I’m not writing about reasonable or even borderline Manchester City Football Club supporters: they love their club, more power to them. No, I refer to The Washington, D.C. Bros, the ones who’re fond of great hand-clapping songs about Wilfried Bony, for instance, as if MCFC fully mentored the Côte d’Ivoire forward, rather than purchasing him for a whopping sum from Swansea. The same Bros make loud baby-crying noises when an opposing player has been fouled and hurt by a City player, and by this, I mean, “WAAAAAA!”, throughout the game, “WAAAAAA!”, go The MCFC Washington, D.C. Bros. If you represent a smaller club, if you venture into their lair at an establishment known as Lucky Bar in Dupont Circle, then you’ll be outnumbered by The Bros 50 to 1, you’ll be yelled at from the comfort zone of their vastly superior numerical advantage. “WAAAAAA!” go The Bros, “Wilfried Bony! Wilfried Bony!”, they sing, clapping tightly. They purchase replica English breakfast and replica beer, these Bros, they seem to hold jobs. One imagines them toiling as Financial Services Bros, or for special interest that frequently declares skeptical views of, let’s say, poverty, or perhaps on behalf of shadowy multinationals. One doesn’t imagine these Washington, D.C. Manchester City Bros giving back to the community. One doesn’t imagine them tipping, or holding a door open for someone, or self-diagnosing the clinical nature of their behavior. Still, these Bros are people, too. Who will sing for them—“WAAAAAA!”—when their bodies return to the earth? Who will sing for them when they return their sky blues to the hamper? Who will sing for them when the Bud Lite fails to vanquish the demons of the following truth: vastly wealthy foreign ownership buys titles, some of the time, but not all the time. “WAAAAAA!”
complaint week 2015 editorial schedule:
October 26: The Democrat Machine
October 27: Artists and Writers Who Say “My Work”
October 28: GWU Fires Adjunct Creative Writing Faculty
October 29: Washington, D.C. Manchester City Bros
October 30: People Who Don’tListen to Music
October 30: People Who Don’tListen to Music
9 comments:
Photograph of MCFC, 1904.
"...songs about Wilfried Bony, for instance, as if MCFC fully mentored the Côte d’Ivoire forward, rather than purchasing him for a whopping sum from Swansea" -- midseason, I might add, to boot, and after a six week spell in tourney play in Africa. So, he comes in closer to the end of the season and this is what happens, how they behave. Every thing is just severely wrong about this, esp. the singing of his name to "Mony Mony." I can take a good ol' fashioned fat United or Arsenal fan, but good grief, this is so corporate. City fans, yes, but y' might even call this band o' bilkers n' belchers K Street United.
Indeed. They should be in a Bilker Gang. Or a Belcher Gang. K St Utd is a perfect description for these Bros.
-------------------------BA
Up the Swans!
The Lucky Bar should change its name to The Unlucky Bar.
Up the fucking Swans!
The Lucky Bar should change its name to Brown Sauce. If only! That breakfast is like a can of Heinz thrown on some Wonder Bread.
Up the Fckn Swans! Is right!
-------------------BA
lucky bar sucks donkey pizzle -- casey
pho schnizzle dunkizzle on the lucky bar suckizzle. i can safely say -- bros! -- you can have lucky bar. it's alllllll yours.
the cardiff guy is all right though. the owner? manager?
------------b.a.
Another shiny shot in the corner pocket, my man. Lucky Bar--WAAAA indeed. Reminds me of the perplexed young man wearing a tight-vested Arsenal kit munching Spicy Wing Doritos for the whole duration of my Shakespeare class.... What is this guy's deal??? Whose gloss is he slubbering, anyway???
The, The Goose: awesome. Spicy Wing Doritos as the choice -- endorsed -- snackfoodz -- of the Arsenal Bro. I mean, someone must defend the Arsenal from cyber attack, from brown sauce seepage, from bangers and mash bumper crop. The Arsenal quivers, man. The Doritos bakes in the massive oven with destination -- Arsenal USA Bro snackchoice. Oh yeah, it's gonna be a big year as the Dorito wends its way through the Arse. ---------bA
Post a Comment