Man, it feels good to wake up on a Sunday morning with no memory of any madcap activity from the night previous. Last weekend, however, things were very different indeed, yet we had good reason to celebrate.
You see, Scotland beat England at Rugby in the Six Nations Tournament and we don’t normally tend to win at anything in this country (since fundamentally we’re a nation of losers). If you live in the States you probably have no idea what Rugby Union is, suffice it to say that it’s like American Football but without all the padding and gayness.
Rugby, however, is a proper sport and not at all like the bastardised version played across the pond. It’s the last of the great blood sports (since boxing has become all too safe recently) and participants regularly break bones, lose teeth and tear ligaments in the name of entertainment. The only way Rugby could be made more interesting is if you released wild beasts onto the pitch, otherwise it’s a fine and perfect sport.
Rugby is also appreciated by civilised people and doesn’t attract the attention of fuckwits like its counterpart Football (aka ‘Soccer’ if you’re an illiterate American). The problem with British Football is that nothing actually happens. Basically, two teams of sissies will pass a ball backwards and forwards for 90 excruciating minutes. Every so often one of the sissies will pretend to have been kicked, at which point he will roll around on the ground and start crying until he is either stretchered off the field or wins a penalty. Very often games will finish on a nil-nil draw, at which point the crowd leave the stadium so frustrated and enraged that they go stab each other to death on the street for no reason other than one of them prefers the colour green over blue (or vice-versa).
Rugby, on the other hand, is action packed. Final scores are often as outlandish as 47-13 resulting in crowd satisfaction regardless of whether or not your team has won. Rival supporters tend to indulge in nothing more sinister than friendly banter. Nothing is more evident of this than when Welsh supporters travel up for a game. Most of them don’t even attend the match at Murrayfield and have only made the journey to get hammered and spend a weekend away from their wives or girlfriends.
Last weekend I almost managed to permanently lose my girlfriend. Having spent six long hours in my local pub celebrating victory I figured it might be a good idea to put something in my stomach other than alcohol. Melanie, however, had other ideas and had somehow got in tow with a crazy drunk lady that was hell-bent on plying her full of drink.
So I left at around 10 pm to get some edible comestibles, emphasising the importance to Melanie that she should get a cab when ready to come home. A number of bizarre telephone conversation followed over the next couple of hours - most of which surmounted to incomprehensible gibberish - until eventually, at around midnight, there was a cry for help through the earpiece of my mobile. Like a knight in shining armour I hotfooted it out the door in search of the drunken bitch.
And there she was, only several yards from the pub, lying in a puddle of purple vomit - no bag, bleeding nose and sporting some kind of peculiar Albert Einstein hair-groove.
After what seemed like an age, I finally managed to get her home (realising how suspicious it must have looked dragging a drunken girl up the road). That’s when she collapsed in my hall and started choking on more purple puke.
So I rolled her onto her side, phoned for an ambulance and waited.
Now, this was all fairly unusual for me, but not so for the paramedics. They regarded me as a moron for even bothering them with another drunk female at such a late hour, and instructed me to put her to bed in order to sleep it off.
Over the course of the next few days memories began to return to Melanie and we were able to conclude that nothing overly sinister took place other than her falling down drunk in a ditch. She was lucky. I mean, this can be a pretty crazy fucking town and there are all kinds of social retards just lurking around waiting for such an opportunity.
What is even more amazing is that someone returned her bag via the post with all the contents still present. This has truly restored my faith in humanity and has made me realise that there are still honest and good people out there - even in a town as crazy as this.
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