I trudge back, my brain spiralling with thoughts as to what to do, my body collapsed in exhaustion. Back up the slope. Explaining the situation to a couple of Stewards and asking them for suggestions, vague directions to the rail station follow. I have other ideas.
I turn around the corner, depression and desperation in an abundantly high level as long shadows are cast beside the stadium. I approach the cordoned off area and stand near the other autograph hunters. I am here, I have a useless coach ticket. I decide to get it signed by as many players - the ones who under performed so drastically.
Of course, I had explained my situation to the surrounding mob of autograph hunters and cheekily summoned the attention of the Stewards, asking if I could go home on the team bus. I held no real hope and afterwards, after a little conversation amongst themselves I was definitely told a negative. I lapsed into fun mode then - trying to make the most of the lunacy. I was joking with the people around me. Everytime a crate was wheeled out and loaded below the bus I’d shout ‘I can fit in there!’ to nobody in particular. I tried my luck with the Stewards again, nothing sexual. I am tired and frustrated. Another man comes to talk to me ‘you wanna go back in the team bus?’ he asks ‘I just wanna go home’ I say. I do, nothing more.
This man is really cool - he’s putting way more enthusiasm into it than the others + obviously feels sympathy. It was about now the first players started to come out. A couple had made the gaunt between club and coach. I wave my ticket around but I’m not forceful or persistent enough. A kid next to me who I’ve talked to before is kindly pushing it under his nose and asking him. He gets a result and I couldn’t. I learn something about myself. The shy kid in the corner never achieved anything. The pushy guy in the suit badgers his way to the top. Impolite but he gets where he wants to be. Perhaps I should adopt some of his strategy.
ignore the horrible pastaly colours