A New Day

So I've decided that its time I did some serious soul searching. I keep looking back on the past five years with a feeling of hesitation. Traveling with my pack of hooligans in the streets before and after matches pumped some serious high octane energy into my static, stale, stillwater life, but times change. I remember cleaning the blood off my childhood aluminum Easton baseball bat for the first time and recalling how that metal shaft always sounded the same when it struck something whether it be someone's skull or a baseball. *ting*. I began writing this blog because I didn't want to keep a journal around the house. Writing has caused me to see the errors of my ways. My only choice now is to head out on the road alone. Completely alone without the guidance of anyone. I had to figure out once and for all what life was all about. Most things we cherish are fake social constructions.

When I was a kid my friend and I would have sleep overs playing video games for hours or telling each other how we would decide to divide our riches once we became rich. My family lived in a low income housing complex and the walls were unbelievably thin. If someone was having a good time on the other side we would know it. During the night we would hear a women that, we thought, was writhing in ecstasy in bed with her lover. My friend and I would masturbate quietly listening to what we thought was the sounds of proper lovemaking. My family knew the women next door and she was a stunner. I almost fainted one night when my parents told me that Lisa, the screamer next door, had died. She was awaiting a request for an adequate organ donor and nothing had come in time. Those late night shrieks were the worst suffering in the world and I sat there imagining it to be sounds of the greatest pleasure. All that separated us was a god damn wall.

The video that I embedded in my last post was when my obsession with football began. I think it was the third or fourth game I had seen since moving to Liverpool from upstate New York. I was still calling "the beautiful game" game soccer at this point and I was only interested in going so that I could mingle with my work colleagues. It's funny how when you go into something your unsure of, with little or no expectations, life usually decides to throw something heavy at you. I remember Steve explaining to me the circumstances of the match, but I was only half interested, nodding my head here and there, trying to convey I understood clearly everything he was saying. He gave me a funny look at half-time when I emphatically shook his shoulders demanding he explain everything to me again. He gave me a funny look. That face will be forever etched in my mind because now I know what it meant. It was the precise moment that I realized what football was all about; unadulterated passion. The atmosphere in the crowd that night was absolutely hypnotizing. When the last goal was scored the entire stadium erupted in a massive cathartic explosion unlike anything I had ever seen. It was a powerful, almost religious experience. After the game finished I noticed Steve slip quietly away from the rest of us without saying anything. I tried to follow him, but someone else we were with grabbed me and shook his head. I complied, but for the rest of the week I dogged Steve with intrusive questions without any regard. He knew he had to tell me. Because of that one night my life changed forever and I was soon to be initiated in one of the top football firms in the world. To be honest I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I couldn't have cared less.

A Happy Reflection

Slippery Slope

The taste of water reminds me of pills. I stopped taking my medication years ago, but whenever I fill up a glass late at night or early in the morning my throat muscles twitch half expecting something else to slide down my esophagus. With age comes the realization that drugs are everywhere. Not just in tiny capsules, but also in our habits, our daily routines, our friends, our lives. My week wasn't getting any better and drugs were all I could think about. A midweek loss at the Emirates leaves our season in shambles. A fourth place finish is seeming more unlikely as each fixture passes. No one spoke on the drive home and for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about my wife who, at some point in my life, was a drug I indulged in, but, like my interest in other drugs of the past, has faded with the unfair hand of time. Or had it completely?

AWW FUCK

The lads and I were on our way to the London for the midweek scrap between 'Pool and Aresenal (or the fuckin' gooners as there often referred to in the Mersey) when all of a sudden our car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Are you fuckin' kidding me? Nothing's been going right for me lately. I feel like I just hit the woodwork from inside the six yards box.

Last night I called my wife to tell her that I wouldn't be coming home and I heard a man's voice in the background and I felt something that I hadn't felt in a very long time. Such a long time that I couldn't really figure out what it was. My personal sentiments are far too distant to identify right now. Was she cheating on me? Who was the guy? I don't even care. I'm on my own pursuit to happiness and I have no right to question her choices at this point. I haven't exactly been gracious during the past five years. Or ten. So is sleeping next to my smelly, greasy friend in a cheap hotel where I want to be right now? I want to say yes....... but I don't think so.

The Super Bowl

Super bowl sunday! To be honest I couldn't give two shits. When I lived in the states it was considered the ultimate sin by most to miss the game. A conglomeration of shameless advertisements that anyone with a brain would consider insulting. That's how I felt about it. Oh and that one jackass who demands everyone be quiet during the commercials. The thought of dealing with that again just pisses me off.

Another Fast Weekend

The reds swept through a sluggish Bolton Wanderers side this past weekend which was reason enough for celebration. For the lads or lasses reading this who are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about exactly then find out for yourself. I'd bet some of you would catch the bug, as I have, and who knows, it might do you bloody well. Maybe one day well pass each other outside a fixture or maybe one day I'll stick my boot up your arse.

After the match my mates and I went to the pub to celebrate the victory. This pub, which I shall not reveal the name of, but instead will call Harry's for fuck sake, is where the boys meet before and after the games to grease their gears and loosen their bolts. After drinking enough to satisfy my Irish blood I headed out of Harry's to smoke my pipe and start my ponderous walk home. I'll have to call my home something else because it's no home to me. It hasn't been for as long as I can remember. I wonder if it really ever was or if I just wanted it to be? For fucks sake I sound like a wanker. Surprisingly my wife wasn't home when I arrived back. I assumed she was at her sisters with Peter Jr. gossiping about things that would most likely make me arrange my pub dinner on the floor in a mushy mess. Damn, that little bugger shouldn't be exposed to such non sense. Looks like I'll have to make a man out of him sooner than I thought. He's only four, but I bet the boys would like him. He can get dressed on his own and he can use the bathroom all by himself. That's more than I can say for some of my mates after a good nights drinking.