Man U referee spoils my day

Oct 31, 2004

<b>THE ROVER</b><br><br>Yes, every time I am liquid enough to drink like a fish, people give me offers of drinks.

THE ROVER

Yes, every time I am liquid enough to drink like a fish, people give me offers of drinks.

Like last Sunday, I had secured a loan from Eve, the policeman’s wife. It was easier than I had thought after annoying her at The Tavern. I just phoned and told her that I dreamt about their wedding day.

That they looked so beautiful and the dream was sooooo real that it must have been a good omen. Thankfully she believed me. In her excitement, she called me to her joint for details and I managed to come out of it with a loan to fund a mini cerebration after flooring Man U in their own compound.

Then my cousin came in like mana from heaven and gave me an MTN invite, which came with a meal and three beers, to Sabrina’s Pub.

Climbing down Sabrina’s steps always gives me a feel of descending an aircraft at Entebbe Airport.

We were promised soccer on giant screens, but were later told we had to wait because they need darkness to show anything. Syda Bumba must love them.

The atmosphere was electric, the beers cold, the meal delicious, until a guy, actually a referee, called Mike Riley entered to assist Man U in its raping of the virgin girl, Arsenal! In my opinion that was worse than Spe’s reported sh25b ‘robbery’ from our coffers.

And I cannot resist the temptation to think that all refs are malicious considering that the guy, who gave Bafana Bafana a free penalty was also a ref. I have added refs onto my list of enemies.

I had to take it like a man – that is drink as if Monday was very far from Sunday. At Sabrinas, they had put a movie, which no one was following as people were scattering.

One couple almost fought when the girl told the man that Arsenal’s loss had taken away all her feelings and so, all their evening plans must be abandoned.

The guy went ballistic, soliciting me for assistance, which was a mistake because I gave them a four-beer-charged opinion that only a fool should engage in romance after such blatant burglary at Old Trafford. If it were not for my size, the bloke would have boxed me.

I did not wait to see what followed. We drove to Steak Out in Nakasero, a place always full of students, especially, foreign. The joint’s Utake night every first Saturday of the month (when they play only songs from Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania) has made it so popular among Kenyan and Tanzanian students, who in Kampala, are about to overtake Ugandans in number.

Apart from allegations of burning schools, foreign students are extremely harmless. They don’t detooth like Man U does. When they floor you, you really have to be deserving it.

My cousin found there a lady friend, brown enough to cheer me in peaceful times. But Man U fans kept on criss-crossing, cheerfully creating conditions of war in my brains. My usual partnership of a cold Bell, soft music and a brown girl failed to work.

I changed to Richot and people, who saw me later said I was looking like Minister Kibirige. And when I returned home later, my Kitookye was not very happy. She started saying something about drinking money when some people are building houses.

Good advice, but wrong time. I will start building when buildings stop collapsing. I hear another one at Seguku Kajjansi came tumbling after the one of Bwebajja, both on Entebbe Road. I tried to sing her ‘Jack and Jill’, but it seems she has forgotten her nursery rhymes.

So, I seriously reminded her that the Entebbe buildings fell as the owners had just left the premises (I hope those renovating Entebbe’s State House take note of that), which would not be good for her because my Will was entirely in her favour.

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