I went running today. I managed to injure myself. Yes, my very first sports injury! I tried to work out why. Was I running too fast? Too far? Or was it the high heels? I'm still not sure.
OK, it was at 7am (local time) and I was running to the nearest sports bar to watch Man City play QPR in the final game of the season. Yes, the sports bars are open 24 hours a day in Vegas. As I'm the only one reading this blog, I don't need to state that I'm a massive City fan. Or that if City won the game, they'd win the league. And spank ManUre in the process.
I spent most of the next 90 minutes in agony. Partly due to the foot, but mainly because of the football. City were ahead (yay), Barton got sent off (no surprises there), then QPR drew (oh no), then QPR scored again (nightmare). 90 minutes were up and United had won their game. A whole bunch of people were whooping and cheering because this meant that United had won the league. I wanted to punch them. They also referred to it as 'soccer', which made me want to punch them even harder.
But it was injury time in the City match. In more ways than one. And, bless them to bits, City went and scored two goals in their injury time. The look on Ferguson's face was priceless. I jumped up and down a lot in my injury time, and I'm ashamed to say that a bit of wee came out.
Football's not a matter of life and death - it's more important than that.
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