I hate the cheap seats

September 12th: Leicester City v Blackpool (Championship)

I wake up and realise it's 4am. The next half hour is spent trying to get back to sleep, to no avail. So I get dressed and go out for a wander, returning three hours later having bought food for breakfast. After eating, I watch a minute or two of Soccer AM then do what I always feel like doing after watching a minute or two of Soccer AM - throw a brick at the tv. That's a lie. Instead I switch it off and discover I need to get back that sleep I missed out on earlier.

I wake up reluctantly at 1.45, and get ready to leave. Today's trip to the stadium is disappointingly uneventful, although I do chuckle at the sight of an entire family of scrawny males sitting around with shirts off.

[Couple of things to think about here. Firstly, why is it every time the weather in this country gets a fraction of a degree above freezing, everyone's instantly dressed as if they're on the beach in sweltering weather in southern Spain? And why is it invariably the scrawniest of men who insist on taking their shirts off?]

Outside I briefly meet with some friends before going inside to sit in my own seat for the first time this season. With only ten minutes to go before kick-off, I observe this new viewpoint. I notice a large concentration of stewards in the far corner. No... No, they're Blackpool fans aren't they. I notice also that this seat feels very low down - not far from the pitch at all. The third thing I notice is the bloke next to me is wearing sandals.

Not long after the game kicks off, I find that this seat is not really worth the money (albeit £275 a season). The sole reason I'm giving for this is that the man behind me, who I can only describe as a fucking arsehole, is the sort of person who intermittently screams random words or phrases into the air. A lot of the time, the air he chooses to scream them into is directly behind my head. Now, this isn't Tourette's Syndrome, this is just someone being a twat. I used the word 'random' before, and it fits perfectly: it seems he has a selection of 'football phrases' that he just emits every so often. His list includes "move, goalie!", "useless!", "donkey(s)" and "centre-half". One by one, then, let's have a look at the context in which they are used:

1. "Move, goalie!" - This is screamed in the direction of Chris Weale when he fails to come for a ball bouncing harmlessly mere miles away from him.
2. "Useless!" - Followed quickly by "lazy bastard". Roared at Matty Fryatt moments after (yes, after) he slots Leicester's opener past Paul Rachubka.
3. "Donkeys" - In reference to central defenders Jack Hobbs and Wayne Brown, who he presumably feels should both be dropped for the injured Aleksandr Tunchev.
4. "Centre-half" - Just brilliant is this one. For anybody who thinks 'centre-half' is an acceptable football phrase in 2009, ask yourself this: would you refer to a left-half or an inside-right? Do you take a rattle to football matches? Why doesn't Bobby Charlton play for England any more? Look, nobody - nobody - has been a centre-half for about forty years. A centre-half only exists in a 2-3-5 formation, and have you seen one of those lately? No, you fucking haven't. Centre fucking half.

Five minutes after Fryatt's goal, a horrible error from Brown lets Charlie Adam in to tap the ball in from close range. Fuck. The Rangers reject then jogs along with his fingers to his lips in 'celebration'. Yeah, good job you've got the game wrapped up. No chance of you looking like a complete cock later is there?

At half-time, I relocate. Completely necessary really, that fucking idiot is starting to really annoy. The second half sees City get more on top, and on 58 Fryatt takes advantage of a defensive slip-up by the men in orange*, rounds the keeper and puts away the winner.

[Right, quick lesson on colours. Blackpool fans will tell you their shirts are 'tangerine'. 'Tangerine' is a shade of orange. Ergo, Blackpool's shirts are orange.]

At the final whistle, it's time to put the iPod on to drown out the scores. Fortunately I've found a particularly noisy track which might eventually destroy my ears if I listen to it too much but does the trick when I want to not hear something. Immediately after the game, I have to rush home and get changed because there's a surprise birthday party planned for my sister, and I need to be in Whetstone at 7.30.

[Coincidentally, the last time I was at a party of any note was my ex-girlfriend's wedding reception about two years ago, which took place on the same day as the last time we played Blackpool at home. Okay, so that's not interesting in the slightest.]

This isn't going to be the fun night I anticipated - not for me anyway. Having been up for so long - even having been to sleep in between - I've now got a headache. Not one of those shit, mildly annoying ones either. This is one of those that truly feels like someone with massive hands is crushing your head while Janet Street-Porter screams in your ears. Ah well, best get moving anyway. Three more points in the bag, that makes for a good weekend.

Final score: Leicester 2 Blackpool 1