United lose it

Barcelona 2 - 0 Man Utd

This was supposed to be one of the best United team ever, if not the best. One that took the fight to Beautiful Barca.

So after a day of high anticipation, it was disappointing (okay crushingly heart-breaking) to see them outplayed so. Especially after a stellar season that deserved more.

But instead of saying what's been said in every pub from South Korea to South Ken with Rome on the way, how the defence wasn't working, nobody ran fast enough, Rooney didn't do nothing all game, Park was nervy, where was Tevez, Messi's a genius, Iniesta and Xavi didn't give Utd a chance... (defeated sigh)... I'm going to say Well Played Barca and get around to dealing with footie season withdrawal symptoms.

All work all play

The sports journalist has the best job in the world after the Swiss chocolate taster.

QPR were playing Sheffield United in London and my first assignment as fancy-shmacy sports hack was to cover this. (Read my report here.) Work at a football match was definitely in itself the benefit of a lifetime of accumulated good karma. But it only got better.

I was at a Championship game having paid 22 quid less than the cheapest ticket, with the added invitation to "enjoy the Cipriani's catering." (I did. Whoever Cipriani is.) My vantage viewing point was as good as it could get in the stadium, letting me keep an eye on the TV screen showing matches I was missing while I was at Work as well.

I was offered a press sweatshirt to keep me warm and allow me to turn my full concentration to the game. The bright blue thing was arguably fashioned for a strapping ex rugby player turned sports columnist, but it was cosy nonetheless.

Us sports types don't hang around with the common folks. We with our ubiquitous press passes and memorised stats reels collect in the press rooms to write match reports of a game where the most interesting thing to happen was that I went to watch.

Of course there were challenges. Like concentrating on hastily improvised shorthand while a rather easy-on-the-eye Portugese coach was talking at the post match press meet. And understanding that it might not be highly professional to ask the players to sign my press pack, however star struck I may be.

I could get used to such pampering. Of course, I'll be working for my supper.

Like when I visit the dog-racing track next week. On Work.

Some football cheer

This Euro I find myself more than a little interested in Turkey's fortunes and thinking more than a little fondly about that superlatively sweet and kinda-cute receptionist in that Sultanahmet hotel (with the lift that takes you to floor -3) whose name I could never quite catch, but who now knows, thanks to me, the approximate room rentals in Bangalore two years ago and the Muslim demographics in India. The poor dear was still mourning the fact that Turkey had failed to qualify for the Football World Cup that was on then, and diplomatically picked no favourites but was uncharacteristically emphatic that Brazil would not even reach the finals. Too bad he'll never know that the England match we watched on the tiny TV in his tiny lobby was one of the highlights of my holiday and that I'm cheering for Turkey this time!
Woohoo!