I was asked - quite politely, but firmly - to cut out the effing and jeffing by some first-timer at 60 minutes at the weekend. Didn’t know whether to tell him and his lad to sit in the Family Stand if he didn’t want to hear bad language, or to give him credit for standing up for what he believed in. Either way, it shut me up. For the rest of the game.
While I should have been punching the air and letting rip at Bernie’s lovely finish that made the game safer, I was pondering the following:
- Was I an arsehole for swearing in the earshot of kids?
- Was he an arsehole for putting his lad in that kind of environment and then complaining about it?
- Was he brave and principled?
- Did he act like a coward, and only have a word after sizing me up as one unlikely to respond badly? and finally
- Should I relocate?
Atmosphere worse for me. Better for apparent first-timer. My rights don’t trump his just because I’ve got a season card and he doesn’t. But the Pablo Zabaleta song’s a non-starter for him, it seems. And he probably won’t like “we are Man City and we’re on the piss again” or “spent all my money on drugs and City”, come to that.