There Was No Free Cake

(Warning: this post contains grossly elitist sentiment. Just so you know ... that I know.)

As I was saying in an earlier post, Shelley and I scored two free tickets to the England vs. Slovenia (football) match on Saturday, so we went.

As you can see, the train ride in was was jam-packed with a million other foosball fans; however, they weren't the kind of fans I had come to expect of 'soccer' games in Australia. They weren't poofs, they were boofs. They were thirty-year-old men with the hair-styles of thirteen-year-olds (shaved into a 'V' on the back). There wore generic tattoos, expensive polo shirts, and toothless grins. And they shouted 'England' with a mysterious lack of consonants.

I thought these guys had all but disappeared on the front lines of two world wars, but it seems the UK enjoys a limitless supply. Hence no invasion in a thousand years I suppose.

Anyway, lucky for us, our free tickets allowed us to enter through the 'gifted' peoples' entry. There we were greeted with air conditioning, escalators, and, best of all, a string trio playing Britney's 'Toxic' (in a very polite way). Yes! It was elitism drenched in irony, meaning I could accept it with a sense of irony and not feel bad. It was just like watching 'Neighbours'.

As for the game itself, I could tell it wasn't one that would go down in the annals as an all-time great, or even one that was all that good, but it was still very entertaining. I will say football is an excellent game to watch, and I would definitely see another match, providing I could be flown in and out by helicopter or a hot-air balloon.

And this is how we exited the building. Yes, we entered like Grand Poobahs and left like dogs.