Close season

Ever since that final whistle against Reading went and the jubilation of celebrating Kevin Nolan’s first Hammers’ hat-trick ceased, I have been a bit bored; there’s only so much excitement you can channel towards the launch of the new kit, the Andy Carroll transfer saga and the release of the fixtures for next season. The life of a football fanatic certainly is a lonely one in the summer months.

The older people in society often tell us to make the most of our time on earth. Minutes become hours, hours become days, days become weeks and before we know it, it’s Christmas again. Or something like that. However, when you’re still riding high on the euphoria of a first season back which saw us, amongst other things, beat the European champions 3-1 at our manor, time moves too slowly and the break in the football season certainly isn’t a welcome break. The boredom and monotony of the close season has led me to make some strange decisions, mainly football-based to relieve my despondency.

Now, fortunately there was the Confederations Cup, Euro Under-21’s and early on the lottery of the Play-Offs. For a while, we would not be without football (though we would be without West Ham.) Views of the Confederations varied. Was it here that Suarez would put himself in the shop window for a lucrative summer move? Would Tahiti do themselves proud and manage a goal? Would any player shine and catch the attention of Premiership manager’s, more importantly Big Sam? With the exception of Jordi Alba who would be good back-up for Joey O’Brien, I didn’t see any realistic targets out there who could strengthen our side. That aside, the saving grace was being able to watch football.

With the season break continuing, I found my sorry, miserable self, dragging my heels through the seaside town that I work in, bored, fed up and miserable at the lack of West Ham related news to get excited in. How could I still fly the flag for West Ham and do the club I adore proud? With the players unable to perform and have us delighted with their accomplishments, us, the fans should be doing something. Unable to think of what I could do, the ideal scenario presented itself to me. With a guy in a Sp*rs shirt walking along the promenade, laden down with a couple beach bags and ice creams, my thought process had to be quick. Never one to miss an opportunity (I got involved with #askJoey on twitter) I slalomed my way through the various, mainly Brummy, holidaymakers, to do the claret and blue proud. Pretending to read a bus timetable and scratching my back so one of the Hammers tattoos was on display, I stationed myself in the correct area to be slightly obstructing him. Seeing his reflection in the shelter, I span quickly to disorientate him knowing that if he would have to move out of my way. If he wasn’t careful he’d be picking his bags and beach paraphernalia up off the street due to the unexpected about turn of the innocent bus using bystander. His hands went up quickly, clutching the straps of his bag. One of the ice creams hit the floor as the other was crushed against his replica jersey. Yeah, Bale may have inspired your victory at Upton Park. but this was almost as sweet as a West Ham win would have been that day. Almost…..

Above, I touched on the subject of jerseys, albeit those of T*ttenham, which brings me on nicely to the new West Ham shirt. Ordering it in time for the first delivery date and waiting like an excited schoolboy until the delivery day, hopes were high. Receiving an email from the courier company to inform it had been dispatched I was impatient. It was bigger than Easter, it was bigger than Christmas, it was bigger than my birthday. Nothing could go wrong. Until I realised….. I had a hospital appointment to check on my hearing that I’d lost in my right ear shortly after the Wigan game. I was stuck in a quandary. If the courier hadn’t arrived by the time I had to leave for my hospital appointment, should I cancel it and wait for the courier? I genuinely weighed up the pros and cons. Weighing on my mind was the thought that I’d have to probably wait a four to five weeks for a further appointment, yet there would be someone in my office to collect the delivery of my shirt. Fortunately, the decision was taken from my hands. Though only because I genuinely had the foresight to phone the courier company and be told that though marked for dispatch, it would still arrive on the Thursday. I sulked.

And so Thursday arrived and the shirt, a thing of beauty, arrived into my wanting hands. Taking the opportunity to wear it at the very earliest opportunity, I went down the local to meet Pressbox and take part in the quiz. The first victory in the new West Ham Adidas era may well have been the quiz, but it didn’t pass without incident. On arriving and being sat at our table, I was approached by a stranger who looked at the shirt before enquiring, in a somewhat colourful and inebriated manner, as to who West Ham were. He the admitted that he ‘wasn’t sure if it was a West Ham or Villa shirt’ before admitting that he was a proud Portsmouth fan and that he was ‘retiring to his table to have his dessert’ whilst neglecting to mention his embarrassed and sober lookng wife. Thinking myself amusing, and rage at the Pompey guy burning high inside me, I asked at how being a Pompey fan he could ‘afford extravagances like a dessert’ before wandering over and plunging my fingers into it explaining that I ‘wasn’t sure if it was cheesecake or trifle.’ My bitter and immature mood had been satisfied and no longer did I have any problems with the Portsmouth supporter who finished his deconstructed dessert and sheepishly sloped out.

So lack of football aside, I’ve still tried to represent West Ham in the only ways I knew how without a ball being kicked in anger. There was the thought of trying to start a relationship with a ‘lucky’ lady for three months. The more I thought about it the more sense it made. Wining and dining, walks on the beach and all for the three months between football seasons. Even better, if the relationship had gone well and the ‘lucky’ lady/prospective wife fell pregnant as the season started, in nine months time when Smudgy Junior was due, the 2013/2014 season would have just finished and fatherhood could start in earnest without distraction (apart from the World Cup). Now you can’t tell me that the football calendar wasn’t meticulously planned in the past for such a reason? Fortunately though, I have a pre-season friendly away to Bournemouth on Saturday to enjoy instead. There will be an alternative report to come on that one….

Peace out

Smudgy

@TheRobTaylor32