When we flew over here in 2006, me heavily pregnant surrounded by 3 boisterous boys and one mercurial teenager, there was a strange ritual going on around us in the airport.
Hoards of people stood frozen in previously bustling pedestrian traffic areas with their faces all turned zombie-like towards large screens placed throughout the terminal.
It was frustrating.
They were completely unaware of anything happening around them and stood firm like blocks of concrete for us to maneuver around.
Weirdos. freaks.
The scary thing was that whatever was possessing them seemed contagious, as perfectly normal-looking people would come to a complete stop, luggage and all, to stand with the masses.
That was July 1st. On the 10th of July, something happened that spread like wildfire through every pub, store and news program. We watched it over and over on every channel... a violent act performed that held our gazes like a horrific accident on a freeway.
My rocket-building, computer-nerdy husband caught it. He bought some tickets to attend one of their gatherings and it all went south from there.
There were more tickets, radio subscriptions to keep up with live updates, clothing with advertisements (to draw more unsuspecting souls) and special events held to include children. Children!
I let it happen. I did it because I had a new baby in the house and quite honestly was willing to pay just about any price for some quiet Saturday afternoons.
Only, Sexy Guy wasn't satisfied just indoctrinating the boys. He began taking my innocent little daughter. He called it "you time", a "time to scrapbook". I didn't see the signs then, despite it being so clear now.
He bought into their membership. Hundreds of pounds of our funds went in to supporting this "cult".
2009 he deployed to Iraq. He worried that he wouldn't be able to keep up with updates and news of his "second family" (yeah, going into war-- this is what he worried about). He worried about his membership and the kids' membership fees going to waste,
so I BLINDLY stepped into his shoes.
When did it happen?
It seemed so innocent, a game here, a game there and now I am one of those freaks that will turn down dinner invitations, birthday parties, baby showers etc... if they're scheduled during a home match.
I wear their garish colours-- even though I'm a winter and bright green and yellow do not become me.
The first clue that I had a problem was last weekend, when leaving an away game with soaking wet hat and gloves and completely numb toes, beaming ridiculously as I stated, "This was the best day ever!"
Why would a woman who has given birth to five healthy children declare an away match as "the best day ever?"
- It had something to do with being within a few feet of him... (their stadium doesn't hold 26,000 like ours and they let us stand right next to the pitch--camera welcomed!)
- A little more to do with the fact that we annihilated the team that made a laughing stock of us in the Autumn (which resulted in the sacking--firing-- of our then manager and a goal keeper that has never seen the pitch since). "Eeee I Eeee I Eeee I Oh, Up the football League we go. When we win the title, this is what we'll sing: 'We are Norwich, Super Norwich, Lambert is our king!'"
- It could've been the excitement of watching one of the opposing team supporters jump a fence and cross the pitch to get at us and our 1900+ supporters-- only to be forcefully taken down, face first in the mud by the police (po-po shut him down).
- Or it might've been because as we were leaving the flooded car park, we came upon him (dreamy guy) and another player.
We offered Simon a lift across the car park,even though there was no room in the car.
For a split second (or forty),
I was willing to put the kids out.
Yes,
this June/July I will be one of those zombie-like creatures with eyes glued to a screen. I doubt I'll see another Zinedine Zidane-type moment and I know I won't see Simon Lappin running his hairy, Scottish legs on the pitch, but it doesn't matter.
I've been brainwashed.
you're so clever jeri! waht a delightful post...those sorts of things are just bigger in the UK, aren't they?
ReplyDeletei mean, my hubby really, really likes college basketball and is just as avid a sports fan as your enxt man...but nothing like that...
that would be something very interesting to see.
good luck with wearing those colors :)
Oh yes. I can see how that happens. I love soccer too. But not as much as football. :)
ReplyDeleteYeah, having eye candy to watch makes it all that more exciting.
ReplyDeleteI got to attend an American MLS game in Tampa several years ago. We somehow managed to sit among the home team's families - learned a few new Spanish phrases - and have been hooked ever since to the real game of futbol.
ReplyDeleteHubs is a Leeds man.
Haaaaaaaa, oh I can SO relate. I didn't mind so much when hubby took the troops along on a Saturday to cheer on Fulham to play - it was within walking distance.
ReplyDeleteBut this is ridiculous, we live forty miles off the mainland now, between Liverpool and Ireland. Any excuse at all (the trauma of our goldfish dying was the last one) and off they trot on the ferry to go and cheer themselves up!
Love the way you write, thanks for making me laugh out loud.
HA! You've got it bad, girly. :D
ReplyDeleteSomehow I don't think you mind so much though. I enjoyed this. Hope you have a good weekend.
You didn't stand a chance, not when the players look like that!!
ReplyDeleteLast week I passed on the chance to watch my team play at Old Trafford. They were beaten 4-0! What consolation would wet hair and numb toes be?
ReplyDelete