Fever Pitch [antikvár]

INTRODUCTION SUNDAY, 14TH JULY 1991 It's in there all the time, looking for a way out. I wake up around ten, make two cups of tea, take them into the bedroom, place one on each side of the bed. We both sip thoughtfully; so soon after waking there are long, dream-filled gaps between the occasional remark - about the rain outside, about last night, about smoking in the bedroom when I have agreed not to. She asks what I'm doing this week, and I think: (1) I'm seeing Matthew on Wednesday. (2) Matthew's still got my Champions videó. (3) [Remembering that Matthew, a purely nominal Arsenal fan, has not been to Highbury for a couple of years, and so has had no opportunity to watch the more recent recruits in the flesh] I wonder what he thought of Anders Limpar. And in three easy stages, within fifteen, twenty minutes of waking, I'm on my way. I see Limpar running at Gillespie, swaying to his right, going down: PENALTY! DIXON SCORES! 2-0! . . . Merson's back-heel flick and Smith's rightfoot shot into the far corner in the same match . . . Merson's little push past Grobbelaar up at Anfield . . . Davis's swivel and smash against Villa . . . (And this, remember, is a morning in July, our month off, when there is no club football of any kind.) Sometimes, when I let this dreamy state take me over completely, I go on and back, through Anfield '89, Wembley '87, Stamford Bridge '78, my whole footballing life flashing before my eyes. 'What are you thinking about?' she asks.