Mr Chelsea 1997

Its seems that I dont need to travel to find trouble any more.

It finds me.

Turns out that my "soak-du-jour" is an ardent, season ticket holding Chelsea fan.

And a bit of a bowsie, at least in a previous life...

Just to explain- I could not give a farty fuck about soccer, except when Ireland are playing, and even then, its only an excuse for a few pints and maudlin singing when we (almost always) lose.

We play sports made for Real Men, that produce real passion, blood, and keep the already overworked intensive care units of our hospitals busy.

Anyhoo- this boy bored told me of his exploits as a lifelong Chelsea fan, travelling the U.K. and the world, giving the English the bad name that they dont always deserve.

(At this point, my Republican Alter-Ego kicks in, literally, going "What the FUCK are you saying, you new age FREAK!?!?)

He claims he holds a place in the Guinness Book Of Infamy for the fastest kicking out of the old Wembley Stadium, which coincided with di Matteos fastest goal (42 seconds, its said)

Do I give a fuck?

Was he at the greatest hurling final ever, Kilkenny vs Waterford, when grown men were reduced to tears at the clinical brutality, the bravery of a Waterford team who, despite being machine-gunned to defeat, played on, while the Kilkenny cyborgs danced thro the game with cyborg precision?

No, he fucking was not.

He knows nothing of sport, just boozing and fighting.

Just one more reason to dislike, and pity, the English.