Craving The Unfamiliar

Did a quick take of my recent posts and found that they are overwhelmingly about football. Well now that the season is over, I guess part of that passion and vibe would be stowed away, stashed latent somewhere until the new season beckons. And that’ll be an almighty three months away.

Anyhoo, I don’t quite know what to write about, apart from the fact that I feel inclined to write something. Not because I need to update this blog, but when writing becomes second nature, when it becomes an integral and internalised part of your being, you naturally gravitate towards that. It’s like a curious disposition which lingers and can’t be erased – you feel like doing something, but you don’t quite know how to accord form to it as yet. Humans’ sentience hinges on motley things, and for me, I feel alive through articulating thoughts via words, whether written or verbal. Which I have not been doing in a while. Which probably means I'm feeling pretty dead then.

Sorry for the mumbo-jumbo. It’s uncharacteristic of me to ramble thus, cos I usually place a premium on lucidity of thought, as well as acuteness and awareness of one’s emotional wherewithal. But right now I’m in a curious state of mind. I can’t even say I am indifferent, cos I sure as toast can recognise indifference when I’m in that mood. I can only attribute to a dearth of Going-Somewhere-Really-Far-Away-And-Experiencing-Total-Randomness.

Part of the arresting allure of trips abroad is the attendant uncertainty of the people you are going to meet, the food you’re going to eat, the things you will see – quintessentially, just the novelty of it intrigues me. Which is why I think it is royal profligacy to spend money going back to a place you’ve been before for a holiday. Maybe, unless you’re a gazillionaire or something like that. For most folks with an expendable and finite budget, I reckon I’d want to spend my time and resources exploring unchartered terrain first.

Or maybe I just have a chronic inability to get too sentimental about places, or miss them too much. Part of it I attribute to the years I spent overseas. When people, places, sights, smells and the whole caboodle of Everything-That-Was-Once-Familiar can walk out of your life in an instant just by way of taking an airplane, you realise how rootless things can be. You can spend your time falling in love with a city, and then snap! – you hitch on a plane and don’t return for the next few years. Which makes all that emotional investment, practically speaking, pretty pointless.

Back to randomness – I suppose having a life that moves with clockwork precision can drain the verve and chutzpah outta people. Folks tend to crave certainty – where they’d be at every Thursday morning, knowing the places they go to for lunch, meeting acquaintances, etc but too much familiarity bores me. My attention span ranges from the most assiduous and dogged of minds when I’m in the mood to unravelling to that of a child asked to do Trigonometry whilst his mates are playing footy in the glorious sunshine outside. Yet I can’t pinpoint exactly which part of the 24 hours it is which beleaguers me.

Alright, reckon that’s enough gibberish for now. Laters.

Take Five

I'm working on a report which I have to hand in tomorrow, it's 2.36am and the Intermezzo in Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana is playing on my stereo. I should be in bed under my snug duvet but I'm still slogging away on the computer, squinting through my glasses. My desk is strewn with notes and papers chockful of slovenly scribbles, and faint wisps of smoke are rising from my hot brew of tea. It's cold. The whirring noise from the air-con lends an incessant drone as the night rolls away under my feet.

And you know what? I'm ridiculously happy. Chirpy, even. Am in a good mood, and humming to myself.

I realise how much I miss staying up at night to read or do work with music playing in the background. That kind of into-the-wee-hours-of-the-night kinda cruncher.

I miss my nocturnal life.

And I'm listening to tunes which I have not heard for a mighty long time. It's funny how some deep recesses of our minds remember the merest trifles in life. A random verse in a song, a complete stranger you meet on a completely random day, an absent-minded remark, a faded photograph... certain things just have a proclivity to cling to our memories. Like how I hear the haunting fragments of a song which I have not heard for two years, but am able to quite effortlessly recall its lyrics...

It's strange, that oft the mind has a memory of its own, far deeper and hidden, that when the ambers of some long-forgotten tune are stoked once more, then memories, trammelled no longer, comes wafting into the full bloom of consciousness.

Does the mind have an innate ability to surreptitiously harbour slices of memories which we ourselves may not even be cognisant of? Is it nature's way to subtly remind us of the things which are truly important, that which lingers immutably, that which refuses to fade?

Sigh. So many questions for 2.36am.

Manchester United: Premiership Champions 2006/2007

Dreadful game against City last weekend to be honest, with lotsa punting of balls from defense. But van der Sar pulled off a stunning penalty save to keep the pressure up on Chelski.

And the Blues, to their credit, actually played a blinder at the Emirates despite being a man down. Joe Cole had a disgraceful dive though, but perhaps he's just picking up the bastion since deep-sea diving luminaries Robben and Drogba were not playing. Les Arse was piss poor, couldn't even beat a 10-men Chelski B team. And Baptista, you couldn't keep possession of the ball even if your whole body was smeared in suer glue... appalling.

Awwww....



