seany t
President
I was talking to my boss today who failed to convince his wife to come with him and watch the Chelsea vs Liverpool CL match last night, as she thought it'd be a 'dull game'. But it reminded me of my own experiences when trying to convince the better half of what makes going to the football so great.
I foolishly have tried twice now, and the two occasions couldn't have been more vastly different weather wise. The first was on a blisteringly sunny day when SUFC were doing relatively well in League One. It was fairly full (the first problem as my girlfriend suffers a bit from claustrophobia) but the game was fairly limp. She left with sun burn and a sense of guilt that she hadn't really enjoyed it given that I'd forked out £35 for the two of us.
The second time I dragged her along was over the Christmas period and we sat up in the South upper. It was RIDICULOUSLY cold, with a wind that felt like a knife made out of ice was hacking away at your skin. She sat moaning throughout (understandably), consuming hot chocolate faster than they could make it downstairs and the game was absolutely dire. It was one of those 0-0 against Bournemouth kind of games.
She and I have now decided that we both have a far better time when I am at Roots Hall, and she is not. She'll occasionally bend an ear to see how we get on (eg. when we're on TV), but otherwise she is very much a begrudging football widow.
How about you guys and gals?
I foolishly have tried twice now, and the two occasions couldn't have been more vastly different weather wise. The first was on a blisteringly sunny day when SUFC were doing relatively well in League One. It was fairly full (the first problem as my girlfriend suffers a bit from claustrophobia) but the game was fairly limp. She left with sun burn and a sense of guilt that she hadn't really enjoyed it given that I'd forked out £35 for the two of us.
The second time I dragged her along was over the Christmas period and we sat up in the South upper. It was RIDICULOUSLY cold, with a wind that felt like a knife made out of ice was hacking away at your skin. She sat moaning throughout (understandably), consuming hot chocolate faster than they could make it downstairs and the game was absolutely dire. It was one of those 0-0 against Bournemouth kind of games.
She and I have now decided that we both have a far better time when I am at Roots Hall, and she is not. She'll occasionally bend an ear to see how we get on (eg. when we're on TV), but otherwise she is very much a begrudging football widow.
How about you guys and gals?