Postovi
Arsenal
Lagano dolazi
vrijeme kada prestaje bit slatko glumit da si dijete. vidim to, jer znam mnoge
ljude koji nikad nisu prestali, i znam gdje i kako lome granice, i zato
znam, došlo je i moje vrijeme. a nisam uopce sigurna da mi se to svida. ono...
vrijeme je da pocnem snosit odgovornost za svoje postupke i za sebe, da
reciiimo nadem posao, ono... odrastem. i ta sranja. vec vidim da mi se nece
dat. ne, ovo nece biti neki duboki znacajni post o zivotu i odrastanju. samo
nabacih par misli.
U meduvremenu obnovih clanstvo u Arsenalu. (nogometni klub) prestale mi dolazit
Wengerove poruke, tako nisam vidila ni onu o Kovacu, a to bi sigurno bilo
zanimljivo :) tako da sam pokusala negdi iskopat stari username i password, sto
naravno nije islo, i onda sam napravila nove. a stos :) sad cu sve traceve prva
znat :) hehe :) uostalom, iako mail vjerojatno pise wengerov sin ili posilni
ili neka vrsta kucnog roba, ipak se osjecas kul (ako si psiho kao ja) kad vidis
da ti pise Arsene Wenger :D iskopala sam jedan prastari članak o njemu, čini mi
se 98, 99, kad je tek počinjao. Nisam sigurna jer, iako se u člnaku spominju
neke utakmice, ja ih ne pamtim :) jedina utakmica koje se iole sjećam je Real
Madrid - Manchester United mislim 3 – 0 a moguce i 3 – 1, ali ne 2003, nego
prije. Ono što se neslužbeno može računat kao početak kraja Man Utd-a. Eh to su
bila vremena :D mislim da sam još išla u srednju, i negdi usput sam čula da je
real dao 3 gola... ono... WHAM! To je bilo nešto nakon što je Manchester
naručio zlatne dresove za gostovanje, a uskoro su se potpuno izgubili po trećem
četvrtom i petom mjestu na tablici. Trenutno su treći, Arsenal je drugi, a
Chelsea prvi. Ma koliko bi bilo suuuper da je Arsenal prvi, Chelsea je klub
koji zaslužuje masu poštovanja, jer čak i u vrijeme kad je Manchester bio klub
kojeg su svi obožavali i kad je na listi bio toliko ispred svih da se drugima
nije niti dalo igrat, Chelsea bi ih redovito satrao. So, respect :) dakle, ovo
neće biti neko vrelo podataka, jer godine, mjesta na tablici, rezultati (sve
što ima veze s brojevima) bježi iz moje glave brzinom svjetlosti. Tuzno ali
istinito. Što sam ono tila reć? A da. Članak. Neću prevodit sve, jer neke
stvari danas nisu ni bitne, ali ću ipak stavit navodnike :) :
«Arsene Wenger. Ime koje je dolazilo od
nigdje ali je ipak imalo poznat zvuk. Glen Hoddle I Mark Hateley su pričali
sjajne stvari o njemu dok je bio u Monaku. Nešto prije nego što je došao u
Arsenal promovirali su ga kao budučeg tehničkog direktora u FA, ali nakon šoka
otpuštanja Bruce Riocha došao je još veći šok, (i najgore čuvana tajna u
povijesti nogometa) Arsene Wenger postati će novi manager Arsenala. Kao igrač
prošao je klubove kao
e sad, knjiga
koja mi je definitivno top 10 od sviiih knjiga koje sam ikad pročitala je
Nogometna groznica (koju mislim da sam krivo prevela u jednom prijašnjem postu)
i sad sam je skinila s neta i zalipit ću vam ovdi dio... ako želite sve, imate
knjižnicu, knjižaru, ili mene (nažalost otvara se u wordu, .rtf, što meni
osobno ide jako na živce, al dooobrooo. Nije nužno potrebno da navijate za
Arsenal, niti da znate išta o nogometu, da bi pročitali ovu knjigu, ali će vam
u svakom slučaju bit bolja ako imate ikakvu opsesiju koju bezrazložno i
slučajno njegujete cijeli život.
