Posted on Tuesday, August 25, 2009
in Humourarse, On the box
I’m in a sitting-room with five men, our bellies full of battered cod and chips, our glasses full… the telly’s on and a reminder suddenly pops up on the screen to tell us that ‘Match of the Day’ is about to start. Half of us cheer, the other half are of no discernible opinion.
Various tense moments of recent soccer matches play out to choruses of groans and ‘oooh’s and ‘yay’s from the lads, and I bite my nails. I wait for Manchester United highlights to hit… I wait for my moment. I am prepared.
Gary Lineker waffles as the screen changes and Man United appears for the highlights. I watch the body language of the lads carefully and wait to pounce. A dude runs towards the goal with the football along the outside of the field, he passes it to his buddy in the middle, who passes it back to the first bloke, the ball gets closer and closer..
“G’WAN!!!” the lads shout in unison.
Several defending lads try and fail to grab the ball, it gets closer and closer to the net. Nearly…
“PASS IT!” scream the lads.
The goalkeeper starts to look nervous. Nearly…
The ball only a few feet from the net, my time has come to screw things up.
“Hey lads, isn’t there a bloke on this team called Dimitar Berbatov?” I ask coyly.
“Yeah s’right” their eyes remain glued to the screen, their attention un-broken.
“Is it me or does that name sound like someone’s farted in the bath?!?”
I sit back with satisfaction as wine is ejected from nostrils and the goal on the TV is entirely missed while grown men giggle like schoolboys.
Ha. Fart humour. Gets ’em every time.
It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.