Standing Alone

Last year I went to Man City vs Barcelona in the Champions League in Manchester. I sat next to my brother (Tommy) and we met up with some of his friends before the game.

I got a Virgin train into Manchester from Stockport. I got off the train at Piccadilly and went in WH Smith to look at the latest video game magazines (how do these things still exist with gaming news available for free online?). After that I walked to Brother Tommy’s flat and he came down in the lift and we headed for the pub. I had decided to have a drink although this could be very risky as I have a piss problem at the best of times (can’t go in public etc, etc) and beer makes it a hundred times worse – the beer shuts off the circuit from my brain to my bladder so that I lock the toilet door (can’t ever go in urinals even when sober) pull down my kecks and then just stand there for fifteen minutes while nothing happens down below, not even a drop just a dull, dead ache. All the time I am picturing my friends looking at their watches wondering if I am dead. Even worse would be if they were waiting for me and we were late for the game and I made them late by trying to piss in vain. So it would be a big risk as I would be sat in the stadium and would become aware of needing a piss big time. At that point I could go while the game was on but I would miss the half the game and my brother would think I was odd. If I was so full I was dying I might even have to go home in misery on the bus while the game was on (without telling anyone and turning my phone off) and stand in my darkened bathroom while I try to pass water for at least an hour. But for some crazy reason I had decided to have at least one pint. So that’s what we did, in fact we had two. Then we walked to another bar and met his friend Mat who was going to the game and I had another two pints! This was risky BIG TIME as just one pint and the piss circuit in my brain can usually remain open but after three or four then danger strikes.

We walked from the town centre (Tommy has a flat in Manchester town centre) to the stadium which was about twenty five minutes away. We met some of his mates in the most crowded pub in the world. I went to the toilet. I didn’t really need to go but thought I could try. The bathroom was noisy. I went in a cubicle and opened my pants. I hoped beyond hope that I could watch the game with an empty bladder. After ten minutes of nothing it seemed my worst nightmares were coming true. I gave up in desolation and I did not even need it badly yet, what will it be like in an hour?

They were at the far end stood up. Tommy had a pint for me in a paper cup which I took with caution but I did drink it a frown on my silent face. One of the older men asked us if we were going to Burnley away and I said in a loud voice “I can’t keep up with your drinking” and everyone laughed. This guy called Beery was there (he usually buys everyone shots, but not today) and Mat’s dad was there and some other people including a woman who thinks I am odd. After my pint I could feel my bladder filling up big time now from the five pints I had had. Then Tommy poured half of his second into my cup as it was nearly time to go to the stadium. I did not protest but could see doom on the horizon. I drank it down and the others were leaving. One of the old men looked back at us smiling and as he looked in my direction I raised a an upwards finger in front of my heart like the Black Eyed Peas do and my positive energy was noticed by the man who nodded and smiled again; the madness of being a City fan. And for a moment there was only that energy and no piss problem.

We meandered to the turnstiles. It had been quite a while since we began drinking by now and I needed a piss. It was not the worst it had ever been but another aspect of my piss problem is that the feeling of needing a piss feels awful to me – like the princess and the pea in Hell. By half time I would not be enjoying myself at all. So we found the entrance to our section and I said I was going to the bog. This was the ultimate moment of truth. I went in the cubicle and pulled down my trousers. I started telling myself that I was surrounded by thousands of friends – all City fans and fellow lifelong sufferers. This gave me genuine strength and luckily there were two cubicles so I could relax that a queue was not forming. I meditated on the energy from City and the piss started to dribble out! A MIRACLE! A MIRACLE AT MAN CITY! AND I’M NOT JUST TALKING ABOUT THE SHEIKH! I was now able to force the piss out in triumph and joy at higher pressure than the initial dribble and it came out reflecting the sparkling light in its wondrous clear liquid making a sort of heavenly quiet sound as it hit the porcelain. My day was not ruined.

I went and found Tommy with renewed vigour who did not seem at all concerned at my exploits when I told him I had pissed successfully (I have mentioned it to him in the past) he just raised his eyes a bit and handed me a pie. We took our seats and soon City and Messi and co came out onto the pitch.

Unfortunately City lost the game and there was some nob City fan behind us who slagged City off at every opportunity, constantly throughout the game. One of the dick head boo boys. I think I went for another piss at half time but by then my confidence was high and the circuit from my brain to my bladder sparked easily and I again managed to go. After the game we walked back to town in the dark along the canal. We were not that gutted as it is not a disgrace to lose to Barcelona. And I went home on the 192 bus. Back home I went into my darkened bathroom and took a big piss.



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