Blogger: #14
It's a weekend. But it's not a weekend. The scourge of club football, international football, is upon us. Players are whisked away to play for their countries and all that guff. If you're anything like me, you're probably spending the weekend praying to the footballing gods (Zidane, Bergkamp et al) to deliver your players back to your respective clubs in one piece. And if, again, you're anything like me, you'll be hoping your rivals' ranks are depleted by the call of duty. If, for the third time, you're anything like me, you'll be wondering if the previous sentence was grammatically incorrect and shittily phrased.
Now, all you patriots out there will tell me it's playing for the national team that is the ultimate source of pride for a player and you may very well be correct. But, let's face it, as a fan, you just shrug your shoulders and go 'meh'. Olivier Giroud has scored a brace against Australia? Cool. Nicklas Bendtner did the same against Italy? Okay. Mesut Ozil scored for Germany? Again, great stuff. Koscielny hurt his knee in training? THIS IS GHASTLY! APPALLING! CATASTROPHIC! IS HE ALIVE, IS HE OKAY?! You get the picture right? Not too easy to work up emotions for one of them national teams, try as I might. It's how most of us are tuned right? RIGHT? So, yeah, while #18 and #25 have gone/will go about posting articles to liven up the international break or Interlull as Arseblog so brilliantly calls it, I have decided, like all rays of sunshine do, to illuminate the dark side. Namely, that emptiness in your life, that soul sucking abyss, that the Interlull brings.
If to this point you've been rolling your eyeballs and been expecting a point, let me inform you that this is a rant by a raving lunatic who thinks a huge dump is akin to childbirth (No jokes, deadly serious here). So don't roll your eyeballs and expect a point. There is none. Just like all these international breaks. It's just one of those snippets from my twisted mind that I hope will kill some of your time. Time that stands between you and your club. I know, I know, I'm too good to be true. I can imagine how it's been for you, this past weekend. The waking up just in time for lunch. The stalking of random girls on Facebook (speaking of Facebook, like us here). Those seconds ticking by ever so slowly, you waiting anxiously for the league to awaken from its weekly slumber to give your life meaning. And then it hits you with a dull, sickening thud. Like when #7 punches my shoulder to greet me. There is no league tonight. What do you do? What do you do? Simulating Norwich City v Crystal Palace on your console doesn't have nearly the same thrill as the real thing does it? You figure you'll go out and hang with your friends, but you realize they're all just as depressed as you, right? The tears start creeping out from the corners of your eyes now, you spend the evening in a daze. Those two evenings seem like two years. And then it's back to work/school/college/the couch. What have you left to ponder about or talk about with your peers? Your career? Your life? Your family? Yeah, right. Sometimes it feels like you're on the brink of losing it all. Your friend Billy has a shotgun, you've heard. He's not loath to lend it out you've heard. But I promise you in the name of all things that are holy and not Interlullian that it gets better. That all this suffering shall cease. That you must experience this vacuum only intermittently, and salvation is just around the corner. The fixtures that you love and cherish will welcome you like my family welcomes me after I take a bath; with open arms and a sense of relief. You have faced hell, and now there is nothing worse left. Nothing.
Unless your club loses. Trust me, there is nothing worse than having your team lose after a long drawn out Interlull. NOTHING. I'm a sadistic, malevolent little life form that resembles something you'd find if you dig up the earth, but even I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I sincerely apologize to any sadistic, malevolent life form residing under the earth that takes offence to what I just said. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, never thought you had any, or that you read shit blogs. Anyway, here's to hoping forten draws nine draws and an Arsenal win to mark the closing of this particular Interlull. To those of you who made it to the other side of this 'weekend', I ask for a minute of silence for our brethren who were not so fortunate. You will be missed. The dead guys I mean, not you living ones.
I know I need help. Drop in contact information of reputed loony bins in the comment section below.
