I’m scary

Sugatami shichinin kesh�

Sugatami shichinin kesh by Kitagawa Utamaro. That’s me in the morning and me at night. One hour each of me, if I’m not careful! Or too careful. Pfft, ridiculous.

Oh, I’m scary, eh. You have no idea. Isn’t this a time for one to triumph over one’s baser instincts? Isn’t this a time to be creative with one’s terms of endearment? Isn’t this a time for defeat and vainglorious ultimatums.

“I don’t watch television. Except Manchester United.” So sayeth my senior pastor. Teehee. Albeit the beginning and ending minutes, but tis a wonder enough for me. I still remember that glorious morning, when the Singapore sun rose on the European Cup being held sky high by O captain, my captain. O, I’d never felt so awake! I fried noodles for my family’s breakfast! O, happy day! “Who put the ball in the Germans’ net? Who put the ball in the Germans’ net? Who put the ball in the Germans’ net? Ole Gunnar Solskjaer!”

O, and those two other glorious midnight hours — the FA Cup semi-final (how Beckhamesque! a miraculous save! look at Giggsy go go go!) and the European Cup semi-final (hold on hold on hold on for one more day). Hai. Something was burning as bright as day in the very heart of us. Us. Woof. I remember sending in a little note on Brian Kidd when he left — it ended up on the official website! Just for a little while, but O! Wish I kept what I’d written. My poetry comes in the strangest places, and in spurts. Excuse me.

And the best thing I’d ever read in Manchester United magazine was Brian McClair’s column. I bought the book. Been finding myself re-reading my beloveds of late, perhaps it’s time for this one too. How do you ever know if you’ve got enough out of a book? How can you ever? Well, some books can be like that. Perhaps I’m recapturing something or other. In the end, my three-year ardour passed with little fanfare. Many a misstep kicked the illusions out of my hero/ine-starved mind. They’re so blah-dee human, after all. I’m glad I watched them at the National Stadium. But the best thing about that was Singapore’s only goal! The Kallang Wave, up up and away! The Kallang Roar … no, I refuse to rhyme. Ever more.


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