black cats blog Robbed by Scousers

Posted: August 19th 2008
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I decided that amongst my usual summer reading collection comprising footy books (“kick lit” anyone?) gossip magazines and an old classic (to make me feel worthy) I should add a self-help book. My long suffering hubby and amigos would be quick to confirm that I have a bit of a tendency to go off on one.

I chose “Don’t sweat the small stuff” by Richard Carlson. I was drawn to it by the blurb which suggests that we should be enabled to live our lives in a “calmer and less stressful way” and “be able to let go of our problems”. Roy Keane is obviously a disciple since he released hapless defender Greg Halford this summer.

So instead of whingeing and whining about the fact that “ we lost” in the bloody 83rd bloody minute on Saturday, I should detach myself from the imperfections of others and abstract situations. I, Carol Ward, did not lose but “the team which I have chosen to support didn’t win the game”. No, not working…. 

WE WERE BLOODY ROBBED BY THE SCOUSERS! That’s better.

Oh the irony… In an afternoon with the SoL’s trusty south-west corner barking the anti-scouse /water off a duck’s back chants of “You’ve got our stereos” etc Liverpool found an open door and a key in the ignition when our defence left a gap for (the otherwise subdued ) Torres to score oh so bloody sweetly.

Things had gone  well until then. I travelled a couple of days before the game
from my home in Nottingham to spend a couple of days in my native North-east to
give myself ample time to achieve total accent and dialect re-alignment . The 530 kick off gave us a chance to gather round the concourse tele screens , smirk at Stoke’s
trouncing and offer a patronising nod to what might be Hull’s only win this season. Ince’s beaming face was met with seismic muttered aftershocks of “jammy basdad”.

Then a mixture of gasps and incredulous laughter at the news that Xabi Alonso was on the Liverpool bench… I just don’t get it. Nor did the Liverpool fans as they chanted his name relentlessly during the first half as he skimmed effortlessly up and down the touchline ominously warming up alongside our Dean Whitehead.

By comparison, on the pitch his team-mates looked lethargic and well below par. Kuyt was huffing and puffing after 10 minutes, Keane seemed to be getting in the way and Gerrard’s usual commanding presence was punctuated by quiet frustration .We passed the ball well, piecing together some fluent, creative moves. Collins and Bardsley were remarkably solid and our new signings looked comfortable although Diouf seems to be a little distracted by his personal disrespect the ref campaign.  Top shrugging…  

Half time… it all went wrong and I blame Noah and The Whale . I loathe their tinny little dirge about having “fun fun fun” when they sound like the most dull crap people to spend time with. All summer I’ve tried to avoid listening to them. I will kick small children out of the way to switch off an offending radio as soon as I hear it. (See, I really do need that self-help stuff) When their lame strumming came crackling out of the speakers  I knew it was a sign…
News followed that Alonso was coming on for the second half. We somehow lost our momentum, sat back a bit, made errant substitutions , got a bit tired and gave Torres the sniff of a chance you can’t give a sublime striker like him . We were worth a draw. Noah and The Whale, you cost us the game. I hope you never see the charts again.

I leave these shores for France in a couple of days. I’ll be missing our games at Spurs (slow out of the blocks again – do they spend the summer hanging around ice cream vans?) and against Manchester “City til I Thai and die” (cheers Paul from Bluecamp for that one…)

Most irritatingly I’ll miss our Carling Cup tie at Forest. I live 5 minutes’ walk from The City Ground thus missing out on my big chance to go out on the lash before and after the game instead of my 350 mile  round trip to watch MY BOYS GET BLOODY ROBBED! But hey, after a couple of weeks on the soporific sands of Brittany, feeding deeply on white wine and the wise words of Richard Carlson, I’ll return refreshed and hoping that the team that I have chosen to support has soundly thumped the teams to which I owe no allegiance.