My camera ran out of battery as I filmed the closing sequence to one of the most unexpected evenings I’ve lived in recent memory. As some of you know I’m big into my self narrated videos. I enjoy filming my life as if I were a bit actor in a much larger story. I can’t really remember when my life became incredibly fictional, it’s possibly when I decided to stop trying to control the outcome and just enjoying finding happiness in the ride but it has been some time that it all seems so surreal. I love my video camera. The video camera reminds me that I’m not in control, it helps me remember the moments and details of life happening around me, and it literally puts my life into a viewable frame.
For you I edit the more boring sequences. I try to keep your interest. I appreciate you investing a few minutes of your time in watching events unroll in my life. It’s true that I’m so caught up in living this life that I forget to check in on others. Please understand I really do think about you often its just time and adventure beckon.
The flash of the battery started to blink just as I entered the protected domain of the Chelsea studios. I was still shaking from the singing. I was still smiling from the excitement. My neck was wrapped blue and white while the crowds outside made their way home in the merriment and satisfaction of having watched their team qualify for the Champions League Final of European football.
When I moved into my newest flat I thought immediately of the eventual possibility that I would wander around the corner to watch the neighborhood team play football. Stamford Bridge stadium, the home of the Chelsea Football Club lies meters behind my back garden. For the past few years they’ve ranked in the top five of world football clubs thanks to an outrageously wealthy Russian owner. I am by no means a rabid fan of European football. Those feelings of love and hope invested in a team are born early and carried throughout a lifetime, my team is back home in Florida but here, Chelsea have become my new passing fancy.
Since I’ve moved into my new apartment I have seriously considered going to a match a couple of times but the price and the specter of rowdy fans scared me away. But the night of the Champions League semi-final surprisingly was the night I chose to fulfill my wish. It happened simply and quickly. I knew when I left from work that tonight was going to be the match. How could I not? It was smeared all over the free daily papers and talked about at the café and bar counters. I wanted to watch it live but thought the price would be beyond belief.
As I walked out of the underground towards my house I stepped into an incredibly energized river of fans dressed in blue and white. It was game day I thought as I walked home excited for them and thinking of where I watch the magic. But as I turned a corner and dodged a family I heard in a whispered voice asking if I wanted to buy a ticket. “Need a ticket?” he asked. I stopped, surprised to hear someone selling tickets as I knew the practice to be illegal.
“Need a ticket?” he asked again. I looked him over. He was young. He held a cell phone in his hand and his eyes jumped around the crowd watching for signals of the police. I said “how much.” The only other time I considered buying tickets from a scalper the only advice I received was not to buy from the guys who tattoos on their faces. This kid had no tattoos on his face and he seemed rather reasonable. The ticket price was incredible but I figured that could be negotiated. I nodded my head and sped off for the closest cash machine. I thought I would offer him half his price in cash. If he accepted I would watch one of the year’s most important matches live. If he didn’t I would watch from home.
I grabbed the cash and quickly walked back to where I had seen the boy. He recognized me immediately. I told him I only wanted one ticket, he frowned. He had two left and he wanted to sell them together. The game was starting in five minutes. I knew time was on my side. After thinking briefly he accepted my offer of 120 pounds. We made the exchange on the elevators of the nearby shopping center. We shook hands as we parted and said, in a very sincere manner, “enjoy the game.” I rushed off toward my house to grab my camera and coat thinking about my good fortune.
I had paid a lot more money than I thought I would pay. I was going to watch a game that I didn’t really care who won but I was certain I was in for a memorable evening. I ran into my house, changed clothes, grabbed my camera and sprinted back towards the stadium. As I circled the stadium searching for my section I could hear the crowd cheering and singing. It was the Champion’s League Semi-final. One team would go on to face Manchester United in Moscow in the final. The other would go home horribly disappointed.
My seat was in the very highest of the cheap seats. The stadium was packed. Giant blue and white checkered flags covered the crowd. The chanting of the spectators thumped and moved to a rhythm only the locals know and understand. I sat happily watching the action unfold in front of me. Although the seats were high it was very easy to follow the action. The field seemed smaller than on TV and the players stayed in a compact formation that made the game look even smaller.
Ten minutes into the game, the person who bought the second ticket my scalper had arrived. He was a fervent fan of Chelsea. He was loud and drunk. He immediately started singing the local songs and joined in the violent chanting and thrusting of hands forward. I was ecstatic. If I came to the game it was in part to watch the match but it was also to fully live the experience. I knew he would make the game that much more interesting.
I filmed him screaming, cursing and generally badgering the official and the other team from our seats high atop the stadium. He knew no one could hear him but he screamed and spit at the top of his lungs all the same. It was as if a life time of frustration was being released there during the game. I watched amazed and admiringly of his sheer passion for his team and the sport. He knew the players from their running style. He knew or could predict what was going to happen. He would shake in anger at mistakes and wrench his face in desperation at near misses.
When the first goal came, the first goal that put his team an inch closer to the final, he jumped and screamed in relief and orgasmic toe curling joy. I was standing too. I was standing to watch the game. Little did I know he would hug me, grab me and shake me as if I were a wet towel. He screamed and shook me. I thought my ribs and stomach would burst. I was over the moon. The home team had scored. I was there living it, breathing it and watching it. When he finally put me down and stopped squeezing I look out over the crowd. Smiles and euphoria were everywhere. I fell in love. I started humming the songs they were singing. I suddenly wanted Chelsea to win. Like a drug I wanted to feel that emotion again.
The rest of the half was full of near misses and bad calls of the referee. I couldn’t see much but the crowd never stopped singing and chanting the names of players and the name of the home team. I watched them all going mad. At the half I went to stand in line to check out the half time show of buying and trading in stadium food.
The lines were long and orderly. The people were friendly and fair. We stood in line quietly and efficiently. As I grew closer to the front of the line I panicked. What was everyone ordering, what were those things they were eating? My choice was a sausage roll and a coke or a chicken pasty and a Coke. Keen on a new experience I chose the pasty, which I inadvertently called a patsy which got a laugh from the crowd. Happy with a handful of warm food in my hands I walked back to my seat and waited for the start of the second half.
The second half had just started when the visiting team scored. The celebratory moods that lead to halftime quickly changed to one of dread and doom. The singing was less enthusiastic and the game and opportunities slowed. I fiddled with my camera and scrapped the roof of my mouth with my tongue. I burned my mouth eating that hot pasty and I had a little piece of skin dangling on the inside. I was worried for my new friends. The score was now tied and the mood was dimming. I was also worried for my mouth. It really hurt. The second half ended with the game tied. The match would be prolonged an extra thirty minutes.
I quietly rejoiced, the game, suspense would continue for me. My new friends weren’t as thrilled. I hid my joy by staring at my shoes. The home team’s chances of advancing were as good as they were when the game had started. The anxiety and stress in the stadium were palpable. My neighbor was losing hair. The dread and fear of the fans was clear on everyone’s face. Me? I had a huge smile. The best game in the world was going into extra minutes and I was there to watch and record it live. Chelsea quickly took the lead in the over time minutes and then it became a communal party. I loved every minute of it.
In the end my team, my new team that is, won. The winning goal came from a corner that wasn’t cleared as far as it should have been. The crowd, particularly my neighbor, went nuts. We screamed. I couldn’t hold the camera still from the shaking of the stadium and the people jumpring around. Pure magic.
After the game I ran home, to tell you about it, unfortunately my battery died so you ended up here reading about it.