My Blood is Blue

I remember during the good old army days, I would travel the mile (from Khatib to Jurong West) to go home during weekday nights just to catch a midnight Champions League or FA Cup match. And in the process forgo sleep completely just to chase the first bus back to camp. When the weekends do arrive, the action begins. First, I had to do my best to convince my other half that there would be an important game coming up so we should go home early to catch it. Therefore movies need to start in the afternoon and dinner should not last more than 30 minutes. Shopping and other miscellaneous time consuming events should be postponed. Annoyed, she would point out that every game to me was important.

She has probably heard them all:
“Robben debuts in this match. He is so exciting to watch.”
“This game determines whether we can overtake Arsenal or not.”
“If we win it we would be in the next round of the FA Cup”
“We need to maintain our 11 point lead.”
“If we win this game it will be a new record.”

Unimpressed, she would mutter something about me being mentally unstable and that it is ridiculous how a football club on the other side of a globe could incite such reactions from me. She uses the classic statement of: “It doesn’t matter how much you support them. They don’t even know you exist.” I would reason with her in one word: Passion. The same feelings girls would feel at a Mango, Future State or Mphosis sale with 50% off selected items.

Of course, if the girl is busy for the weekend, no life-draining explanation and pacifying is required. I would have cancelled all other plans by noon and proceed to the nearby Shell station to stock up on junk food and drinks for the match. Pre-match rituals must be strictly observed to ensure a desirable outcome. A silent prayer to the Chelsea gods is compulsory. No sexual activities before the game. Definitely no toilet breaks during the match. And no channel surfing either.

If the game was won, a hearty drink is in order. I would scramble to the computer to go online and read the match reports, analyze match stats and the league table, check out my fantasy league performance and call up fellow fans for post-match congratulations.

Sometimes a game is lost, and moodiness sets in. I skip all online activities and proceed to call up fellow fans for some post-match bitching (especially when lost under controversial circumstances). The following day, I would avoid all newspapers because the press just loves to knock Chelsea when we’re down. My other half would then faithfully call in and try her best to console me. The rest of the work week just passes like a blur. Waking up everyday knowing Chelsea had lost a game was sickening. I had to endure Arsenal and Man U fans everywhere as they dance around me and taunt at every opportunity. Everything else seems so meaningless. Bosses question my reports and my lack of attention to detail. My lunch would always be tasteless. The world seemed so dark and grey. But all is well when the new weekend arrives for yet another Chelsea game to be all excited about.

Come on you Blues!