FA Cup Final

Steve and I discussed the 'meeting Amy' thing last night. I asked him which of us was likely to be the most nervous about it. We weren't sure, but we both agreed that Amy was likely to be the only one not fazed at all by meeting 'Mum's new friend'. I asked Steve, 'on a scale of 1-10 how scared are you?' He said 15.

I told him I was a 15 too. Even though this annoyingly reminded me of my Granddad with his 110%'s for every slight effort. 110% and also 15 out of 10 simply aren't possible - but even knowing this was no defence against the ultra-scariness of boyfriend-daughter meetings.

I wanted to watch the FA Cup Final with Steve, and not Amy. Amy hates football, so if I watched with her the likelihood would be that she'd spend the whole match demanding to watch the Rugrats, or else asking for help with her drawing. I decided to ask a friend to look after her at 3pm on Saturday, so that I could watch the match in peace. The friend lived in Bermondsey, not perfect planning, but Amy was happy with the idea of seeing 2 old friends. So I met Steve to watch the match at 'The Old Kings Head' pub, in London bridge.

I don't know what to say about the game. I was so nervous. We scored early on, a lovely gift of an own goal, but I refused to be happy. I told Steve that I'd only relax if we scored 3 goals. Then 2 nil up, and Steve was counting on his West Ham karma bet coming good. I wasn't. I told him again that I wouldn't be happy until West Ham scored 3 goals. And of course Liverpool scored, and then equalised, and then West Ham were ahead again. At 3-2 I felt happy. I believed in West Ham karma, whether Steve's magic, or my own prediction that '3 goals and I could relax'. For a while I felt sure that West Ham would win, that this would be a good day... Until Liverpool equalised. Yeah, yeah, good goal etc. etc... I don't want to talk about the rest of it. It's probably best to just write 'aargh' or else 'fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck'.

Yeah, I was gutted. Fucking gutted. To lose on penalties is cruel of course. To be ahead on goals for the majority of the game, and to lose on penalties.... Fucking shite fucking aargh fuck grrr aargh fuck shite-wad fuck bastard.

So, I was upset after the game. As anyone would be who really cares about their team, and wants them to win, and thinks they may win. And they don't. Fucking penalties. Don't start me off with the fucking fuck fuck fucking penalties thing again...

Steve made the mistake of mentioning the past. My West Ham fan history is very much tied up with my Ex, and the best West Ham fan site on the net, and oh, other stuff I feel like I've lost, that still hurts a bit. I was upset that I'd lost hmm, stuff, and of course that we'd lost the FA Cup. I hadn't enjoyed a minute of the match of course, how can any match be enjoyable when so much is at stake? And I was watching it with Steve, not Alex. I wanted to be watching it with Steve, but it was just different. Steve pointed out that I didn't seem to be enjoying the football...

So yeah, stressful, sad afternoon. I was about 15 out of 10 on a tense scale all day. So after the match I'm not sure how it came about but Steve met Amy. In hindsight not the best timing. Amy looked cute in blue jeans and a blue tie-die T-shirt that made her eyes look even bluer than usual. Yes, she looked pretty that day. I'm sure Steve noticed that. As we travelled home Amy was happy, she gabbled engagingly and giggled a lot, I'm sure Steve noticed that too. Amy is a perfect 5 year old I think. I love her 110%, no fuck that 110000000000000000% on Grandpa's nonsense percentage scale. And I know that people do do the boyfriend/girlfriend thing when there is some other person's kid around, but I've never had to even think about that before. I don't know how that works.

It's not like Steve has ever had anything to do with kids before. So he's supposed to see me doing my Mum 11000000000000% in love with her kid thing, when he can't feel the same? He's supposed to take a back seat to my daughter, because I love him just about 10100000000000% but she needs me more than him? He's not supposed to be irritated by the fact that kids are work, and stress, and fucking annoying a large percentage of the time? So perhaps I'm being silly, and overreacting just a tad, but yesterday was an emotional day you know?

And though the first Amy-Steve meet thing went fine on the surface, and as far as those two were concerned. For me it was like another Cup final, a big occasion, just a little too soon after the last. So I decided the score was something like Amy 0, Steve 0, Jo 15 out of fucking 10. It ended up with Steve pouring a freshly made cup of tea down the sink to head home smartish, and me getting Amy to bed, then finishing off the fun I'd started with some Stella at the pub earlier.

So yeah, it was a bad day on Saturday. And I think only West Ham fans will be nodding along sympathetically and saying, 'Well after that match I'm surprised you didn't decide to take to Steve and Amy with your kitchen knife.' Pointing out that any jury of Hammer's fans would likely let me off.

So West Ham lost, and I turned into psycho-bitch, but it's because football matters - and I think for once I'll let myself off and just say fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking penalties. Like your fucking dreams they fucking fade and die, and all that crap.