Silver(ware) Lining

Today, the mighty Spurs (TM - me?) won the League Cup for the first trophy since 1999 (also the League Cup). We beat Arsenal and Chelsea to do so. I got up after five hours' sleep and a minging hangover* and trudged to the Official Home of the New York Spurs Supporters' Club in Brooklyn Heights** with a wary heart. I was (and still am) wearing my Spurs top from when I was mascot, aged eleven.*** And we won. Somehow, we won. This may mean nothing to you, but it was fabulous.

It was a wonderful, brutish reminder of watching sport in England. We did not cover ourselves in glory - the "imaginative" insults I remember fondly when at baseball matches ("Yankees suck; You suck" - not exactly inspiring) were, essentially, variations on "you adjective c-word" (fat and fucking being the favourite adjectives"), you wanker, etc. It was pretty revolting. Yet, it was home. It smelled like it - beer everywhere, and the smokers outside were in sufficient number that their stench filled the bar. Not something I'd want to do every week, but it was joyous, briefly.

* Bought a friend a frozen margarita maker - best present ever. Seriously. Look at it - it's BEAUTIFUL.

** I think. I find Brooklyn neighbourhoods so confusing.

*** Passed the ball around with Gazza and got dubbed Gary Lineker's "lucky mascot" - by the grinning eejit himself. We won 2-1.

Coming Home to Roost

I am a big fat coward, I reckon; very frightened of physical pain (the CIA would have no trouble getting any information it wanted out of me, no need to pay for a flight to Afghanistan). Moreover, I am scared of getting in trouble. I don't know if it's being raised by natural authority figures (teachers) or what, but I hate getting in trouble. It makes me shifty and prepared to give up all and sundry to avoid censure (there goes that whole "Leos are loyal" theory). Hence I think these Iranian women are utterly amazing and brave: Facing their oppressors head on, despite the well-placed fear of arrest and injustice. Makes you wonder whether you'd have the courage in a similar situation.

From the chicken in me to many of them coming home to roost. Colorado, due to its harsh new immigration rules, is having to turn to prisoners to maintain their agriculture. My particular favourite idea comes from someone in the project saying the merit of a hard day’s work outdoors was invaluable to an inmate. Yes, I'm sure they'll love it, particular as they'll probably get paid about a quarter of what the work is worth, and as soon as they leave prison they won't be employed by the same farmers, due to being ex-convicts. Priceless to an inmate indeed. I think people forget what an agrarian culture so much of the US still is, and how crackdowns on immigration are really going to paralyse large parts of this country, particularly huge economies like California's. You're just not going to get "real Americans" prepared to work such hard, miserable days for so little cash...

Enough ranting. Time to settle down and watch the Mighty Spurs (TM) mess up at West Ham again. Grand.

UPDATE: Currently 2-0 down, the second to a free kick that shouldn't have existed because it wasn't a foul. It's not going to be our day - their keeper has come up with the most ridiculous saves and nothing's going our way at all. Bugger.

UPDATE: Yikes. Somehow, despite trailing 3-2 with five mins to go, we won. Brilliant resilience, tragedy for West Ham (and if previous results brought about this editorial, what can the abused women of the world expect from tomorrow's Newham Recorder? Hard to imagine). Shame it couldn't go on all day - instead I actually have to do some work.

This week in Grace

I have moaned incessantly about my exams.

I have started the second book in the very cheesily named The Baroque Cycle by Neal Stephenson, which is sold horribly on its backcover, but is an interesting account of European politicks around the end of the 17th century, tying in the feud between Leibniz and Newton, which is a lethal combination as far as I'm concerned. It's silly, but I'm utterly loving it.

I have also taken to listening to a greal deal of John Legend, the Future Sound of London, and Underworld as it's exam time... the latter two because they are classic working music, the former because it's utterly soothing to my miserable brow.

That's about it, really.

Oh, I have watched the mighty Spurs try to reclaim some of their dignity after the thrashing at the hands of Arsenal last week. And I shall be watching the Arsenal-Chelsea game tomorrow with a great deal of interest.

And ignored the pain in my heart that comes from the cricket.

What Have You Done Today?

Me, I have not saved a life, done anything constructive in terms of helping anyone.

BUT I have written a first draft of my Note. Excluding footnotes, 6,927 words. Yikes. With footnotes, 9,502. That's a lot of footnoting.

I have also witnessed the wonder that is Spurs finally beating Chelsea after 27 fruitless attempts in the League. The guy who scored our goal was four months old the last time we beat them in the league, apparently. Joyfully timewarner decided to go all flickering/can't see what's going on in the last ten minutes during the Chelsea onslaught on goal... but we held out. With a fair bit of luck, it must be said, but we've been lacking that of late, so no grumbling here.

I have also had a teeny weeny injury scare that absolutely terrified me. I don't even know how I got the ankle knock, but it was horrible. I am a physical coward, it turns out, surprising absolutely no one.

Having exhausted myself on the draft, I am now incapable of mustering anything like wit for this entry. But I am, finally, feeling a bit happier. Lychee martinis most definitely earned...

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Stadium...

I hope my father, brother, and extended paternal family will forgive me for this, but it's rare in this life that I have to cling onto an affiliation with Aston Villa in order to have some level of sporting happiness during the weekend. Nevertheless, that is what I have been reduced to, with Spurs losing to a team with ten men at home, Wednesday losing to Dirty Leeds (and getting one of their mere two keepers suspended for three games in the process), and Carlisle, despite having about twenty shots on goal, failing to beat ten man Oldham. In doing so, Villa won two games in a row for the first time in nine months. That's how unlikely this situation is, and yet here we are. Luckily, the Mets won yesterday, so things could be even stranger.

I am getting old. This morning has been spent cleaning the flat, doing the washing, sorting out my wardrobe (hanging things, rearranging drawers, that sort of stuff) and listening to sport (via t'internet, so I'm still technologically friendly rather than phobic) and I have really, really enjoyed it. I have also been planning what soft furnishings etc. are needed for the house.

When did this happen? And when did I give permission for it to happen?