Coffee 1 Burnley 0
It was late afternoon and the fading winter sunlight
peered through the gaps in the shutters. As the clouds passed, the little lights descended
into darkness before returning to brighten the musky room within. I lay there, tired but
happy and gently stroked her hair back from her face. It was time to get up and the
beautiful French girl who lay beside me started to stir. She sighed gently and began to
stretch. The light was tired and dim but it was enough to see her big brown eyes open and
sparkle.
She smiled. "C'est quelle heure?" she asked
softly. I assured her that she didn't want to know. She paused for a moment, running her
tongue around the inside of her mouth, "Café," she said sitting up, "je
dois avoir un café."
Being a bachelor flat the kitchen was bare, so we
dressed and prepared to head for a coffee bar around the corner from the appartement. I
walked into the salon to find my shoes and notice the time, 5:45, that means it's 4:45 in
England. I grabbed the phone and dialled.
"Alright Danny, what's the score?"
For a brief moment fear and excitement coursed through
my veins and then Danny broke the silence, "One nil to the Bur-ner-ley, one nil to
the Bur-ner-ley...". My first thought, excellent, I laughed and tried to share in his
excitement but for some reason I started to feel cold.
"Who-hoo! Andy Cooke scored a header from a cross
by Armstrong..." I could hear the radio commentary in the background as Danny
explained that Burnley had been the better side and thoroughly deserved their lead. I
could hear the happiness in his voice but for me it wasn't there. I felt saddened by the
news.
I realised how far away from home I really am. I
remembered the relief as we ran on the pitch after the Plymouth match, the sunshine, the
crowd and the anticipation at Watford, the euphoria as I tried to stay on my feet on a
swirling cheering terrace at Brentford and on that rainy night in Colchester. Suddenly it
all seemed so far away and inaccessible.
These are the sort of days that make football special,
the sort of days that just happen and no-one can mark on the fixture list. It could have
been another Man City and I couldn't bear the thought of coming home for that. But it
wasn't another Man City and despite the fact that I'm glad that it turned out well, I
couldn't help grieving for all the days like this that I'll never see unless I come back
to England.
I looked up. She was standing in the doorway putting on
her coat.
"How long's left?" I asked.
"About 10 minutes." Danny replied.
I was confident that Burnley were going to win, the
sort of confidence that you have in someone else's team. "Oh well, I suppose I'll
call back later."
"What do you mean?" he asked, "you can't
go now. This is one of the biggest days in Burnley's history. They haven't done anything
this exciting in years."
It didn't matter. It was a great day that I couldn't
share and I was half pretending that it wasn't happening.
"I've got to go, I've got company and I can't
really sit here listening to the footy for the next quarter of an hour."
Referees always seem to find an extra five minutes to
give losing premiership sides a chance to crush the hopes and joy of the lower league
teams. I figured that today would be the same.
"Well call me back in fifteen minutes then."
"I can't, we're going out."
I could hear the horror in his voice, "Going out?
What do you mean you're going out, there's only a few minutes to go."
"I promised her we'd go out for a coffee."
"Ohh, Andy," he sighed, "How things have
changed. Since when do you go for a coffee instead of waiting for the footy results?"
He had a point but somehow today was different. I could
hear his disapproval as he grunted his agreement to call me back and let me know the final
score.
It was late when I got home that night. It was raining
outside and I stood by the Salon window looking at the lights reflecting in the puddles,
watching the cars splash their way through the street below. I pressed the button on my
answer phone.
"Alright Andy. The final score was, Football 0,
Coffee 1. Bye!"
Andy Braid
Clermont-Ferrand Clarets
February 2000
Our Derby match report
and Hego's alternative match report
