The last seven months of travelling in the Americas has always been about freedom of choice: getting to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, where I want to do it. Unfortunately, I made a wrong choice today here in Bogotà, when I spotted some 'Fùtbol de Escocia' (Scottish Football) was showing on FOX Sports and decided to flick over to watch it.
The match turned out to be Celtic v Aberdeen, and it had just started. Magic, I thought to myself cheerfully. I support Aberdeen, for no reason other than a cruelly mistimed childhood - I started liking football in the early eighties, when Aberdeen FC were dominant both domestically and in Europe. Unfortunately, they have been utter shite ever since: today, they were 4-0 down at half time.
The only brightspot in the second half came when Gloria commented that Aberdeen's Yoann Folly didn't look particularly Scottish. My own folly was in continuing to watch the game, which continued to be dire and embarrassingly one-sided. By the final whistle, Celtic were winning 9-0 and I was dreading a Facebook message from my sister (a rabid Rangers supporter). Indeed, the only positive I could think of from a shite afternoon of SPL football was that Aberdeen's humiliating loss of nine goals would give Celtic a superior league goal difference over Rangers, who I hate even more.
I have pined for a ice cold glass of Irn Bru on many occasions over the last seven months, and lost count of the number of times I have agreed with a Latin American that has told me that 'Corazon Valiente' (Braveheart) is one of the best films ever made.
But Scottish football? Well that can get right to F.C.U.K.
But Scottish football? Well that can get right to F.C.U.K.
I don´t even think that a roll and Lorne square sausage could have got rid of the bad taste in my mouth
