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Weekday Match Day

Roll out of bed at 6:45. Check for coffee; no coffee. Light a cig, grind coffee, open TweetDeck.

Uh oh. Match day. My caffeine-deprived brain is suddenly awakened. We're safe for now, but it's a good thing I was reminded this early on.

Go to work. Run SQL, print price tags, check stock status of product. Boring. There's a report running; let's see what happened in the EPL today, shall we? SHIT.

Phew. Crisis averted. No more of that; the internet doesn't exist any longer. Put it out of your mind. It's 1997.

Okay, day's over. Time to go home, have some dinner, watch some TV. *Click* Ahh, unwinding. Going to be a ball of nerves in a few, but thank God for the Simpsons-OH SWEET MERCY I'VE LEFT IT ON FOX SOCCER. CHANGE CHANNEL, CHANGE CHANNEL!

Well, that was indeed a close one. Time to get going; match starts at 8:30. Got to run a few errand first though. This fellow, he looks like he might be a soccer fan; oh God. Oh God, is he looking at my scarf? Oh God, please don't strike up a conversation, please don't give me the result. Okay, we're alright, moving along. Ah, BBC News. A wonderful and sober alternative to American " news" services. It fades into the background nicely. Oh dear, Hamas? What are they up to? And Greece is having monetary troubles you say? Well let us hope that Spain and Portugal's economic situat-OH BLOODY HELL THEY'RE DOING THE SPORTS.

Thank the lord I had that CD in. Onto the bar. A few pints will help these shakes. Yes ma'am, I'd love a pint. Something strong please, we're playing United. Not much going on in this bar; are those NBA highlights? Well, I do hate the league, but there's certainly no harm in watching a recap or tw-WAIT, WHEN DID ESPN START SHOWING EPL RESULTS? LOOK AWAY, OH GOD LOOK AWAY!

Alright then, off to the pub. Hope to claim a decent seat.

Well now. There are a lot of people here. I mean a LOT. Ah, Liverpool are playing. We'll just wait for things to clear out.

(What seems to be several hours later)

Ah! A pint and a view of the TV. COME ON YOU VILLA! Wait, what is that clapping? That incessant clapping, every time a Red Devil touches the ball? Oh. Oh God it's Paris.*

A goal! Carlos, you beautiful, bearded man! I adore you!

Beer. Lots and lots of beer.

Halftime. Many cigarettes are consumed, waiting for the bartender to notice it's half and fast-forward through the intermission.

WHY CAN'T WE SCORE.

And full-time. A Man U fan says something incredibly uncouth to Kirsten, my deaf ears miss it, I am filled in far too late to defend my dear friend's honor. Luckily tonight I have not overdone things and am able to drive home. BBC is still on. Begin to zone out. Hear Sir Alex mentioned-initial reaction is to slap off the dial, remember that I've just watched the match. Get home. My fiancée doesn't quite understand how I am so disappointed in a draw after all of the energy I spent explaining that one should never be disappointed in a draw. Neither do I.

Good night.

*Pseudonym for a "soccer fan" of somewhat legendary status in Seattle. She was previously an Arsenal fan and, because of her partner's prior allegiances, is a Man United fan. She appears to know absolutely nothing about soccer and cheers for ridiculous reasons. She is everything terrible about bandwagon sports fans and I hate her. She is an awful, awful human being.