Nostalgia Attacks

http://gothiacup.se

July 12-19, 2009.

So the biggest youth tournament in the world has started. :(

...without me.

Sigh.

I sooo wanted to go this year :( But I guess it's not worked out. I'll probably also be too old to play next year; so boohoo :'(

Without a doubt that was one of the best weeks of my life.

Anyway, I figured that I should make something constructive of this, so every day of this awesome Gothia Week, I'm going to tell you guys a super secret special story that I haven't really told anyone yet.

Alright, so lets get right into it :D

~~

Part I: Dangerous Liaisons

I remember a really famous sailor was once asked to describe how he felt, each time he sailed to sea. Unfortunately, I do NOT remember what he replied. Lol. I can tell you this, just as the Stena Line ship left the docks on a rainy Saturday evening as the wind washed frigid water all over the deck, and the adventures and memories of small-town Denmark faded into the distance along with the shore, I could feel a sense of expectation and excitement.



This was the boat we travelled on




Not least for the soccer, of course. I knew better than that - we had been drawn into a group with a German, a Swedish, and an American team. A group of death for us. To be fair though, we'd be taking 6 or 7 goals a game even if it was Georgia, Somalia and fucking Siberia.

No, the expectation was for Gothenburg, the excitement was for what was quite possibly going to be the most legendary week of all.

We'd managed to smuggle some beer aboard, and even though it was raining cats and dogs on the ship deck, as we stared into the driving sheets of rain, looking all cool with Carlsberg bottles in our hand, me and a couple of team mates were sitting around, talking. Then, I heard this unmistakable squeal from behind me.

COAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACH ALEEEEEEERTTTT!!!

Holy shit, I had a beer bottle in my hand! The guy next to me tossed it overboard; the expression on his face absolutely priceless. It was too late to throw mine. The coach was walking straight towards us.

Thinking at lightning speed, I sat down and put the alcohol behind me. The bench was sopping wet. There go my expensive Jockey boxers, lol. He walked right upto me, and went like:

"Desai, why the hell are you sitting on that wet thing? Can't find a seat? Come on, I'll get you one"
"No no, I'm okay, Sir."

He opened his mouth to speak, just as the guy next to me burped REALLY loudly.

Disgusted, the coach walked off. hahaha!

Part II: Casanova's Child

So, let me tell you about this guy friend of mine. His name is Prathamesh. He's 23 years old, but he is only 5 feet tall. Really funny guy, but hopeless when it comes to socializing or anything to do with girls.



The guy on the right is him.

Anyway, we were inside now, exploring the many hidden pleasures that the ship had to offer. While doing so, we encountered a Swedish handball team. Those girls started getting all giggly at Prathamesh's 'really gay' 50 Cent shirt.

Not one to take an insult to my friend's honor and dignity so lightly, I went over to them and started laughing with them at the poor guy's shirt.

I wow'd them with my irresistible knowledge of the Swedish language, perfectly being able to pronounce "You are gay" and "Show me your tits!"

They laughed especially hard at the second one. What can I say? I'm awesome.

Before long, I had the whole handball team in a circle around me. I enriched their life with my amazing drama as I called their coach a paedophile. A couple of them even agreed, hahaha!

Anyway, about that time, a 12 year old guy from my club comes upto me and goes like "The coach wants to speak to you"

Fuck! Foiled by the fucking coach again!

So as I walked up, I could see the whole coaching staff of the team sitting in a kind of semi circle, this faggot from my team (lets just call him faggot) on one side of the table, and me in front of the semi circle, ready to endure the wrath of the coaches!

That 'faggot' had told the coach about my escapades with these girls. Faggot.

I was now genuinely scared. Because the coach was genuinely scary, and almost 2 metres tall. And muscular. A chickpea for a brain, though.

My palms started to sweat as he began talking. He looked into my eyes, a fire blazing behind them, and I thought I was going to die.

He started..."So, Desai...I heart you've been...telling girls to show you their tits?"

And a smile crept on his face. Phew! I knew I was safe now!

Before I could muster a response, the ass kissing faggot goes "Yeah Ankit, why are you always like that?"

That was the last straw.

I replied acidly: "Noel, tu itna bada chutya kyu hai?" (Dude, why're you sucha fucking twat always?)

Cue: The whole team explodes in laughter, coaches and all. Anky saves the day! Or maybe that idiot shot himself in the foot?

Anyway, I was pretty disappointed that the I hadn't been able to show off that whole hand ball team on my side, lol.

There was a consolation, however. After we got off the ship, we were unloading our baggage right next to their team. One of the girls came up to me, gave me a hug and wrote down her email and # on my hand.



Never did follow up on her, never regretted it.

Because I fell in love 2 days later. Stay tuned for that ;-)