Last night, I was finishing up a bit of volunteering for a local organization that helps school kids learn to write scripts. The program culminates in a staged reading at the end of the seven-week mentoring period, and that`s where I come in. I`m an actor, and I love these Big Shows, as they call them. I get to take these great little scripts - most of them about haunted houses, vampires, and bullies - and bring them to life for the kids. Then afterwards, all the actors and mentors head to a local Hollywood restaurant that has a tremendous beer selection -- loads of it on draught. And because it`s a bunch of actors and writers, the conversation is always good, the women are lovely, and the evening generally is a good one. However, because I had to show up at this engagement at 4pm, I was unable to watch the Sunderland-Villa game (on delay) beforehand, having instead recorded the match to watch it later.
I hear what you`re saying: what`s the big deal? Enjoy the beer and lovelies; watch the game when you get home. And you`d be right if I were single and childless. But I`m not single and my children get up at 6am. So I`m sitting there, tucking into some pizza and my truly excellent Trois Pistoles Ale, trying to ascertain how quickly and politely I can make an exit so I can get home to watch the match before my now-ridiculously-early bedtime. (I was home by 8:30, for what it`s worth. Made an excuse about needing to get home to the wife because she`d had a bad day, or something like that.) But this felt like another one of those moments where I can point to my behavior with respect to this team and say, unequivocally, that I am an addict.
But I`d say leaving was a sacrifice worth making. Could`ve gone either way, honestly - something I certainly kicked back and forth in my head as I considered whether or not I should bother with watching it last night at all. I didn`t really think we`d win, and a draw was pretty damn good, if you ask me. Villa could have been ahead many, many times but for our Scotsman between the sticks. And it`s really brilliant to see Richardson suddenly playing back to the form he is capable of. In fact, the only player I felt was rather off was Cattermole, who didn`t seem to be able to pass it to a teammate too terribly often.
On a side note, can we all agree that there appears to be gross inconsistency in refereeing in the Premiership? (Thank you, Captain Obvious.) Florent Malouda`s challenge at Pompey this week that put Ricardo Rocha in the hospital with a fractured cheekbone was just slightly more egregious than the red card that put our Michael Turner on the bench for four games (post-appeal attempt). But Malouda got a booking, and two goals.
What. The. Fuck?
I don`t like Pompey, but I certainly feel for them after watching the travesty called Lee Mason presiding over one of the most obviously biased performances on the part of a referee this season. Embarrassing.
And speaking of embarrassing, 36,241 people in Seattle tonight watching the Sounders beat up on a truly horrible new Philadelphia Union team. Some of the worst football I`ve seen in a long, long time. Slow, amateurish, mind-numbing. Freddie Ljungberg just waddled off. How far the mighty have fallen.
Would Sunderland (the city) do me a little favor and build a movie studio at the old Vaux site so I could come there and be an actor? I won`t take up much space and I promise I`ll not crawl up my own arse and forget the little people. Think about it.
In the meantime, I`m down to the same local to watch Liverpool on Sunday. I may meet up with a recent Sunderland transplant to Los Angeles, so at the very least I`ll have backup this time if I start mouthing-off.
Ha`way the Lads!
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