But I suppose I shouldn't be so harsh, since Les Arse just pulled off their most admirable exploit the entire season - handing United the title. ;)

I may not be the most objective fan around, but in my (not so) humble opinion, the best team won the league. With Ruud out the door, Giggsy and Scholesy catching on in years, Ronaldo and Rooney having their World Cup fracas, and a litany of unimpressive summer buys, United looked more shaky than an apple crumble and I could never have foreseen this delectable season of resurgence. You know you're on to something when even rival fans come bearing felicitations, though it makes me feel a bit qualmish to be honest, things were simpler back then when everyone hated United. ;) Simple, which one has more punch:

"LMAO United has won the league and Chelski has finally choked on their roubles - paying £500m to win the Worthless Cup (or whatever it is called nowadays) and forking out gazillions for Shevchenko who has scored as many league goals as John O'Shea loooollll.... and City are so far down the league table we can't even spot them with a microscope... take that, losers!!!!"

OR

"Thank you for your kind words about United, I wish your teams all the best for the next season too... world peace!!! =))))))"

Nah, give me rivalry and anarchy any day. ;)

Ronaldo has made his detractors eat their words... mine included.



And now, for some serious slobbering (do not read if you dislike United; you'd probably puke all over your desktop screens and it would be no fault of mine):

Special mention for Ronaldo who has morphed from one of the most abhorred man in England after that infamous World Cup wink, to the PFA Player of the Year. The one who has literally carried the team all by himeself at times, and who has contantly harried opposition teams with his guile and pace on the flank. Also for veterans Giggs, Neville and Scholes for their inspirational and dependable presence; can't imagine how much you would be missed when you retire. To the Roonster - despite scuffing the simplest of chances which at times makes me wanna tear my hair out, for scoring the biggies on nights of monumental importance, for your bull-doggedness, and for the unadulterated raw passion you show. To Vidic - you've been an absolute bulwark in the back-line, too bad for the injuries at a time when the team needed you most but you have been redoubtable for most part - indisputably one of the best players this season. To Carrick and Fletchinho - have slated 'em often enough but you showed your mettle on the European nights when you played out of your skins. To van der Sar - I scoffed his transfer as a rather desperate attempt to plug the goalkeeping gap after the comedy of clowns which have graced the United No. 1 since Schmeichel left, probably not a solution for the long term but this season you have saved United's arses many a time, and last weekend against City you made a league-winning save when you denied them a penalty, God bless your ultra long (and spindly) legs. And to Sir Alex - all hail, please. More than a decade managing United and you still jump up and down like an excited schoolboy whenever the team scores a vital goal. Love your commitment, love your passion and love your obssessive-compulsive streak to win, win and WIN - a fighter you are, and now you've claimed the prize.

Thank you for making this season such a memorable one, you'd probably never ever read this prose and are probably spoilt brat millionaires who shove grannies and kick kittens in real life, but still, we love you to bits.

Manchester United - Premiership Champions 2006/2007.



Tags: Manchester United, Football, Soccer, Premiership, English Premier League, Alex Ferguson, Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Henrik Larsson, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes, Rio Ferdinand, Nemanja Vidic, John O'Shea, Old Trafford, Chelsea, Chelski, Jose Mourinho, John Terry, Frank Lampard, Andriy Shevchenko, Shevchenko, Michael Ballack, Petr Cech

A Rather Self-Indulgent Piece Of Literary Claptrap...

Folks. Order has been restored. The skies are cornflower blue again after the noxious, pestilential pall of boredom which Chelski has cast over us, is lifted. The reign of stupor and tedium is over, and in the distance, I espy birds in the full flight of song, heralding our liberation from the doldrums of crummy, withering football. The blue tide recedes and flees in ignominy.

And Providence spake unto The Special One, "Thy scurrilous tongue hath uttereth much evil. Thou hast also been censurable for wanton spending of roubles, lashing vituperations at referees, derogating the humble orgins of Ronaldo the Valiant, prevaricating allegations of "new football rules," and for other abominations too numerous and contemptible to mention. For thy many invectives and thy contumely, I shalt smite thy mouth and rend thy house asunder. The Chavs shalt be rendered to ashes, and thy roubles shalt dissipate, and thy plastic fans scatter unto the ends of the earth. And thou shalt never, ever bore us with thy mind-wasting football again. Begone!"

And so ended the tale of tyranny of The Special One, son of Bore-inho.

The dark, rancid era of brain-wasting boredom and sour-grapes post-match commentary has been vanquished...



To make way for the true harbinger of hope.



A trumpet rang in the cool morn of spring, and its shrill note sliced the air like a keen lance. The multitudes cheered:

"Fell deeds awake!
Now for wrath, now for ruin and a RED dawn!
Forth United!!!!"

