Beef Bagel

I remember that night; nearly a year ago now. I remember the hope we took into that game. We’d been robbed in the first leg and only narrowly beaten: “Get them on our turf and we’ll give these Spaniards a lesson in football.” That was the plan.

I couldn’t believe it when Sevilla score so quickly, the confusion when they did it again. My head span with calculations until it dawned that we had to score four goals to go through. We nearly did. Such was the spirit of the team. It didn’t seem fair that the dream was over. There was a cup for the taking and no Big Four team to stop us - just a Tottenham reject and a coach called Ramos.

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Got a ticket going for the match tomorrow night in Eindhoven. It’ll cost you £30 - face value and you’ll have to meet me in London to get it. Give me a shout if you interested at thebagel@beefbagel.com

The Bagel.

“It’s 9.45am, we’ve got to leave in 15 minutes. Here’s a cup of tea.”

It’s a good wake-up. I can’t translate the sentiment into words in my brain, let alone open my open my gak-sealed mouth to deliver them, even if I could kick start my voice box into life; but it’s a very good wake-up for a man on sofa using a coat and a dog’s blanket for a duvet with only three hours of sleep under his belt.

I blink a few times and G walks away from my field of view. The cream coloured room is glowing gently yellow from the sunlight-warmed windows, just as it was when I last saw it. A scattering of half drunk beer cans litter the coffee table to my left at eye level. An army of empties stands over at the bar, tightly-packed covering a third of the varnished wood. I don’t need to look but I know the debris gets worse over by the pool table that completes this perfect games room, almost the size of the Bakery, in the house of my friend, Ash.

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The fun ended, last night, the minute the League Cup was taken back inside. We can have no real complaints on the result, we were bested. PSV were more professional, more comfortable, more in control, even their fans were better despite that “We only sing when we’re winning” chant with which they seem to slightly miss the point. Loved their rendition of the A-Team theme tune though. No idea what that’s all about. Were we supposed to reply with Battlestar Galactica or Cagney & Lacey?

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It’s 4 o’clock in the am and I’ve been sitting leading a team of grunts on a night shift through some very strenous hours of playing flashgames on the internet. Tough gig this. This is my current favourite by the way. Can’t get past level 7 though.

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Ok, this has gone too far. First we’re offered a DVD of the 5-1 demolition of them down the road, then special Carling Cup Final shirts, then a DVD of that game, a Carling Cup winners shirt, the programme Wembley, assorted scarves plus a million and one mugs, t-shirts, breakfast cereals, sleeping bags, flame-throwers and Moira Stewart warmers. Enough with the fucking merchandising you bloody vampires. See now, they’ve announced a special commemorative 100 page programme for tomorrow night and the problem is, I’m weak. I want one. Look at it…

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There’s a theory in animal kingdom known as the Life-Dinner Principle. The idea is that when a fox is chasing a hare, the hare will try harder, run further, be prepared to use all of its energy supplies because the hare is running for its life. The fox on the other hand is only running for its dinner and there’s no point in expending more energy than eating the hare will give him. Birmingham City were playing for their Premiership lives on Saturday, and we weren’t even hungry.

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