Author's note:
My mates and I had a LOOOOOOONG discussion to decide what team would be better for those two. Now, here you have the reasons why these teams were selected:
Arsenal FC, also called "Gunners": "my football mate's and also my favourite English football team." European football. Not soccer. Football. Dammit, soccer reminds me of mice! Why not a world cup? Because it's spring and in spring there's the Champions, dammit! Other teams discussed: Liverpool, Manchester United.
Olympique de Marseille- OM: my ex-bf's and my favourite French football team. And because I like thinking of Francis jumping up and down on the métro (subway, tube, métro... just pick one) chanting "Allez OM!". It makes me happy. Ahahahahah. Other teams: Paris-Saint Germaine, Saint-Etienne.
The original match is inspired by an Arsenal-Tottenham match, because I needed hatred and vocabulary. But most of all, hatred. They hate each other with passion. Caaaan you feeeel that Angst tonight? Anyway, the players are real and approved. With thumbs up. So be happy, you've just learned something about football.
Heineken beer is one of my favourite German beers. Don't touch my Germans or next time I cook pasta I'll use your blood instead of tomato sauce. Grrrrr.
Any other questions? I'll be glad to answer!
Français-English:
Bonsoir, mon cher!: Good evening, my dear!
Aux Armes, aux Armes
Nous sommes les marseillais
Et nous allons gagner
Allez l'OM, allez l'OM!: To arms, we are the Marseillais and we're going to win! Go OM, Go OM!
Marchez, mecs!: Run, guys!
S'il te plait, mon Dieu, s'il te-: Please, God, please!
Caisse-toi, Arthur! Va prendre une autre bière, conne. Bien froide, s'il te plait! : Fuck you, Arthur. Go and get another beer, loser. Icy cold, please!
Mais je n'ai rien fait! Aie! Arthur!: But I did nothing! Ouch! Arthur!
The Match
With an athletic jump, Arthur landed on the comfy sofa, reaching immediately for the large black remote control on the low light crystal table in front of the red couch. Positioning a small black pillow to his side, he hunched down with his elbows on his knees, turning on the telly with a swift movement. Francis walked over him, going on with his rambling. How did they end up talking about flowers? He didn't mind him blabbing, though. That house used to be so quiet that every small noise was gladly welcomed. And that strong French accented voice filled all its empty spaces with such glee, that he could've kept talking all night long without annoying the slightest. But now the giant screen was already illuminating the dark room speaking through the announcer's excited voice.
"Good evening, everybody!"
"Bonsoir, mon cher!"
Feeling his glance on him, Francis slouched on the sofa like it was swallowing him, stretching out his legs, when he noticed his friend's hand closing and opening strangely. Furrowing his brows, he gave a look around, suddenly stroke by the thought of what was missing. He sat up and ran out of the room, much to the other's surprise.
He heard the other shouting his name, as well as the announcers listing who was playing that night. Groaning at the formation choice, he climbed the stairs quickly, complaining quietly in his beloved French. At the sound of his footsteps Arthur turned away from the screen, just to find his companion grinning offering him a fresh beer.
"Missed me already?" He smiled taking the cold drink.
"I'm missing a good match, dammit." He whispered before gulping half the icy liquid.
"Arsenal: Almunia, Sagna, Campbell, Varmaelen, Clichy, Ebouè, Diaby, Denìlson, Rosicky, Bendtner, Nasri. Subs:-"
"Oh, come on! I didn't ask him to come over to sleep on my couch! I want a battle! Blood! Violence! I want this match to end with one of us madly angry throwing these damn pillows at the other! Be alive, dammit! Cheers." And he took a loud gulp.
"Cheers!" The other echoed happily, resting his head on the back of the couch. He chuckled softly as the camera shifted to Deschamps already red face. Yes, it would be a good match, after all. At least, he would have the nice view of Arthur's face grimacing now that the referee entered the stadium.
"Samir Nasri will attempt to fill Cesc Fabregas's size sixes tonight, with Abou Diaby and Denilson behind him in midfield supporting roles, and Emmanuel Eboue and Tomas Rosicky patrolling the flanks. Nicklas Bendtner will play alone up front. For Marseille, Lucho Gonzàles and Julien Rodriguez will man the touchlines to the right and left of central midfielders Benoit Cheyrou and Fabrice Abriel. Mamadou Niang and Fernando Morientes play upfront."
"What the hell?"
"Well, this is shit." They answered each other as the screen focused on the stadium, showing the different colourful advertisements, readily commented by the speaker. And here the northern Kop stood up to sing. And so did our Englishman.
"And did those boots of Arsenal's team
Walk upon Highbury's turf so green?
And did they play with great esteem
The best football we've ever seen?
And with a cannon on our chest
We play with heart, mind, and zest
And we are proud to be Arsenal
In Victory Through Harmony."
With his hand on his heart and water in his eyes, his voice chanted together with the hooligans, making the giant building tremble, before he sat down again to receive his friend's applauses.
He glanced at him fiercely, snorting proudly as he heard him grinning repeating along with the other supporters.
