|photo by mattk1979||via PhotoRee|
(A thatch-roofed bar that’s seen its best days years ago, located well off the beaten path, deep in the heart of the Florida Keys. A stranger wearing a straw cowboy hat, dark sunglasses, board shorts, flip flops and a rumpled t-shirt shirt emblazoned with the words "Victory in Moscow" is sitting by himself at the bar, staring intently at the lone television. A series of large green palms sway back and forth in the distance, and the occasional rustling of their fronds can be heard by the audience.)
Give me a cold beer.
Better make it a double.
NICK THE BARTENDER
(Offers a quizzical look)
That's a joke. Just get me a craft beer. Something good.
You trying to start a fight? Just get me a Miller Lite. And turn up the volume. United's on.
(A frozen Upton Park, snow falling heavily, with small piles of the grimy white stuff still visible on the endlines. A number of West Ham fans can be seen in the stands watching the game, several of them wearing snoods around their neck in a vain effort to stay warm, with the obligatory shirtless drunk standing in the middle.)
Bloody Hell. Didja see that?
Unbelievable! That’s his second. Where’d Spector come from?
By all rights he should’ve three. If it wasn’t for that bloody wanker Clattenburg, he’d have a goddamn hat trick!
But he normally sucks. Can ya believe it?
Couldn’t even make the Yanks’ side for the World Cup…. Friggin’ unbelievable.
(Back at the bar. A second individual, Paul, known to farlieonfootie, enters the bar and signals to the bartender for a beer.)
(Begrudgingly nods, affecting disinterest)
Why so glum?
You see the friggin’ score?
(Gestures toward televison)
2-nil, West Ham? Told you they were gonna win!
(The sideline of the pitch)
SIR ALEX FERGUSON
(Wearing red cap and down coat. Livid. Gesturing and pointing directly at West Ham player, screaming at the Referee’s Assistant.)
Three fu**ing times straight through him. Three f’in times.
(West Ham fans jeer loudly in background. Players on the pitch begin to push and shove as tempers fray.)
Hey, Nick. Give me another beer.
(Gestures to Paul, points to televison)
They suck. Played like crap.
(At that moment, West Ham scores their fourth goal of the night. Carlton Cole spins Jonny Evans like a revolving door, and makes it look easy. Farlieonfootie pounds his hand on the table, expressing utter frustration. The crescendo of West Ham fans celebrating, and the announcers “Can you believe it?,” are almost more than farlieonfootie can handle. He looks pained. )
(Laughs in spite of himself, clearly overjoyed at the result.)
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.
(Exhales loudly,and raises his arm toward the television, pretending to have a remote in his hand, in a vain attempt to turn off the madness.)
(Hammers crowd standing and singing:
“Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever Will Be, Will Be,
We’re Going to Wembley,
Que Sera, Sera.”
Shirtless fan singing louder than anyone else.)
This is the same United team that won 7-1 this weekend, right?
Kind of. They made a bunch of changes. Started like 10 new guys tonight. Trying to get the kids on the team some experience.
Is that smart?
I dunno. It's worked for them in the past.
Yeah, but don’t they want to win? You can’t win anything with kids.
(Press Conference Room)
SIR ALEX FERGUSON
(In response to a question)
I didn't expect that. The goals we gave away were too soft. Terrible goals to lose. Can't give away goals like that at this level….
(Directed at Paul, who’s still enjoying the moment, and trying to signal Nick for another beer.)
That's it, then, is it? That's how a 29 game winning streak ends? Not with a bang, but a whimper….
(Still deep in thought, but gesturing toward Nick, raising voice).
Buy him a beer, Nick. On me.
(Turns toward Paul)
Well done, mate. You deserved it today. Cheers.
(Raises glass, downs beer)
(FADE TO BLACK)
This is farlieonfootie reporting for December 3.