the monitor

90 Minutes of Confusion: Agnes vs Football

I went to watch a local football match last week Friday. One of the worst things that can happen to you is sit next to an Agnes - an excitable lady who knows nothing about football but cheers like her life and her cousin’s life depend on it.

You know, those ladies that seemed to have lost their way en route to a nightclub. Usually the Agneses are there for the hot dogs and to see perfectly-toned bodies of players when they take off their tops after scoring a goal. The famous hotdogs from these impromptu restaurants are usually prepared using resilient and recycled cooking oil that is at least four weeks old and has been the passage of many a hotdog. The game hadn’t even started yet, and she was already yelling, “LET’S GOOOOOO!” like she’s trying to summon thunder. Agnes started singing louder than the stadium speakers—off-key, of course. I wasn’t too sure if I was at a match or a one-man concert. I once sat next to an over-enthusiastic fan.

When his team scored, he jumped up, spilled his drink, hugged strangers and started chanting something that sounded suspiciously like a mating call. I was praying that this wasn’t another one.

Editor's Comment
Justice delayed is trust denied

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