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| The look of a man that knows - Terry is with his bird. aka Bridgeface |
It’s been quite a year for the two of us since this:
http://cfc-jb.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/que-sera-sera.html
Your words seemed hollow when I consider the history we’ve had together, but I have to say, you’ve really worked hard to win me over - despite a few bumps along the way.
As always, you tried to woo me back in the heat of the summer by putting Chelsea into a group that seems fairly manageable. But by handing over groups to Manchester United and Barcelona that even an MLS team could beat was not really the way to go about winning me over. Realising your error in judgement, you really pulled one out. Unceremoniously passing on all of those minxes Manchester to your little brother - Europa League - was inspired.
Although, if we’re really thinking about doing this, I should mention that Europa League has been flirting with me pretty heavily. Not only did EL immediately also get rid of Manchester, and well, everyone else in England, but has also been flaunting the exotic locations that could be in my very near future. And not that I’m saying you should take a long hard look at yourself - but he doesn’t come as a package deal with ITV. Just a thought.
In recent years, I may have let myself go a little, started to get a little complacent about my appearance and made some changes - just for you - despite my better judgement. I added some serious volume to my hair, some glorious highlights and worked some Dolce and Gabanna on the touchline like nobody’s business. But you threw it all back in my face in Italy. And it is this very behaviour that makes me distrust you. Lessoning the pain by embarrassing those tarts in North London was your only saving grace. But instead of looking at you - I looked within and changed again. For you. Why? Because I want a big f*ck off shiny trophy!! Sometimes I’m not sure...
But when the draw happened, I was reliably informed that it was all simply a means to a swarthy Spanish end. There are 217 El Clasico’s a season - moving it to a new ground does not somehow make it a new fixture. I was ready to write you off. I thought you were being ridiculous. I know it’s really my fault you stuck me with Barcelona again. You like a little fight and between an angry German chasing the referee and a man who was so angry, he came back onto the pitch in his slippers! In his slippers!! Just so he could tell you you’re a f*cking disgrace - it would be hard not to turn it into a youtube rap video find that shocking hilarious endearing.
In interest of full disclosure, I did allow Kalou’s away goal to take me out for dinner and drinks. I mean, I couldn’t help myself. It was a moment of elated weakness. But we were on a break and may not have even been speaking if it weren’t for that goal. Plus, there’s not much you could say while you were allowing some itty bitty Argentinian to score a few goals against Leverkusen. I know it was to make me jealous - but you and I both know that I wasn’t really that bothered.
http://cfc-jb.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/messi-thats-entertainment.html
So, I agreed to your date in Barcelona despite my better judgement. Your promises of sun, sangria and patatas bravas was too much for me to resist. I nearly did not make it there. This of course had nothing to do with sun plus rum plus my belief that eating is cheating.
Anticipation really makes the, er, crescendo* all the better, but you almost took things too far. A penalty awarded against, two goals down, both starting centre backs out and leaving with only ten men on the pitch was slightly sadistic. Against the odds doesn’t really sum that up even when throwing in the fact we were against the ‘best club in the world’ round theirs. I shake my head at you, you cheeky little minx. Ramires goal was early enough for me to not get too ahead of myself. There was a lot of potential for us to be Overbo’d and f*cking disgraces to rear their ugly heads. I thought you might not like my back to basics style - I always thought you were all about the sexy bombshell rather than the girl next door... but I had to stay true to myself.
But I don’t even have words for the moment when those highlights found their way past the keeper. I’m not saying that the dizzying heights of *that* moment left me on my back staring up at my feet the sky - but you were there ... you know.**
So, I’m willing to give us another shot. I will accept your invitation to Germany. Play your cards right, and I’ll be happy to sample a little of your bratwurst.
See you in a few short weeks.
jb xx
* I know you, you little sauce pots. Get your minds out of the gutter.
** this may of course been due to excessive celebrations and a subsequent tumble down the stairs at Camp Nou, but whatever. Totally worth it.
********
Dear Twitter,
I know you’ve been enjoying this love affair more than an Eastenders Christmas special. It’s definitely had a lot more drama and questionable acting. Not saying that Drogba is the culprit here, but apparently, you don’t need to be a great actor to effectively stifle some Spaniards and their sense of entitlement. However, I digress. You need to make this date happen. Yes, you. Travel arrangements have been made - but a ticket is the trick. I’m sure you’ll want to see me tumble down the stairs at Allianz Arena.
Make it happen. I’m counting on you!
jb xx xx <-- that’s right, double kisses for finding me a ticket.
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