A white flag to the black and white ball...

Dear football

I am officially conceding defeat to football. Yes, I lose, you win, happy boh ???Now go away.

Being stuck in an office of men, my lifelong curse continues. It started when I was 3.........

The Daddy
He used to bring me to footy matches when Penang plays against whatever team. Happily I went, content with my kacang putih (roast chickpeas) that the kacang putih man will roll up in a newspaper cone. Ball? It was more like a feast.Then came the late night FA Cup matches..I could never understand why he don't want to go to sleep, TV when also can watch what.

The Brother
Screaming around the house 24hrs a day at the sounds of the whole family taunting him 'gila', this wannabe sports commentator trudges on..like he had been for the past 10 years. Rain or shine, come or go, win or lose, match or no match, he talks to himself non-stop in his make believe world of an endless football game.Of course, no make-believe would be complete with the kicking of the invisible ball like a spider on crack...which is eerily similar to The Daddy's favourite hobby of the invisible golf ball.

When he started kicking my basketball in and out of the house and dutifully killing my mother's flowers, we seriously considered sending him to the nearest Hospital Bahagia, or otherwise known as the local happy mental institution. Preferably one where they treat football-titist.Or any sort of ball-titist for that matter.Failing that, I started sleeping with hidden balls underneath my bed.The last I looked, there are about 5 different variation of a pretend football underneath my bed.

Until today, everytime we speak, he would be asking for a jersey.Like a 2 year old child endlessly asking for candy. When he was 10, he got my father's business contact to get him a Ajax jersey from Amsterdam. When he was 12, he conned my mother's friend who was living in England for a England jersey. Then when his sister grew up, he conned all her boyfriends to buy him jersey, threatening them that he will not approve of them otherwise. They silently complied, kissing his already fat ass. Then the sister started to travel to UK...and every trip had been filled with some sort of football paraphenelia...including a picture of his beloved Highbury ground, the home of Arsenal. Which he did not appreciate since I did not buy him a jersey from there.

But his one coveted item still alludes him...the arsenal jersey with Henry tattoed behind. Boohoo..after Arsenal's loss yesterday in the Champions' cup to Barcelona...the price might just come down to humanly affordable.

The Bacon

This is the worst yet. Ever. Not only he plays football (or chases after the ball aimlessly like a donkey with a carrot), he watches, he has season tickets and he wears football gear..stinking up the whole house when he takes the sweat-unfriendly gear off

This weekend the Bacon is heading towards Cardiff...5 hours away, for the match of his life.The playoffs (as discussed here) finals...Leeds has at last managed to get so far. With tickets at £60 *gulp* , this better be good. There had been pleads on online boards for tickets...he managed to get his after a fellow mad friend/fan stood on the line outside the stadium for 6 hours.

And I can now hold a conversation in the office on the virtue of football.I can talk about teams, about different cup finals,different division, appreciate a good goal, understand the jubilation of a win. And berate the management for not installing a tv in the canteen for important games. Just in time for World Cup fever.

Yours sincerely,
football widow