Australia is about as far away as you can get from North London. We have warm weather, beaches, strange sports, colorful money, kangaroos and every type of poisonous animal imaginable. In fact, I should probably count myself lucky that I can write this email – I mean, for 22 years of my life I have […]
Robert, Australia
Australia is about as far away as you can get from North London. We have warm weather, beaches, strange sports, colorful money, kangaroos and every type of poisonous animal imaginable. In fact, I should probably count myself lucky that I can write this email – I mean, for 22 years of my life I have escaped snakes and spiders on land… and then, don’t forget about the crocodiles and alligators, as well as the Sharks in the water. If they dont get you, the Stingrays or Jellyfish might.
But hell, I’ve lived in constant fear of all of the above, and then still choose to put myself through torture every weekend in the safety of my own house. I stay up till midnight, 3am or even 5am to watch a 90 minute game of Football. I’ve spent 100s upon 100s of nights losing hours of sleep watching our beloved team. Not only are the countless hours of sleep lost frustrating, but the fact that my weekend can be based around a win, a loss or a draw is baffling to say the least. Many, many nights I have finally gone to bed at 6am frustrated as hell yet I know I will happily do the same in a weeks time as I bloody love this club.
I should add that Australian’s just dont understand Football. I can’t have a decent conversation to anybody about it, and know about three Man United ‘fans’ and the only good friend of mine who treats Football as a religion like me follows…. Arsenal. Just my luck.
I travelled Europe last year, and spent the away leg of our Champions League round vs Milan in Florence. I was the only English speaking person in the bar, and after copping 80 odd minutes of abuse, boy did I dish it out when Crouch put us in the lead at the 80 minute mark. For the next 15 minutes I gladly dished it out to every single person in that pub, until I was chased out when the TV showed Gattuso and Jordon going at it. I went to London too, but being a poor uni student meant i didnt have the money to get to a match to see our mighty Spurs in action. Last week I moved to Berlin, and I must say the time difference of just one hour sure beats a difference of 10 hours!
One day I will eventually get to White Hart Lane. One day.
And it will be the best fecking day of my life.
Cheers,
Robert F
COYS!
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