Before I went to the pub this weekend it had been a while honestly cos these days i just watch my sports at home alone but this time around i missed the shouting and sweating of fans gathered to watch the football match and so i decided to go. The aroma of fried food hung heavy in the air as I pushed open the door in. It wasn't my usual thing to watch other teams match being a die-hard Arsenal supporter, but tonight was an exception. Liverpool, my temporary allegiance, was facing off against Manchester City, and a City loss would be a significant advantage for my beloved Gunners in the title race. The pub was already packed, a sea of red jerseys and anxious faces.
I managed to squeeze into a small space near the back, ordering a some nuts and a soft drink and trying to blend in. The tension was obvious as the match began, every tackle and pass met with either a collective groan or a hopeful cheer. I found myself getting surprisingly invested, a testament to the intoxicating atmosphere of live football in a pub. A group of people next to me, decked out in full Liverpool gear, were particularly vocal, their roars and shouts adding to the energy. One of them, a man with a booming laugh, kept offering me chips.
As the game progressed, my hopes began to dwindle. City scored, then another. The initial energy and hope of the Liverpool fans their slowly deflated into a silence. The man next to me stopped offering crisps, Lol!!. instead he buried his face in his hands. I felt a strange mix of disappointment for the temporary comrades around me. I didnt even stay to the final whistle that sealed Liverpool's defeat, and a collective sigh filled the pub. The guys next to me started dissecting every play, their voices heavy with dejection as i walked back home, i wished i just stayed at home if i knew they were gonna lose.