a big day, a double Derby day. Manchester in the morning, London in the later morning. I rose up, hung over from over-eating all weekend and over drinking all night, and went to meet Devo at the train. We rode down to Nevada’s and arrived at the end of the Manchester derby. The staff tried to basement us (bastards) so we went and got bagels while the game ended and the bar cleared out. We grabbed our normal spot at the bar, and watched the faithful roll in; the bar was already warm with the body heat of Man U supporters. The Chelsea fans came in, and started talking smack early on. We were worried, but not afraid. This would probably be the toughest game we had all year in the premiership, facing arguably the best team in England on their home turf. Pints in hand, we readied ourselves for the worst.

The first half gave us little hope. An own goal put us down 1 nil, and we were having a hard time finding the back of their net. Gallas had a kind of reverse Gallas game, where he was strong as a center back, but could not get those clutch goals he is so good at getting in big games. Even the return of Ade could get us nothing. The singing was also off. We had lots of supporters, but it was hard to unite the faithful into one clear song. Everyone seemed unfocused.

The second half, lady luck smiled on the boys in red and white. The linesman went out for a pint at the same moment that RVP slams one past Cech to tie the score. Devo is screaming, and thanking God there is no instant replay (hey, we have been screwed by the Linesman before, so I will take it). Mere minutes later, the flying Dutchman makes it a deuce to put us up. The faithful areoverwhelmed with joy. The singing is still disjointed, but the energy is up. And the most impressive thing, team Chelsea gets mighty quiet for about a half an hour. It is not until near the end of the game, where we ask if you can hear Chelsea sing (cause I don’t hear a fucking thing!) that they wake up, and cheer their team into a home loss. As the final whistle went out, Devo and I howled for five minutes after the match. The Captain’s sidekick (the skinny Asian kid who drinks all the sprites) rode the Captain like a donkey. The crowd was elated.

After the match, Devo and I had a celebratory round. We said goodbye to Dreads (who continues his tradition of a post-game ‘smoke’) and met the infamous PADWEA (whom Mark still believes does not exist). As it turns out, PADWEA is one of the founding members of The NY Gooners supporters club, so we owe much of this insanity to him. Good on ya PADWEA.

So the title is a possibility again, and more importantly, no annoying emails from my Chelsea supporting friends. What could be better then that.