August 2nd: Leicester City v Real Valladolid (Friendly)
The last game before the season begins. The real football is six days away. Today, we are being visited by La Liga's Real Valladolid. This, apparently, is our glamour friendly - a home game against the team who finished 16th in Spain last season. Yes, the Sunderland of Spanish football.
The club have put together a 'family day' (whatever one of those is) before the game, so this is an ideal opportunity to take the offspring to her first Walkers Stadium game. As we arrive at the ground (alongside Paul, Janice and Helen) it becomes obvious that the 'family day' consists of a couple of bouncy castles and two vans purveying ice cream and burgers. Seems a bit lazy and, quite honestly, shit. I should mention that my child is quite capable of polishing off any amount of food you care to present her with, as long as it doesn't have mushrooms in it, so I'm slightly worried when I see her eyeing up the ice cream van. As it happens, this is as expensive as any ice cream anywhere in the world, but it's alright because everything else about today has been so cheap. Afterwards, we make our way into the ground at about 2pm.
After an hour of soaking in the completely non-existent atmosphere, the players come out. Before the game starts, a minute's applause is observed for Sir Bobby Robson, who died this week at 76.
[Sir Bobby had a massive influence on the game in this country and others, and on hundreds of careers. You only have to listen to someone who worked with him talk about the man for a few minutes to realise what a major impact he had on more or less everyone with whom he came into professional and social contact. It's not hyperbolic to say that Sir Bobby was one of the greatest football people to have ever been, and this is a sad week for football. Cheers Bobby.]
The first half is pretty much what you'd expect from a pre-season friendly - a few chances but mostly just an exercise for players to get fit and tuned up for the season. Not a lot happens, other than the couple a few seats over each taking one of their children to the toilet, at separate times of course, necessitating me standing up twice. Bastards.
We move at half time, up to where Paul is sitting (it seems at some point he got sick of Helen talking about the Valladolid defenders) and from there we watch the pointless relay race around the pitch. The second half merely occurs, and five minutes from the end Matty Fryatt snatches the only goal of the game. Immediately afterwards, as if designed to stop my celebration in its tracks, Chelsea fucking Dagger plays at full blast.
[Why are we still playing this fucking awful song that has no connection to either Leicester City Football Club or the scoring of a goal. It should not be played, ever, at our stadium. And while I'm at it, why the FUCK do we have to listen to the fuck-awful Robbie Williams' fuck-awful song Let Me Entertain You before every fucking single fucking home game? The man's not only a cunt and shit singer, but he's also a known fan of another, reasonably local, club. And a cunt.]
Finally out of the stadium, I take Maniac Junior on the 40-minute walk back home (stopping for drinks - don't want her dropping half way), explaining on the way why Max Gradel had different colour boots to the rest of the team.
My stopwatch says six days left. Bring it on.
Final score: Leicester 1 Valladolid 0
Ticket: £10
[Extra cost of taking the kid: £6. That's ticket at £2, drink at £1.50 and ice cream at an absolutely fucking absurd £2.50. Overall, despite the ice cream, something of a bargain.],
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