Nick Hornby –
Fever Pitch
A TRIVIAL
PURSUIT
ARSENAL v MANCHESTER CITY
24.2.81
I got lost
around this time, and stayed lost for the next few years. Between one home game
(against Coventry) and the next (a midweek game against Manchester City), I
split up with my girlfriend, all the things that had been rotting away inside
me for who knows how many years oozed out for the first time, I started my
teaching practice in a difficult west London school, and Arsenal got a draw at
Stoke and a beating at Forest. It was strange to see the same players trotting
out that evening as they had trotted out three weeks before: I felt that they
should have had the decency to reinvent themselves, accept that the faces and
physiques and shortcomings they had had in the Coventry game belonged to
another period entirely.
If there had been a match every weekday evening and
weekend afternoon I would have gone, because the games acted as punctuation
marks (if only commas) between bleak periods, when I drank too much and smoked
too much and weight fell off me gratifyingly quickly. I remember this one so
clearly simply because it was the first of them – they all began to merge into
each other a little after this; Lord knows nothing much happened on the pitch,
apart from Talbot and Sunderland trundling in a couple of goals.
But football had taken on yet another meaning now,
connected with my new career. It had occurred to me – as I think it occurs to
many young teachers of a similar ilk – that my interests (football and pop
music in particular) would be an advantage in the classroom, that I would be
able to “identify” with “the kids” because I understood the value of the Jam
and Laurie Cunningham. It had not occurred to me that I was as childish as my
interests; and that although, yes, I knew what my pupils were talking about
most of the time, and that this gave me an entree of sorts, it didn’t help me
to teach them any better. In fact the chief problem I had – namely, that on a
bad day there was uproarious mayhem in my classroom – was actually exacerbated
by my partisanship. “I’m an Arsenal fan,” I said in my best groovy teacher
voice, as a way of introducing myself to some difficult second years. “Boo!” they
replied, noisily and at great length.
On my second or third day, I asked a group of third
years to write down on a piece of paper their favourite book, favourite song,
favourite film and so on, and went around the class talking to them all in turn.
This was how I discovered that the bad boy at the back, the one with the mod
haircut and the permanent sneer (and the one, inevitably, with the biggest
vocabulary and the best writing style), was completely consumed by all things
Arsenal, and I pounced. But when I had made my confession, there was no meeting
of minds, or fond, slow-motion embrace; instead, I received a look of utter
contempt. “You?” he said. “You? What do you know about it?”
For a moment I saw myself through his eyes, a pillock
in a tie with an ingratiating smile, desperately trying to worm my way into
places I had no right to be, and understood. But then something else – a rage
born out of thirteen years of Highbury hell, probably, and an unwillingness to
abandon one of the most important elements of my self-identity to chalky,
tweedy facelessness – took over, and I went mad.
The madness took a strange form. I wanted to grab
that kid by his lapels and bang him against the wall, and yell at him, over and
over again, “I know more than you ever will, you snotty little fuckwit!” but I
knew that this was not advisable. So I spluttered for a few seconds, and then
to my surprise (I watched them as they spewed forth) a torrent of quiz questions
gushed out of me. “Who scored for us in the ’69 League Cup Final? Who went in
goal when Bob Wilson got carried off in 72 at Villa Park? Who did we get from
Spurs in exchange for David Jenkins? Who … ?” On and on I went; the boy sat
there, the questions bouncing off the top of his head like snowballs, while the
rest of the class watched in bemused silence.
It worked, in the end – or at least, I managed to
convince the boy that I was not the man he had taken me for. The morning after
the Manchester City game, the first home game following my trivia explosion,
the two of us talked quietly and cordially about the desperate need for a new
midfield player, and I never had any trouble with him for the remainder of my
practice. But what worried me was that I hadn’t been able to let it go, that
football, the great retardant, hadn’t let me act like a grown-up in the face of
a young lad’s jibe. Teaching, it seemed to me, was by definition a job for
grown-ups, and I appeared to have got stuck somewhere around my fourteenth
birthday – stuck in the third year, in fact.
Objavio Rea u 12. travanj 2005 13:14:00
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