Hallelujah

We signed a striker! Heavens above! Name a stand after him, give him the freedom of Loftus Road. See children, dreams really do come true. Jay Simpson all you have to do is win us promotion.

We Are The Gilbert Boys

So yesterday my cousin and lifelong partner in crime, Daniel, decided he had had enough of married life out in Westchester and wanted to spend the day with his bachelor cousin.

The first order of the day was to find a decent football match to play in. The Yanks affectionately call it 'Pick-up Soccer,' we just call it a kickabout in the park. After walking across the length and breadth of Manhattan, discussing QPR's memorable 2-1 victory over Accrington Stanley that night, we were eventually steered towards a game taking place over on Chelsea Piers. We arrived and were greeted by a throng and Trinidadians who were all playing the beautiful game. One of the teams needed 2 extra players, so we were up!

Now when Dan and I play football I like to think we have a telepathic understanding that only family members can have, we are if you like a Jewish Gary and Phil Neville. Dan is Gary, successful, committed one of the best at what he does, a leader... I however am more like Phil, jack of all trades master of none, reckless challenger, living of my more gifted family members name. It's a burden I have learnt to deal with. As the game started one thing became clear, the Trinidadians were fast, they were shit, but they were fast. After about 5 minutes I was blowing out my arse as our self appointed captain barked out orders in a lilting Caribbean accent which I could only but smile at.

Dan had had enough of this game though, he had spied another game for us to play in. The other game looked a little crap to me though, many fat people were playing. I highlighted this to Dan but he assured me that during his time in Mexico he found that fat people were arguably better players. This wasn't the case here however, I looked pretty quick on this pitch and soon we decided to leave the game, shame, I felt I had found my level.

Finally an 11 a side team were holding trials so Dan and I jogged over to see if we could join in. Stavros (the man running the game) seemed reluctant to let us play, perhaps intimidated by our Neville brother skills and Jonas Brothers looks, he soon subsided and allowed us a kickabout. The game was 15 minutes long, nobody did anything spectacular and more importantly Dan and I did nothing wrong. As we trudged off the pitch Stavros sidled up to us and said "Go and train with our 3rd team, they are more your standard.". This was a phrase I had heard often and so I began to jog over, Dan however is not accustomed to this, demanded that he was the best player on the field and told me we were going. As we left a bitter Frenchman who had been cut walked off with us objecting furiously at his treatment, he claimed he had won 1st prie for his University for football, must have been a shit team because he was bollocks.

A quick dinner was followed by donning our handbags and gladrags, we were out to take New York by storm. A few weeks ago I had gotten disgracefully drunk, the type of drunk where you are incoherent and susceptible to drinking red bull and absinth. The reason behind this was Australians. Regular readers will know that Australians often bring out the worst in me when I drink. Anyways the two Aussie lads from that night had invited me over to their place for some drinks before they headed out to a club. Sounded like a plan.

We arrived at the Aussies place to be greeted by a sausage fest. The room was meat heavy. The Aussies assured us that some females would be arriving soon. They did. I wish they hadn't. Australian chavs aren't funny or interesting people, they are also a little disgusting when you notice that they haven't shaved their legs and have just bleached the hairs to try and hide them. After avoiding direct contact with the hairy chavs we set off for the club. The place we were heading was meant to be cool, it's the first eco-friendly club in the world apparently. Dan had fucked up though, he was wearing Converse... and not just any Converse, ones with cartoons on them. Entry was looking unlikely. Those Aussies though... they may have lost the cricket but they pulled through last night. As we arrived they told us we were on their guest list and to just walk in, which we did.... fantastic.

As we walked in Queen Latifah wobbled out of a limo and entered the club at the same time, essentially she walked into the club with us. It's fine, when I come home you can all touch me. The Aussies then surpassed themselves and told us they had a table, brilliant! This proved to be a false dawn however. You see Queen Latifah had invited Rhianna to come to the club and the manager was having a shitfit. We were kicked off the table which was now exclusively for girls. The drinks were ludicrously priced and suddenly our evening of fun was jeopardized. Dan then put that Oxford brain of his to good use. He grabbed the Hairy Aussie Chav and enquired if she would like to pass her drinks from the table down to us on the dance floor. She did. We each spent $20 that whole night.