jr
Member
Registered: 20th May 02
Location: Kent
User status: Offline
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allways amusing  and yet somehow very truthfull
During the last seven days I have watched more football and had more football-related encounters than at any other time this season. I went to Stamford Bridge for Saturday's visit from Manchester United where I met Ray Wilkins and Chopper Harris and mistakenly attempted to chat up Joe Cole's girlfriend (I didn't recognise her - she's really pretty and when she revealed her identity I had to try and re-package the preceding flirting as harmless chivalry) then on to Upton Park for the Newcastle match.
As I arrived I saw Freddie Ljungberg being tipped into an ambulance, then during the match, for which I was 30 minutes late, I was seated next to the CEO's phenomenal girlfriend - just in time to witness Newcastle's two equalising goals and, most extraordinarily of all, afterwards I was whisked off to meet the legendary Paolo Di Canio. All this and it was Champions League semi-final week, not to mention my childhood hero West Ham striker Tony Cottee's flattering insistence that I introduce his forthcoming greatest goals DVD.
Any of these events would be sufficient to fill a column thrice this size and taken together they form a gleaming itinerary of unthinkable intrigue and glamour but even cursory examination will reveal that the inescapable embarrassment that accompanies me through life was present at every turn, like a seagull following Eric Cantona anticipating a tasty morsel of bizarre imagery.
Firstly, Saturday's matches. It was the intention to attend both games on opposite sides of London by promptly leaving Chelsea at the whistle, leaping on to a motorbike taxi - like an assassin - and zipping to east London in time for three o'clock. These motorbike taxis did not show up, instead I travelled to the games in a... taxi.
On Fulham Road once disgorged I walked incognito among the Chelsea fans, thinking myself so smart - "I'm like Henry V, amidst his troops or Luke Skywalker when he dressed as a Stormtrooper, these blue berks have no idea that I, a Hammer, as fiercely opposed to their posh, Osgood doctrine as it's possible to be, am ghosting imperceptibly in their ranks. "
"I'LL PICK YOU UP AT ONE THIRTY, RUSSELL!" bellowed the driver.
The blue flag anthem stammered into silence, the shuffling battalion ceased marching, a police horse exhaled and eyes turned. "It's Russell Brand" spat the chief of the Headhunters. I steeled myself for the onslaught. "I'll go down fighting" I pledged. "You can take my life but you'll never take my freedom," I screamed as one by one polite adolescents posed at my side for harmless photos.
I saw a beautiful woman sashaying through the throng - my chance for escape; I darted after her regurgitating cliches till she elegantly revealed she was betrothed to England's most naturally gifted player, Joe Cole. Once in the executive lounge I navigated the Wilkins encounter flawlessly - except for badgering him to give me inside information on the Avram Grant situation, he agreed that the problem was succeeding "the most charismatic man in sport, let alone football".
Travelling by car meant that it was necessary to leave this scintillating match at half-time - listening to the radio en route I learned of two goals and several enthralling incidents at the Bridge and two home goals at Upton Park. Of course I was in my seat in time to see Obafemi Martins score for the Geordies then moments later Geremi drew them level, confirming my status as a jinxed talisman. My companion for the second half was the heartbreakingly attractive girlfriend of a West Ham executive who I chatted to innocuously whilst the fans behind us hollered "Oi, focus on the game" and "Brand! Put her down."
At full-time I was approached by a club official who informed me that Di Canio was present and had asked to meet me. Through the vestibules and corridors I sweated and fretted on the anxious journey that would lead to an audience with an icon. In the flesh, though flesh seems inaccurate as he is all sinew, muscle and passion, Di Canio is a force. Forever on the precipice of declarations and tears he converses how he played with captivating intensity and awesome commitment. He spoke of West Ham with such love and respect that I quite forgot myself.
At one point I touched his shoulder with my hand and it was as if it were connected to the Earth's core, such was the throb of innate potency. He referred to me and West Ham as "You", eg "You are a great club, you deserve the best" and when he looked into my eyes it was as touching and as visceral as his volley against Chelsea or when he caught the ball to allow Everton keeper Paul Gerrard to receive treatment rather than score. The feelings were all too powerful.
"He's so passionate," I thought, I wanted to join in "I'm going to say something passionate" after the umpteenth agonisingly sincere handshake I blurted "I want to thank you for all you gave to this club." I nearly wept. "No. Thank you," retorted Paolo, far more at ease with this manner of discourse. When he departed I reflected with some relief that no one who saw me watching Di Canio leave the room could ever seriously think I'd be interested in their girlfriend, my heart belongs to Di Canio.
[Edited on 04-05-2008 by jr]
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