Saturday, November 06, 2004

"..and one eric can-to-naaaaaaa!"

Firstly, a warning: very, VERY, long post ahead about my trip to Old Trafford, with tons of photos. Read on only if you're a die-hard Man U fan. If u're not, I sincerely promise a slow death from sheer boredom before you even reach the end of the next two sentences.

That being said, I conclude: I am definitely NOT a die-hard Man U fan.

An example of a die-hard fan [dare I say obsessed?!! ;)] would be Shihua, who goes regularly to Manchester to watch their matches. At least once in two weeks I think? May I add that it costs at least 30quid to watch each match, 20quid return for coach (without coach travelpass), and 10 hours of travelling to and fro.

I can't be arsed enough to do all that on a regular basis. I'd rather buy a pair of boots with that money. Anyway, huge thanks to Vincent for organizing the whole trip and getting me a ticket to Old Trafford.

Here are some pictures, and I make no apologies for my poor photography skills:

This is how the stadium looks like. Impressive, wot?

Vincent bought fish and chips, and the oil actually soaked through the styrofoam plate onto his hand. Marcus and I settled for oily hot dogs. And so we went in:

Hysterically euphoric at being able to set foot on holy ground aka Old Trafford, cloistered amongst fellow fans and scream "U-ni-ted (boom-boom-boom), U-ni-ted (boom-boom-boom)".

And I rue the day that I didn't force my dad to buy me one of those snazzy digicams with 1000000whatever optical zoom functions. That's the closest I'm ever going to get to the Man U players!

It's actually kinda weird watching a live match. I kept expecting to see a replay after each goal, and it just wasn't the same without all the different angle shots of it on telly. Without the flashbacks, it was strangely less dramatic. Where are the slow-mos, the impossible arch of the goalkeeper's back as he tries to reach for the ball, only for it to slip past his fingers? And the close-up of the scorer's sweaty and ecstatic face?

Then again, there's simply no substitude for cruising on the crest of the crowd's enthusiasm, and the crackling atmosphere of a live match. The u-ni-ted way (sorry, couldn't resist) everyone rises to their feet when a Red Devil approaches the opposing goalpost with the ball, (and you hear all the stadium seats go snap snap snap), and the collective sigh (or vulgarities) each time they fail to score, followed by a flurry of encouraging applause.

But there was quite a lot of action that night: 5 goals, 2 yellow cards, 1 red card and plenty of Spartas who were clearly inflicted with the falling disease. As long as a Red Devil was within 3m radius of them, their legs would give out under them as they collapse to the ground like loose rigging on a ship. They were spectacular. For their beautifully engineered fainting fits, I hereby salute them. They oughta give up football for a career on stage.

A bit of vertigo there...

That's Vincent and Marcus, with Chris in the background.

The 6-hour trip back home on the coach was horrible. Left Manchester around midnight and reached Victoria Coach Station at 0615. Absolutely frightful. If I didn't have Marcus to talk to on the way home (we had to sit separately en route to Manchester) I think I'd have rotted to death.

So I did it: I went to Manchester, and watched a Man U match at Old Trafford. All done via a SMELLY coach for 10 hours in total. And I only got up from my seat once. What an amazing feat huh. Now I know how mother hens feel when they are forced to sit on their eggs for DAYS. I don't even have the disposition to sit still for 10 min. Thank God for wombs.

My butt will never be the same.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

It's amazing how playing on a Steinway or Bosendor...
whatever..
split guts = split milk.
come, let us find elements of BDSM in Wagner.
fingers are not moving, ears are not listening.
lynne embarks on a world-wide courtesy campaign.
check this out.
My net is down. I got caught for downloading media...
full circle.
4 days in paris.

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.