Sporting contests to remember: That moment when RVP scored against Arsenal

3^rd November 2012

Old Trafford

“Into the third minute of the match and Van Persie scores with his right foot!”

My eyelid took an eternity to swallow that event in. I could feel the oxygen going in colliding with the carbon dioxide coming out. I turned my neck to the right; I could see the fingers of my friends dancing in the air and there was no Honey Singh in the background.

My friends did not need him today, they were happy because their team had just scored against my team. In all this anarchy I could suddenly feel the darkness; my eyelids were surrendering before the gravity. There was no light now and then suddenly there was; the sun was out but it was 2004 when Arsenal lost to none in the Premier League. I remember the open bus victory parade, I was not there, yet I was there. I threw my eyes around, soaking in the happiness but then I saw a silhouette, suspiciously hidden from the rest

Wait! Why is that guy, the owner of that shadow, doing his best to puncture the tyre of the victory bus and why is Sir Alex clapping?

I could now see the bus tyre fizzing out like a balloon. The guy was successful. I ran after that guy and saw him throw his cloak away. And then I saw a number 20 on back of his jersey. The guy suddenly turned around.

I just could not take that and I forced myself out of that sick imagery.

I am back to the present and Sir Alex is still clapping, RVP, the number 20 had just scored against us.

Funny, Arsenal’s best player of last season had scored against them and mind you it was not an own goal, though it felt like one. My eyes were finally open and a wee bit watery. Suddenly a slew of expletives hit my ear drum, my friends were talking about one Wayne Rooney and his hair implant. The poor chap, on $250,000 weekly wages, had just missed a penalty. Just as when I was deciding whether to laugh at this or cry at Persie’s heroics, I could feel something in my belly. Like a rat running under the carpet that ‘something’ was travelling. It reached the tip of my tongue and before I knew it escaped.

What, another day dream?

No, this time I could see myself and the room I was in.

Wait come again.

I could see myself and I was not high!

I could see myself and I was not looking in a mirror.

I could see myself, I just could.

Somehow my consciousness had slipped through my body.

Was I in middle of a divine intervention? How can that be, I am an atheist? But wait, does my being atheist matter?

May be I should try and pinch myself. I tried but I could not. But then I could see me sad at Arsenal losing to United. I remembered I was once a happy kid when Arsenal won everything, how could I let myself get affected so much? Every time my team loses I can feel the lump in my throat. On the other hand every time I screw up in my life, I rationalise with no effort.

Are my priorities screwed up?

I knew that this OBE would not last long!

I was thinking at the speed of light, I could see now that I had taken this game way too seriously. I knew I had to get to my normal self. Just as when I was about to laugh at my friend who was cleaning his nostrils hidden from every one’s sight, I was back. I could no more see myself.

The divine intervention had reached its end but the match had not .It was the 95^th minute and Santi Cazorla had just scored. My team lost 1-2. The Red Devils around me were dancing. Rather than reminding them of Arsenal’s invincible season or of our sustainable business model I zipped my jacket, hiding my Arsenal jersey and away I left.

“This is where Arsenal and I part ways”, I announced to the stray dog looking for his dinner near my friend’s room.

With a pointed finger I told him, “This is the beginning of the end!”

The dog twitched his tail and we both parted ways.

17^th November 2012

Arsenal V/s Tottenham Hotspur

Emirates Stadium

My ear could hear my voice filling the air.

“Adebayor , you mercenary, you bloody deserve the red, No one messes with us Gooners!”, I was screaming.

Well…