David Carney is a name I’m unlikely to forget for two reasons. My hate/hate relationship with the blonde winger started at the Sydney versus Urawa Red Diamond game last month. Enjoying some pre-match beers and being the gambling sort, I suggested I might have a cheeky $20 on Carney first scorer. However as the sands of time slipped away, I only got into the ground a few minutes before kick off. I had a choice, get more beer or have a bet on Carney.
As I was trying to find a seat with a full tray of beers in hand, I struggled to get too excited about Carney’s goal inside 60 seconds. My reaction reminded me of a time at West Ham when one of my mates branded having a bet on our forward Marlon Harewood “a total waste of time”. In an act of regrettable arrogance he suggested me and another mate give him the money we would have betted and he will offer mammoth 100/1 odds. A conservative £1 was staked by the two of us.
West Ham kicked off against Man Utd and Harewood duly thumped in a goal from the kick-off. My mate, a newly former bookie, had a face which was strange mix of delight about taking the lead and sheer panic at being £200 ($477) down. He never paid-up and we never got our money back, but I would have paid any amount just to see that face.
Fast forward a couple weeks from the Urawa game and while I was out on a date with a real life lady in Sydney’s Darling Harbour, the subject of football cropped up. She then revealed she’d once gone out with some Sydney FC player called David. When I suggested “Carney, the blonde fella”, it was clear we were reading from the same page. I was intrigued and had to get further details on how Mr. Carney measured up, in a purely dating sense I mean.
“He was pretty boring and kept going on about how he was one of the best footballers at Sydney,” she said.
This made me feel a lot better. Mainly because I attempt to play in Carney’s right midfield position for my Sunday league team and I was in danger of being labelled a poor man’s Carney.
Granted, it’s doubtful I’m quite the right midfielder Carney is, but the above comment would suggest I’m a better date. In my mind anyway.
As I was trying to find a seat with a full tray of beers in hand, I struggled to get too excited about Carney’s goal inside 60 seconds. My reaction reminded me of a time at West Ham when one of my mates branded having a bet on our forward Marlon Harewood “a total waste of time”. In an act of regrettable arrogance he suggested me and another mate give him the money we would have betted and he will offer mammoth 100/1 odds. A conservative £1 was staked by the two of us.
West Ham kicked off against Man Utd and Harewood duly thumped in a goal from the kick-off. My mate, a newly former bookie, had a face which was strange mix of delight about taking the lead and sheer panic at being £200 ($477) down. He never paid-up and we never got our money back, but I would have paid any amount just to see that face.
Fast forward a couple weeks from the Urawa game and while I was out on a date with a real life lady in Sydney’s Darling Harbour, the subject of football cropped up. She then revealed she’d once gone out with some Sydney FC player called David. When I suggested “Carney, the blonde fella”, it was clear we were reading from the same page. I was intrigued and had to get further details on how Mr. Carney measured up, in a purely dating sense I mean.
“He was pretty boring and kept going on about how he was one of the best footballers at Sydney,” she said.
This made me feel a lot better. Mainly because I attempt to play in Carney’s right midfield position for my Sunday league team and I was in danger of being labelled a poor man’s Carney.
Granted, it’s doubtful I’m quite the right midfielder Carney is, but the above comment would suggest I’m a better date. In my mind anyway.