And the sky was hued in stark crimson, and the red tide surged forth, vanquishing every blue stronghold. The Special One and his evil minions Terry, Lumplard and Drogs were heard no more, nor were they ever spoken on the lips of the righteous. As the day bathed in blood-red glory and the throngs wept in joy, Sir Alex rose a glass of tributary Scotch to his doughty warriors, robed in crimson finery hemmed with silver. On their heads were circlets of gold, and draped on their necks, gleaming and proud, were medals of victory.

All hail the kings!



The title has finally come home.

Tags: Manchester United, Football, Soccer, Premiership, English Premier League, Alex Ferguson, Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Henrik Larsson, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes, Rio Ferdinand, Nemanja Vidic, John O'Shea, Old Trafford, Chelsea, Chelski, Jose Mourinho, John Terry, Frank Lampard, Andriy Shevchenko, Shevchenko, Michael Ballack, Petr Cech

Goodbye, Athens: Milan 3 – 0 United

Ok folks, now it’s official – the Champions League final would be down to the hoofball specialists and exponents of mind-wasting boredom, and a match-fixing team which rightfully belongs to Serie B.

Hurrah, hurrah.

Ok that’s just me taking the piss. ;) Hmmm… now let’s get down to United shall we.

We lost to a better team, that’s indisputable. Am disappointed United got dumped out, but what riled more was the way in which we exited. With a whimper. An insipid, rudderless and flaccid performance which made Steve Morrissey sound alive by comparison. The worst thing was that I knew we were good enough for the final, and even to win the Champions League. But then wham, bam, one collectively sucky night of football and it’s all over.

Perhaps that’s the vagaries of Cup competitions, or perhaps it was the grueling stint of having to straddle domestic and European fixtures, or perhaps it was the fact that our injury-riddled squad was as stretched as chewing gum, but there is still no excuse. United simply failed to deliver the goods on a night when it mattered most. And that’s that.

Milan celebrates their zillionth Champions League final.



Milan were sterling, and played some fabulous one-touch football in the first half. United couldn’t string five passes together. There was a serious dearth of creativity – Giggs, Scholes and Ronaldo were backtracking to help plug the holes in defense, leaving Rooney isolated upfront. Ronaldo and Rooney’s first touches were elephantine. Credit to Gattuso for basically muscling Ronaldo out of the entire game; hard as nails he was. Vida was probably not match-fit, and it showed in his lack of pace in marking the mercurial Kaka. There was a shot of the pitch which showed 11 United players in their own half, defending nervously. How often do you see United stockpiling their players in defense like that? Giggs, Scholes, Carrick and Rooney were largely anonymous, and Heinze… oh boy. When he made that kamikaze pass to Vidic which gifted Seedorf his goal, I nearly combusted with rage. I think I felt a manic desire to wring his little neck (oops, is that too violent??).

Carrick VS Kaka.



It’s funny, because up till yesterday night I think United has largely managed to scrap by with its ramshackle makeshift defense. We dropped points in the Premier League two weeks ago when we drew with Boro but then Chelski failed to capitalise. And then last weekend we got a massive Get Out Of Jail Free card when Everton gift-wrapped us two goals with their defensive blunders, and Chelski was held to a draw by Bolton. But even with such fortuities, we were living on borrowed time. Amidst all the heady celebrations about the late brace of goals against Milan and the Toffees, there was a lingering, niggling sense of vexation regarding the avalanche of injuries.

But hope springs eternal. And United played some scintillating football, to boot. When a team vanquished each hurdle with such consummate skill, and when a propitious stroke of fortune seemed to follow, you can’t help but get the classic “the stars are aligned for this” feeling. Suddenly, the prospect of a second Treble beckoned.

Well, that dream is effectively over but the ride has been grand, to say the least. Football is a bewitching game; and that is what made waking up at ungodly hours week in week out to watch your team play worthwhile. To be honest, I never expected United to go thus far this season after a recent bout of mediocrity by its own unimpeachable standards. It is not a bad season by all accounts – the Premiership title is in the bag unless we screw up majorly, and we’re still in the FA Cup. But right now, I’m just too deflated after that loss at the San Siro to say that it’s all coming up roses.

It's over.



But whatever. Manchester United – you are still a great team, and I still love watching you.

Of course, I returned to office this morning with an slew of email from gloating LiverPoo fans. It was all a bit of ribbing banter, but what really stunned me was the number of good-natured Les Arse fans (good-natured Les Arse fans?? Is that an oxymoron??) which actually expressed COMMISERATIONS over United being eliminated. Good grief, has Chelski really done such a good job of making itself the most annoying team in the universe that even Les Arse fans are rooting for United? What has the world come to now??!! =P

Tags: Manchester United, Milan, AC Milan, Football, Soccer, UEFA Champions League, Champions League, Alex Ferguson, Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Henrik Larsson, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes, Rio Ferdinand, Nemanja Vidic, John O'Shea, Old Trafford, Paolo Maldini, Alessandro Nesta, Kaka, Andrea Pirlo