Letter From America


By Dave Thomas
May 15 2010

Honey I'm Home -- Me and Mrs T have been away for a spell, longer than we thought, so there is a bit to catch up on. We knew we would miss the Hull and Sunderland games, and then because of a cloud of ash from a piddling little lump of rock called Iceland, we missed the Liverpool game as well (stranded in New York and spending money like water).

First of all Iceland messed up the worlds finances good and proper, then they f****d up international travel. Plus they gave us Gudjonnson. If I could, on balance, after considerable thought about the matter and trying to be as fair as possible, I think I’d nuke the place. 


     Whilst away, I confess I found myself missing the instant news and the gossip from the vibrant messageboards and all the texts and emails from chums. In fact for a few days I had real withdrawal symptoms. I would have gone to see the doctor, but they cost a fortune over there.

     Missing the stunning Hull game was a sickener and we missed the weekend in Sunderland with the Supporters Club who stayed in Newcastle. But then the magic of New York took over and the stresses and strains of being a Burnley supporter began to fade. From over 3,000 miles away it’s far less subjective. For a little while I wondered if I should feel guilty because I wasn’t fretting about results and relegation and if anyone would leg it to the 110 Club for a swift lager halfway through training. But then the first breakfast in a splendid old-style diner near Central Park, yellow cabs, honking fire engines and lights-flashing police cars racing by the windows, eased away the memories of all the games I’d seen us lose at home, especially Blackburn and Citeh.  And even the possibility of a trip to Millwall or Doncaster in the new season didn’t seem too horrific.
 
     We made plans for the week… looked forward to getting back for the Jimmy Mac dinner and the Liverpool game (the volcano hadn’t yet erupted), the usual sightseeing stuff, a Broadway Show, jazz at the Lincoln Centre, B B King’s nightclub; hot dog vendors on every other street corner and policemen twirling batons on the others, and a day driving round Brooklyn where Mrs T’s father was born and her grandfather buried. The cab driver for the day was called Johnny Nunez. With a name like that you’d expect him to at least play for Wigan.

To read the whole article please click on the link below;

http://www.thelongside.info/content/view/944/116/