two months removed from st. patrick's day and i'm still drinking like an irishman lost in pakistan. somehow, my school allowed me to leave tonight at 6:00, a dangerous time because it gives me more time than usual to start my drinking--and, tonight, i decided it would be a good idea to start with bloody marys before going on to beer and then on to my favorite cool-weather concoction of bailey's, vodka, and bourbon on the rocks.

thus, i sit here with the sweet taste of the above mixture roaming my body and my taste buds are doing what they usually do after such degradations: protesting madly and lamenting the fact that i dunked a fair amount of strawberries into the bailey's/vodka/bourbon bowl.

my wife sits and watches "sex and the city, season 6," but only after she discovered i was still drinking and sitting at this terminal, which only occurred as a result of her responding, "i don't know," to my question, "are you going to bed or watch TV?" of a few minutes ago whilst she was brushing her teeth. she hasn't yet learned, after three years together (albeit one month of that thirty-six has been spent married) that such a noncommital answer at this point in the drinking cycle only begets more drinking because i'm not a sensible bastard who would simply have just gone to bed after such a vague answer to my (obviously-not-so-obvious) rhetorical question.

i am reminded, speaking of nonsensical, of 48 hours ago, when my good friends ryan, penny, andy, and carlos wandered over to watch starsports's broadcast of the final weekend of the 04-05 english premier league footy season. the top of the table was already wrapped up, thanks to chelsea's magical season (and not to newcastle's decidedly horrible one), but the bottom of the table on this final weekend had yet to be decided: which three were down. among the fight not to be relegated to the division below were the following four teams: norwich city (17th place out of 20 and safe out of the drop zone, just a point ahead of 18th and 19th and two points ahead of 20th place), crystal palace, southampton, and west bromwich albion, respectively.

starsports had the ingenious idea of broadcasting norwich's final game and a win by the fairy canaries would render moot the results of the other three teams' matches. my good buddy, carlos, somehow is a norwich supporter--how i managed to meet a canary way out here in NE asia is beyond me and beside the point--and i invited him over because he had no televisual access to such a big game for his club. that penny and ryan are footy fans made their invitation obsequious, though inviting andy was not because he likes or knows much about footy (he's a kiwi, what does he know aside from rugby, sheep, and...well, that's it) but because he's leaving us within a matter of days and it was an opportunity not only to hang out with him in his dying days with us, but also to take advantage of his free coupons at the alleged best pizza joint on the northeast korean coast.

we were all primed for the big match by a couple hours' worth of "the black adder", a wickedly funny BBC program from days of a less PC time of humour, and not by the armada of alcohol patiently waiting its demise on my porch, save for your host, who was nursing two separate bottles of red wine in hopes of eliciting a fair comparison between a cheap french and a cheap korean--and though that sounds kinky and inviting in a slutty kind of way, such thoughts must be banished from your mind because the results are simple: when it comes to red wine, a cheap french is a must for your time; when it comes to lovin', however, a cheap korean cleaves the croissant, so to speak.

carlos being carlos, he neglected to remind me until right at kickoff that norwich hadn't won away from home all season. this was further vindicated by the colour man, andy gray, on the english sky sports feed we were receiving, when he made the astute statement that a top-flight english club that manages to go an entire season without winning once away from home doesn't deserve to stay up. after 10 minutes, american brian mcbride--playing for norwich's opponent, fulham--continued his fine last months-of-the-season form by sliding a comfortable push through the keeper's legs for a 0-1 fulham advantage. we all ruminated on the fact that even if norwich were beaten, 7-0, if the other teams lost, it wouldn't matter.

no truer words were nearly spoken on the one hand, if only truer words had been spoken on the other.

anyway, as the match continued in the first half, we bitched at the TV on more than one occasion as the fat-fuck ref denied two norwich pleas for penalties and the blind linesman disallowed a goal for a ghost of a foul on a norwich forward. then, lightning struck and norwich were behind 0-2, at which it remained as we took to halftime.

the 2nd half was yet to come, and it would provide both dark moments and surreal moments, depending on your point of view and longitudinal/latitudinal awareness of english football...

ahh, fuck it... norwich lost, 6-0, just off my above allusion of, "even if norwich lose, 7-0..." one of the other teams, west bromwich albion, won and they stayed up. norwich were relegated and all was morose in the 403 as we watched the inevitable loss become the disastrous ass-bender it became.

when i started this gleeb, i was drunk and the story of watching the match somehow seemed more compelling than either it was or i was able to re-tell it...