Happy birthday to me

Today is my birthday.  I am one.  This is my 101st blog post.  Those are statistics that mean nothing to anyone: not even myself.


Surprise TimmyBacsi party.  Cheers guys!

With Frem away in Svenborg (not a Swedish robot), it was time for a trip back to B93 who were at home to Fremad Amager.  All a long way from Kecskemet when this blog first gestated.


That is a kale chip.  The fat man next to us was noticeably scared.

Autumn has arrived in a big way in Copenhagen. It is perpetually dark or grey. Or possibly both but it is hard to determine how grey somewhere is when there is no light. Something to do with physics.

Anyway, Gyongyi and I fought our way through the drizzle to make the short trip to the delightful Osterbro Stadium in the shadow of the home of FC Kobenhavn and the national team, Parken. Never has the contrast between crappy, plastic football and ‘grass roots’ ever been so apparent. More importantly, the major news was that B93 had setup two dedicated beer stands next to the only/main stand. Prices seemed to have increased from DKK 25 (GBP 2.50), to DKK 35 (you do the maths), which I am not sure were entirely justified. Still.


What has happened when a naked archer go about his business without being sexually abused?

The first two minutes were among the most exciting I have seen on a football pitch without any goals, penalties, red cards or mascot involvement. B93 carved out their best chance of the game after 24 seconds (my mental note taking works for about 60 seconds) before the ball was swept up the other end for the the B93 goalkeeper to do his best impression of Harald Schumacher (showing my age, if somewhat inaccurately). That was it.

Well, for 15 minutes or so when Madsen (first name possibly Soren) slammed a screamer past the Schumacher.

After the recent goalfests this always felt like a game that did not quite deliver. Both players gave is all in some pretty testing conditions. B93 not helped by a fairly soft red card about 20 minutes from the end. An event that killed the game. Fremad Amager probably should have killed the game off long before the final whistle signalled three points travelling south by a combination of S-Tog and metro or alternatively by bike. I honestly do not know how points travel.


After the game we found a cost bar over the road, had an excellent beer and then were fortified by free beer from two Blonde Danish girls who clearly did not much enjoy their tasting set. Do I feel bad about drinking beer that was left by others? Ashamedly. Not really.


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