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Soccer, part 2 – Dr. Washing

It’s not bedtime just yet, so I thought I’d turn on the telly and see what was on. I was going to watch the baseball game from two nights ago, but I saw something earlier that told me the outcome, and I’m not really interested in watching it anymore.

So I was scanning through the channels and I saw a title with “Premiere League” in it and then I saw that it was Manchester United versus Liverpool. I know nothing about the first and only just that the Beatles were born there for the second.

I always thought Liverpool was an industrial city — tough, grimy, blue-collar. I’ve never been there nor seen any pictures, but what I see when I think of Liverpool is an industrial town, a town with a seaside, where big ships are manufactured and people walk around in white, bearded for the most part, smoking a pipe of some sort or another.

They’re playing soccer and you kinda get the feeling that it’s rich kids versus poor kids. It shows in the play. Liverpool is scrappy, lunging and leaping wherever they can, pushing and stretching, but MU? They play with a sigh, wondering what Liverpool was even thinking to play this match. They only play out of obligation, because they have to. Otherwise, they wouldn’t bother.

After watching for ten minutes, I already knew who would win. The rich kids, of course — they always do.


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