12 hours after our match ended and I'm finally home, oddly hyped up on two beers, Nyquil and frustration.
While it's always frustrating to find ourselves with yet another draw, I've learned to accept them, even welcome the one point, after that fateful late September match against Blackburn in which I bitched about not wanting a draw and Blackburn earned themselves a penalty in the 89th minute. Since that time, I don't complain about draws.
So no, it's not the draw I'm frustrated with. Nor am I particularly perturbed that we drew due to the goal by James Collins' kneecap. I'm pissed off because I spent nine hours (five of them extremely boring work hours) avoiding much of the internet so that I could go have a nice pint with Mr. Campeau while cheering on our boys.
Instead we crammed ourselves into Seattle's most popular soccer bar at 8.30pm, amidst crowds of royal blue and bright red. The Everton-Chelsea and Liverpool-Arsenal games had yet to end, and the pub was packed. The problem was that these fans didn't decide to leave after their games. Instead they thought this would be a fine time to discuss their new straightening irons and their psychotic girlfriends over a few pints. Made it difficult to hear the commentary, much less grab a stool.
But what gets me the most is the absolute arrogance of United's fan base. Now, I haven't heard rave reviews about how they act in England, but over here, they are akin to Yankees fans: self-righteous, self-important blowhards. They follow United because that's the first team they'd ever heard about, not because they actually have a clue about football.
On match days, the crowd in the pub tends to be civil. There might be a few jests, but Seattleites don't tend to throw insults, and certainly not punches. Except for this crowd. While no one physically attacked me, the menace was palpable--and entirely misdirected. These fans felt as though they were entitled to a win simply for supporting United. And my shit nearly hit the fan when one of them yelled, "Worth it!" after Nani's red card.
Try to explain away a red card--I get it. The two footed studs up tackle seemed a straight red to me, but if I had been on the other end, I would've had my excuses all ready to go. But to decide that it was worth it to take out our captain--who seems invisible much of the time anyway--is displaying your ignorance. And had I thrown the dregs of my beer in your face, many probably would have applauded.
I get that we root for different teams up here. When we're all in for the Sounders, we're studs up, lining 'em up against the wall to shoot 'em. But us Prem fans are outnumbered. We've got few bars and we're likely to see each other again shortly. Do you really want to be the one telling me to suck an ummentionable-on-a-family-blog part of your anatomy when I run into you down the street at the taco truck--or when I see you in the ECS section at Qwest?
No, I'm not set to be your friend when I'm wearing sky blue and you're sporting Rooney across your back. But we all waited a bloody eleven hours to find out the results of this match. We didn't tackle your captain; we didn't commit numerous fouls that should've been yellows. We played some of the best football I've witnessed from the Villans this season, and we were a more than worthy opponent of yours. So just because you didn't witness the trouncing you were seeking doesn't mean you need to spend 90+ minutes talking shit and making excuses.
Leave that up to Fergie.