Thanking You,
Yours sincerely,
#14
It's a weekend. But it's not a weekend. The scourge of club football, international football, is upon us. Players are whisked away to play for their countries and all that guff. If you're anything like me, you're probably spending the weekend praying to the footballing gods (Zidane, Bergkamp et al) to deliver your players back to your respective clubs in one piece. And if, again, you're anything like me, you'll be hoping your rivals' ranks are depleted by the call of duty. If, for the third time, you're anything like me, you'll be wondering if the previous sentence was grammatically incorrect and shittily phrased.
Now, all you patriots out there will tell me it's playing for the national team that is the ultimate source of pride for a player and you may very well be correct. But, let's face it, as a fan, you just shrug your shoulders and go 'meh'. Olivier Giroud has scored a brace against Australia? Cool. Nicklas Bendtner did the same against Italy? Okay. Mesut Ozil scored for Germany? Again, great stuff. Koscielny hurt his knee in training? THIS IS GHASTLY! APPALLING! CATASTROPHIC! IS HE ALIVE, IS HE OKAY?! You get the picture right? Not too easy to work up emotions for one of them national teams, try as I might. It's how most of us are tuned right? RIGHT? So, yeah, while #18 and #25 have gone/will go about posting articles to liven up the international break or Interlull as Arseblog so brilliantly calls it, I have decided, like all rays of sunshine do, to illuminate the dark side. Namely, that emptiness in your life, that soul sucking abyss, that the Interlull brings.
If to this point you've been rolling your eyeballs and been expecting a point, let me inform you that this is a rant by a raving lunatic who thinks a huge dump is akin to childbirth (No jokes, deadly serious here). So don't roll your eyeballs and expect a point. There is none. Just like all these international breaks. It's just one of those snippets from my twisted mind that I hope will kill some of your time. Time that stands between you and your club. I know, I know, I'm too good to be true. I can imagine how it's been for you, this past weekend. The waking up just in time for lunch. The stalking of random girls on Facebook (speaking of Facebook, like us here). Those seconds ticking by ever so slowly, you waiting anxiously for the league to awaken from its weekly slumber to give your life meaning. And then it hits you with a dull, sickening thud. Like when #7 punches my shoulder to greet me. There is no league tonight. What do you do? What do you do? Simulating Norwich City v Crystal Palace on your console doesn't have nearly the same thrill as the real thing does it? You figure you'll go out and hang with your friends, but you realize they're all just as depressed as you, right? The tears start creeping out from the corners of your eyes now, you spend the evening in a daze. Those two evenings seem like two years. And then it's back to work/school/college/the couch. What have you left to ponder about or talk about with your peers? Your career? Your life? Your family? Yeah, right. Sometimes it feels like you're on the brink of losing it all. Your friend Billy has a shotgun, you've heard. He's not loath to lend it out you've heard. But I promise you in the name of all things that are holy and not Interlullian that it gets better. That all this suffering shall cease. That you must experience this vacuum only intermittently, and salvation is just around the corner. The fixtures that you love and cherish will welcome you like my family welcomes me after I take a bath; with open arms and a sense of relief. You have faced hell, and now there is nothing worse left. Nothing.
Unless your club loses. Trust me, there is nothing worse than having your team lose after a long drawn out Interlull. NOTHING. I'm a sadistic, malevolent little life form that resembles something you'd find if you dig up the earth, but even I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I sincerely apologize to any sadistic, malevolent life form residing under the earth that takes offence to what I just said. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, never thought you had any, or that you read shit blogs. Anyway, here's to hoping for
I know I need help. Drop in contact information of reputed loony bins in the comment section below.
Thanking You,
Yours sincerely,
#14
"I know I need help"
ReplyDeleteAcceptance is the first step to being cured :D
and this proves i read the article :D
Lol, we're taking 14 to an asylum as we type this. He wants to know if you liked this though :P
DeleteWell said Blogger #14, perfectly describes the boredom we all face during international breaks
ReplyDelete#14 here. Thank you very much indeed kind sir/madam. :)
Delete