"Aux Armes, aux Armes
Nous sommes les marseillais
Et nous allons gagner
Allez l'OM, allez l'OM!"
When the match started.
1 min: Arsenal kick off and Sol Campbell's first few touches are greeted by a crescendo of boos. He used to play for Tottenham, don't you know. Now their supporters hate him so much that they ... really wish he hadn't left.
"C'me on, you gits! Move those legs! This is Arsenal, you ain't frolicing through meadows!"
"What are they waiting for a proper introduction? He has the ball, dammit!"
2 min: Arsenal win a corner, which is sent into the mixer from the right. The ball's flicked as far as Campbell, who sends a meaty header goalwards. It beats Riou, but Bonnart saves with his chest on the line.
"Ouais! Marchez, mecs! Marchez!"
"What are you doing? Chasing butterflies? Run after that goddamn ball, dammit!"
4 min: I wonder if Bonnart is actually aware of the significance of this match? By all accounts, he doesn't like football, takes no interest in OM's opposition on any given day and never has any idea what competition they're even playing in when he lines up at the start of a match or traipses off at the end.
"What the fuck? Have you heard 'im? Bonnart takes it seriously, you imbécile! Keep on commenting and SHUT UP!" And he took another sip, sitting on the edge of the couch.
6 min: Rodriguez cuts in from the left wing before going down under a challenge in the D surrounding the Arsenal penalty area. He appeals for a free-kick but doesn't get one.
"Merde!" he took his head in his hands angrily, hearing the other shouting "Holy fuck!" twitching in his seat.
7 min:Rosicky and Eboue combine well down the left wing for Arsenal, with the former playing a give-and-go to the latter, only for the return pass to get lost in a forest of legs in the penalty area.
"Are they thinking they're at a tea party? It's a match, you bloody wankers! Show 'em what Arsenal's made of!" He shouted rolling his beer between his fingers.
9 min:Rodriguez takes on and beats Bakari Sagna down the left wing and gets his cross in. Clichy clears. The ball finds its way out to Gonzàles on the right wing and he sends in a cross for Niang to attack at the near post. His shot is blocked by a frantic Thomas Vermaelen lunge - corner for OM.
"S'il te plait, mon Dieu, s'il te plait-"
"Don't! Don't! Please, don't-"
GOAL! Olympique de Marseille 1-0 Arsenal (Gonzales 9 min) That's a sensational strike!
"WOOOOH-OHHH!" Francis jumped, fists in the air, screaming his pleasure to the ceiling before banging his head to the front almost hitting the low crystal table. Behind him Arthur punched the small pillow several times to release part of his anger, swearing but not so loudly as his friend's screams of joy. And the announcer kept talking.
"OM had a corner, which was sent in from the right by Abriel. Almunia punched it into the night sky, from where it dropped to Gonzales in the left channel. He sent it back with interest, rifling a left-footed volley over Almunia and under the crossbar from 35-40 yards out. Now we know what that secret weapon they were talking about is. Gonzales should retire now, because he's never going to top that if he plays for another 20 years."
"Shut the fuck up, that goal was amazing!" Francis stated shouting, his face red as he drank his beer.
"Belt up, I'm trying to follow it!" Arthur roared angrily.
"Caisse-toi, Arthur! Va prendre une autre bière, conne. Bien froid, s'il te plait!"
"Shut it!" He growled as he dashed downstairs to satisfy his command. It was their rule: the one whose team scores first pays for the beer. Or go get it. You have to leave the telly screen anyways. And how much he hated leaving him upstairs during the Champions League...
14 min: That's a turn-up for the books and no mistake. Arsenal were on top, but have been left shell-shocked by that sucker-punch. It was an astonishingly good goal and Lucho Gonzales was mobbed by his astonished team-mates in the wake of scoring it.
"He was, mon cher. Hell if he was. Dammit, I should stop being around Arthur, I'm talking weird!"
16 min: Arsenal attack down the left flank again. They're dominating possession, but doing very little with it.
"Arthur, move your noble ass! Your team is angry!" He shouted, not noticing the other already entering with a box full of Heineken beers.
"Drink and shut the fuck up, got it? And what the- Please don't tell me we're seriously watching this!" He complained breathing softly into the green bottle.
18 min: Arsenal have a problem.
"Fuck, what now?" But Francis eyes were shining.
Thomas Vermaelen goes down injured with what looks like a pulled calf muscle in his right leg. On the touchline, Arsene Wenger is fuming,
"And not only Wenger" the Frenchman added.
which is unsurprising seeing as he's going to have to press Mikael Silvestre into action. Arsenal substitution: Silvestre on, Vermaelen off.
20 min: Free-kick for Marseille, just inside their own half. Gabriel Heinze larrups the ball forward towards Rodriguez, who loses possession to Campbell. He clears.
"Right on, guys! Dammit, why Vermaelen? C'me on, we can still win!" He panted hoping.
