leight-on in the game
Beverage Orders and Duffball
By Leighton Evans
The crustiest columnist in football is back in the electronic pages of ATFV. Another year older, that one foot several inches closer to the grave. Worryingly, the very act of buying a drink in the West Stand may prove the man’s ultimate undoing as his blood pressure rises faster than Dan James riding a Saturn V rocket…
Since the start of the season, a new and evil method of beverage accrual has been deployed on the poor souls that sit in the West stand. There may not be much sympathy for a prawn sandwich guzzling posho like me with a season ticket in the silent carriage of the Dot.Com stadium, but bear with me.
It’s an ordeal which bears uncanny resemblance to the experience of watching Michael Duff’s Swansea side so far. Even in the wake of our victory over Sheffield Wednesday – one of the most inept teams I’ve seen in 34 years of watching the Swans – there is something deeply unsatisfying about both of these experiences.
Ordering a Drink
On entering the concourse, I feel the need for a bottle of Pepsi Max for the match. This is not my first error of the day, but it is one of the larger ones.
I approach the nearest of the new terminals on which one has to order a beverage. No, no longer can one simply approach the serving area with currency ready to buy goods and services. A system which has worked perfectly well has been ditched in favour of the kind of technological mediation of services that I utterly despise. However, I am thirsty, so this will be the only way of avoiding sitting through the match with a mouth drier than Satan’s cream crackers.
I join the queue. I am tenth in the queue. In front of me is a line of people who look like they have lost the will to live completely. There is no energy. There is no lifeforce.
Quickly, it becomes abundantly clear that this is a line of the damned. Each person approaches the terminal in turn with a sense of dejection, a clear slumping of the shoulders. This is purgatory.
Obediently, people use the touchscreen to order their food and beverages. Some order for halftime, with the kind of enthusiasm a turkey has for Christmas. An air of despair lingers over the whole rotten scene.
I glance back at the serving area, to a group of young people in uniforms wandering aimlessly, with nothing to do. Entropy is the idea that a system will lose energy as it operates. The entropy of this system is off the scale. The energy of the customer and the servers makes a glacier look rapid. I am seventh in the queue. I am losing the will to live.
After what seems like an eternity, I get to third in the queue. I am close. I no longer know if I want a drink. I no longer care. Truth be told, if a comet hit the Earth at that exact moment I would welcome the cold embrace of death. I get to the terminal. Life has lost all meaning, and I no longer care for a drink. However, having endured this ordeal, I will get one.
I select a Pepsi Max. It is £3. I usually pay £1.50. Being ripped off to this extent does not really register as the indignity that it is, such is the numbing effect of the new system. I am given a receipt. I turn and walk right back across the concourse to the serving area. Last season, I just walked there and paid. I had some life left in me then. Now, I am a broken husk of a man.
I hand my receipt to the bored server, who turns indifferently and produces a cold bottle of Pepsi. I take it and head to my seat, with zero enthusiasm for the match ahead. I am broken. It occurs to me this might be the best way to watch Duffball…
Watching Duffball
I tap my season ticket on the card reader. This is not my first error of the day, but it is one of the larger ones.
No, no longer can one simply approach the stadium with a sense that this could be a good performance or that we will see exhilarating, technically adept, incisive football. A system which has worked perfectly well has been ditched in favour of the kind of aimless, rudderless, pointless football I though we had left behind with the demise of Alan Cork.
However, I am committed to this club and team, so I will steel myself and watch another 90 minutes of football – in the vague but masochistic hope that things will improve.
I join the queue to my seat. I am tenth in the queue. In front of me is a line of people who look like they have lost the will to live completely. There is no energy. There is no lifeforce. Quickly, it becomes abundantly clear that this is a line of the damned. Each person approaches each step up the stand with a sense of dejection, a clear slumping of the shoulders. This is purgatory.
Obediently, people take their seats and glance across the pitch. An air of despair lingers over the whole rotten scene. I glance at the mascots, a group of young people in uniforms wandering aimlessly, with nothing to do but who might put up a better performance than Duffball can conjure. Entropy is the idea that a system will lose energy as it operates. The entropy of this system is off the scale. The energy of the fans and the players makes a glacier look rapid. I am losing the will to live. The game has not even kicked off yet.
After what seems like an eternity, the game kicks off. After seeing the lineup, I no longer care. Truth be told, if a comet hit the Earth at that exact moment, I would welcome the cold embrace of death. Kick off comes and the game quickly reveals the usual Duffball slow-witted chaos. Life has lost all meaning, and I no longer care.
I watch Nathan Wood amble up the field with the ball at his feet, resembling a hippo on Tramadol wading through treacle. Wood gives the ball away. They all give the ball away. I ponder the price of my season ticket. Being ripped off to this extent does not really register as the indignity that it is, such is the numbing effect of the new system.
Last season, despite the Dumb and Dumber defending, I had some life left in me. Now, I am a broken husk of a man. I sigh and turn to my neighbour, who turns indifferently There is zero enthusiasm for the match. I am broken. It occurs to me this is just like buying a Pepsi Max under the stand.
Things can only get better for the concourse and Duffball. Please, make things get better.
