Dan Kay is a member of London’s only non-league football firm, Wingate Wide Boys, and has been a little depressed recently. So on the advice of firm leader, Big T, he has been keeping a diary to help organise his thoughts. Here is his second entry:
We were having a few pre-game drinks at the Tavern and I was getting the usual round of five pints of Carling. But the barmen brought me over four pints of Carling and a Stella in one of those fancy glasses.
“That’s £18.52, Dan”.
I thought about saying something but he looked busy so I gave him the money anyway.
“What’s going on with that glass, Dan? Don’t you normally drink Carling?” Dave said when I got back to the table.
“I just fancied a change”, I replied.
Then they all watched me as I took a swig, but I don’t really like Stella so I think I made a face but they didn’t say anything.
“Is Big T coming today?” I asked.
“No,” Wazza said, “He’s visiting his brother in law in the Belmarsh with the wife”.
I thought about meeting Big T and his misses at Belmarsh but then you probably needed to be registered as a visitor and I didn’t know the procedure so I didn’t go.
It was 2:30 and we got up to leave for the game. "You not finishing your pint, Dan?"
"No, no", I said, then hurried out saying that I needed a fag.
We were at home to Harrow Borough and the African lad put us 1-0 up but then the ref gave them a penalty 15 minutes later.
“Ref! You wanker!” Dave shouted.
Then the other lads started chanting “Who’s the wanker in the black!?” but he wasn’t wearing black, he was wearing some kind of neon yellow, but I didn’t want to mention it so I joined in, “Who’s the wanker in the black?! Who’s the wanker in the black!?”
But as we chanted and their number 10 stepped up to take the penalty I realised that it didn’t matter how much we shouted, the ref wasn’t going to change his mind. That the decision had been made and there was no going back. That no matter how much you want something the universe is indifferent and doesn’t care about your desires and it was selfish to think otherwise. And I realised that time will always continue and just leave us all behind like a unwanted pint on a pub table.
Then their number 10 put it in the bottom corner, wrong footing Smithy.
“Who’s the wanker in the black!? Who’s the wanker in the black!?”
“I’m just going for a slash,” I said and I went to the toilet and locked myself in the cubical. There was some graffiti scribbled on the wall which just read “Why?” with lots of doodles of dicks around it. I thought about adding to it but didn't know what to write. I could have drawn another dick maybe, but I didn't have a pen.
When I headed back up to the stand we were 3-1 up and I stopped thinking about the universe until I got home and noticed that battery in the clock needed changing.
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