By Dr3
I have a confession. It’s hard to talk about because I usually carry on like someone that doesn’t believe in stones, glass or glass houses. Even now I write ashamed and disgusted, being sautéed in my own self pity. I’m not too certain, but I think it started on August 19th. Yes, I'm sure of it, it did. At first it was just a dalliance. It was one time. I didn’t mean anything at all by it, and as such I dismissed it. I never spoke of it, at first. And even when I did, I did it nonchalantly, not even to friends; only family could hear about this. I had unwittingly reached a crossroads in my life. I was questioning all that I had represented, all that I was, and what I was becoming because of this; one, trite, thing. I tried sneaking it into my conversations with people I trusted to either honestly rebuke me as if I had revealed a love of Soulja Boy, or console me, as a soon to be prodigal son (minus the coming back). The waging war; in my mind, between my former self and this new thing in me was getting worse. The former started waving the flag of surrender. I became/was becoming something else. Slowly but surely this love that I had known for all of my 'adult' life was evolving into one that dare not speak its name. I couldn’t even explain it. This? It’s so ordinary. It’s so void of class, substance; it’s almost cheap. So cheap that even Arsene would bid; and win. Yet, it ‘captured’ me.
Weeks passed. Months. Soon it will be a year; already. I had learned that acceptance was the first step towards the road to redemption. I felt as if my fable was less prodigal-son and more Rooney-ManU-saga. I’m back, but never really left. I’m back though as a man whose imperfections have been exposed. Naked; to everyone and their grandmother for what I am. But I’ve started towards the road. I think I’m on it as I write. It started with one question on my personal soapbox. No, not facebook. Just a mirror. A sobering dash of cold water. Face to face....
Am I a ManCity fan? I threw up a little, and shouted NO; forgetting I was talking to myself.
But do you? Do I? Really? Watch them play? The team? Even without Balotelli?
....With tear-filled eyes I confessed. Yes, I do.
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I have a confession. It’s hard to talk about because I usually carry on like someone that doesn’t believe in stones, glass or glass houses. Even now I write ashamed and disgusted, being sautéed in my own self pity. I’m not too certain, but I think it started on August 19th. Yes, I'm sure of it, it did. At first it was just a dalliance. It was one time. I didn’t mean anything at all by it, and as such I dismissed it. I never spoke of it, at first. And even when I did, I did it nonchalantly, not even to friends; only family could hear about this. I had unwittingly reached a crossroads in my life. I was questioning all that I had represented, all that I was, and what I was becoming because of this; one, trite, thing. I tried sneaking it into my conversations with people I trusted to either honestly rebuke me as if I had revealed a love of Soulja Boy, or console me, as a soon to be prodigal son (minus the coming back). The waging war; in my mind, between my former self and this new thing in me was getting worse. The former started waving the flag of surrender. I became/was becoming something else. Slowly but surely this love that I had known for all of my 'adult' life was evolving into one that dare not speak its name. I couldn’t even explain it. This? It’s so ordinary. It’s so void of class, substance; it’s almost cheap. So cheap that even Arsene would bid; and win. Yet, it ‘captured’ me.
Weeks passed. Months. Soon it will be a year; already. I had learned that acceptance was the first step towards the road to redemption. I felt as if my fable was less prodigal-son and more Rooney-ManU-saga. I’m back, but never really left. I’m back though as a man whose imperfections have been exposed. Naked; to everyone and their grandmother for what I am. But I’ve started towards the road. I think I’m on it as I write. It started with one question on my personal soapbox. No, not facebook. Just a mirror. A sobering dash of cold water. Face to face....
Do I like watching Manchester City play?
Am I a ManCity fan? I threw up a little, and shouted NO; forgetting I was talking to myself.
....With tear-filled eyes I confessed. Yes, I do.
Want more? Go ahead and SUBSCRIBE to Football Rehab!
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