Matchday

The other morning I was lying about in bed awake. Sometimes I lie there looking at my curtains before getting up. They're light green and have crazy little shapes all over them. As usual, the sun was pretty high in the sky by the time I'd woken up, so the curtains had a nice little glow. My phone bleeped and after a while I rolled over and checked the message. It was Doug.

It read- '3pm. Seven Bells. Don't be a mug'

He was trying to persuade me to go to the World cup match later that afternoon. I'd threatened not to go.

I rolled back and looked at the curtains.

I don't like football. Never have.

Doug knows this.

So as I mentioned, in the last few minutes of the last game, standing in the pub with Doug and Jon, packed in, bored, I said

'I can't be fucked with this again next week'

Jon looked at me slowly and said 'what?'

Jon rarely shows any kind of emotion. His face, like his body, remains mostly flaccid, even when he's very irritated, as he was at that moment. I can only remember one real tantrum, when he lost his pot down a crack in my sofa, and then he sometimes loses his rag when I beat him at video games, but otherwise he'll rarely seem anything other than very stoned.

With football however, it's different. In any photo I've ever seen of Jon as a child, he was wearing a football kit. Quite often his Dad was as well. It's that sort of thing. Football also gives him and Doug a precious common ground that more or less holds their friendship together.

Before he could say anything more the whistle went and the pub broke out into song and cheer.


I got bored of the curtains, got up and started to get ready.

-

Later that afternoon I got to the pub before the game started and the place was already packed out. There was a think crowd at the bar shouting for service and another already facing the big screen as the players came out onto the pitch. A group of lads over near the toilets were chanting and everybody else was speaking at full volume to make themselves heard. The voice of the TV commentator boomed out over all this racket.

I spotted Doug and Jon over near the back facing a smaller TV and squeezed through to them. Doug said hello, handed me a pint and turned back to the screen.

I took a swig from my beer and looked around. I recognised quite a few people, being my local, then I saw Mike. He was standing near us, looking up at the screen.

I'd met Mike when I did a day's work in the depot. He'd told me he'd been in prison and I thought he was a bit cocky at first but after working together I got to like him. I went over to say hello.

'Hello mate' he said grabbing my hand. 'we're gonna fucking kill em eh!'

He looked me straight in the face.

'Yeah' I said.

'That team' he said pointing up to the line of players on the screen, 'fucking strong'

'awesome' I said

Then he started on about the last game, defence positions, tactics and then the main striker. He did all the talking.

'That goal' he said finally and shook his head in awe.

'brilliant' I added.

It looked like the game was about to start so we turned back towards the screen. The cheering quietened down for a few seconds as our two forwards stood over the ball ready to kick off, and then, once the first kick was made, the noise doubled in volume.

As I watched the first ten minutes I tried really hard to get into it. I tried to feel the excitement. I tried to care, but didn't. It's hard to turn that situation around. From not caring to caring. To stop caring is pretty easy, or at least to pretend to stop caring.

I kept my eyes on the screen and took a sip from my beer roughly every five seconds. Mostly I just felt uncomfortable.

Someone had a shot and missed.

'oohhh' cried mike, looking at me, 'fuckin belter'

'awesome' I said with a big grin.

I was aware that Doug and Jon were just behind us and that should they witness this show of gutless hypocracy I'd never hear the end of it.

A long cross dropped into the box and an unpopular midfielder miss-headed it well over the goal.

'Youuuu CUNT' Mike shouted and everyone around started laughing, including Doug and Jon. They had probably noticed me talking to Mike but were too hopelessly engrossed in the game to care.

A long pass floated forward into the box and one of our players had a shot which was deflected back out, then another, then another. Each attempt sent the crowd into brief vocal spasms and the whole pub stuttered until the ball came to our top scorer and he placed it into the goal.

Everybody around us jumped in the air and exploded in cheer. Mike turned and looked me square in the eye, his face was contracted into something between a grin and a grimace.

'YESSSSS' he shouted, holding out two lock-tight fists.

I tried my best to look ecstatic, overcome, joyous. I made a little pretend jump and pushed my elbows out to the side. I mouthed a little silent 'yes' and kept a grin on my face.

It must of been convincing enough because Mike clapped his arm on my shoulder and started cheering. I could hear Doug and Jon singing along behind me as well.

Time to leave I thought.

'Back in a bit' I said as things settled down. I walked back towards the bar, passed through the crowd in front of it and out of the main door and onto the street.

I walked off quickly, being careful not to be seen though the pub windows. Once I was some way down the high street, the noisy pub behind me, I noticed that there was nobody around. No-one.

No cars either.

The high street was empty. Almost silent. It was quite a contrast let me tell you.

I carried on along the high street, slowing my pace. I started to feel quite relaxed actually. I stretched out my arms and swung them around a few times.

After a while, seeing as there were no cars, I decided to step off the pavement and walk in the road. As I reached the white lines at the top of the camber I decided to walk in the middle of the road for as long as possible.

I looked down the high street and up the hill and saw nothing. Turning around to look the other way past the pub I saw it was equally quiet. Walking slowly, I looked down at the no-mans-land tarmac in front of my feet. It was quite clean actually, and soft.

The high street seemed wider than usual from the middle. Some of the shops were open but I didn't feel that any of the shop keepers could see me, and there wasn't one shopper to be seen.

Still walking slowly, I started to slalom the white lines running through the middle of the road. Then after a while I pigeon stepped on them and jumped from one to another. At one point I stopped, stood dead still and asked myself:

'I wonder if anyone has ever sat down, here, in the middle of the road, in the middle of the high street, in the middle of the afternoon.'

I thought probably not.

The tarmac felt warm on my hand as I lowered myself down. I crossed my legs under myself. I was facing back down towards the pub and took a nice long deep breath while looking around. The pub was way off in the distance and I couldn't hear any cheering at all. There wasn't much else to see really. This high street is fairly typical, and therefore not very interesting. On one side of me was a low-price supermarket, a hairdressers and the big pound shop that used to be a department store. On the other side were two charity shops, the post office and a nail salon.

It was a nice sunny day though so I sat there for a while admiring the view until I heard the drone of an oncoming car further along the road. It appeared on the high street so I got up and walked back over to the pavement. It filled the high street with noise as it flew past. The driver was probably trying to get somewhere in time for the second half.

I walked off home quite pleased with my little escape. It'd be hard to think of a good excuse for the others but it was definitely worth it. Good stuff.