21 min: Slaloming through the centre, Samir Nasri beats two OM defenders before pinging a diagonal pass out to Eboue on the right flank. He attempts to cross, but his effort is blocked.
"Fuck!"
"You were right, mon ami! This match is totally worth watching!" He stated, his eyes glued to the screen.
23 min: OM concede a corner, which Arsenal take short. The ball is worked across to the right touchline, from where Eboue sends in a low cross that's eventually hacked clear by Heinze.
"God damn Argentina!"
"Tais-toi, Heinze is a great South American!"
"Oh, please." He snorted, gritting his teeth at hearing his delight.
24 min:OM's defence gets stretched and Nasri threads a ball through their defence into the path of Bendtner. Offside, but not by much.
"Pass me a beer."
Francis stretched his arm and reached for a bottle, drinking from his own at the same time.
28 min:Arsenal go close, but Nicklas Bendtner gets the ball trapped under his feet and eventually digs it out to scuff a shot wide from six yards.
"What the hell are you doing, Nicklas, you bloody git? Fuck it, I'm about to throw a washing machine to the telly."
"Please, don't! I would die laughing!" Arthur glared. Git.
29 min: Arsenal win a throw-in in the OM half on the edge of the final third. Denilson chucks the ball to Clichy, who promptly gives it away.
"Clichy, go serve at the tables in some godforsaken pub and let some good player in, won't you?" The Brit growled resting his beer on his knee.
31 min: Good defending from Bonnart who defends ... good ... ly, going down in a tangle of arms and legs with Bakari Sagna as he shepherds, bundles both Arsenal full-back and ball out over the endline.
"Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Stop swearing, Arthur! You're even unsure about your religion!"
"I'm not!"
"You are! Anglicanism isn't a religion, it's a cake!"
"A what?" His eyes turned to look at his friend like a madman, who smiled calmly and serenely.
"A cake! And since the cake is a pie, the cake is a lie."
"You sodding-!" Grabbing his helpful pillow he started hitting Francis repetitively, getting angrier as he kept on laughing, still watching the match.
33 min: The official takes down Abriel's name and waves his yellow card after the OM midfielder cynically blocks Sagna. From the ensuing free-kick, Arsenal win a corner, which Riou punches clear.
"Allez OM!"Francis shouted trying to protect himself with his arms, but Arthur just kept on slamming his weapon against his body in raging fury.
35 min: The first booking is swifly followed by the second. Denilson gets cautioned for a trip on goalscorer Gonzàles.
"Show us a good match, fuck! I'm even killing a Frenchman for you!" And he kept on hitting as the other laughed hard.
36 min:Now Rool's name goes in the book, unfairly, after Rosicky ran across his path as he cut inside from the left wing on a goalward charge. Rool didn't actually tackle him - Rosicky ran into him and fell over. Free-kick for Arsenal, 25 yards out, well left of centre.
"Yes! Good job, guys!" Arthur shouted, now standing on the sofa with his hands closed into fists.
37 min: Nothing comes of it.
"That's your fault!" And he hit Francis once again.
"Mais je n'ai rien fait! Aie! Arthur!" He opened his hands to have a better shield for his head, trying to take the pillow away from him.
38 min:A rare sortie into the Arsenal box from OM, down the right flank. The ball is crossed and only half cleared to Rood on the right-hand side of the area. With Morientes unmarked at the far post and screaming for the ball, the right-back misplaces his pass and gifts possession to Almunia.
"Gimme 't!"
"You give it!" They quarreled for the pillow as the match went on.
39 min:Abriel misses what looks like a sitter that would have put OM two up. Picking up the ball 25 yards from the Arsenal goal, he was ushered through by Silvestre, for reasons best known to the centre-half, rode a Gael Clichy challenge and found himself through on goal with only Almunia to beat. The goalkeeper was quick off his line however and got down early to smother the shot.
"MINE!" Arthur shouted, peering to the telly once in a while, but never losing hold of his prey.
42 min:With Nicklas Bendtner loitering on the edge of the penalty area, Gael Clichy has nobody to pass to after making a driving run into the Marseille box. He tries a shot, but hits the side netting.
Francis's foot pressed between the other's legs to add more force to his pulls, but this only made Arthur angrier.
"Stop touching me!" He roared, twisting to the side and arching his back to add more force.
Half-time: Mark Clattenburg interrupts a game of head-tennis on the edge of the Marseille penalty area with the half-time whistle. OM goes in a goal up. On the balance of play they probably don't deserve to be winning, but considering they went ahead through a goal scored by such a pussy, who'd begrudge them their lead?
"Let me have it and I'll stop!" Francis replied. "Hey, half-time!"
"NEVER! And- what? Already half-time?" He asked with disappointment in his voice. Turning, he could see a bright grin on his friend's face. Kneeling down on the sofa, he crawled over him trying to smother him, but it all ended with them giving small slaps to each other.
Those damn Hooligans.
End Ch. 6
Comments are appreciated ^^ Even if you're against those teams. Hey, the World Cup was just too cliché! We need more real beer-chugging man watching the Champions like it's SRS BZNZ!