So I had a miserable weekend. And as anticipated, the moment the final whistle blows, unwelcome text messages poured in from rival fans. Their intention was of course, to pile in more misery and nothing more.
This season alone I’ve lost count of the heartache I had to endure. If witnessing your team came out second best isn’t excruciating enough, you have asshole friends who are more than happy to stab a few more daggers up your already wounded heart.
Still, I’m proud to be a G.
But unlike always when I took every defeat in stride like real man usually does, this time I decided to try the method that chics normally go for when sorrow comes a knocking- shopping.
That’s right, Gs.
When you can’t think straight, you go have a ball and do something as therapeutic as shopping for clothes. After all Gunther, ehem…closets are meant for just that, clothes!
Get it? Get it?
God I am so proud to be a G.
The G by the way, stands for Guy- forget about designer labels and Hawaiian shirt, I splashed a good hundred on a very manly (ehem ehem) imported black T with a Rancid-Let’s Go design proudly emblazoned across it.
And of course, G also stands for the Gunners.
I’m a Gooner through and through, and I am so Goddamn proud of that!