The Champions League Final is the culmination of hundreds of thousands of hours of human effort.
Throughout the course of the tournament the finest players European football has to offer (with the exception of Hibernian Football Club's personnel who decline to take part on a frustratingly regular basis) are on show displaying incredible levels of skill and athleticism for millions of fans around the world.
Every season the competition takes place there's drama, controversy, elation, jubilation, dejection and heartbreak that only ratchets up a notch the closer the team you're supporting get to lifting the trophy. I mark the occasion of the Champions League Final by hosting a 'Champions League Pie, Beans and Chips' night.
I don't know if children of the 50s, 60s and 70s were dished up pie, beans and chips by their parents but everyone that was born in the 80s and even some children of the 90s that I know love pie, beans and chips. We could argue all day as to whether the beans should be Heinz, Branston, store brand or from the budget range and no-one can be in any doubt that a crinkle cut chip adds a certain gravitas and je ne sais quo to proceedings but the one undeniable fact about what goes on your plate is that the humbler the Scotch pie you serve up (by which I mean the greater the mutton's arsehole and eyelid ratio to actual meat) the better - and this ladies and gentlemen is where I got it wrong this year.
You see, I've lived in a flat for a number of years so I've had to rein in my enthusiasm for having mates over because there are only so many people you can accomodate in the living room of a two bedroom flat. This year though I'd moved to a house with a garden, three bedrooms and toilets upstairs and downstairs. I could accomodate as many people as I wanted and still have room to anything I wanted.
I'd invited my two brothers, my two mates, my son and my brother in law and because I'd gone up in the world I thought I'd splash out and show off a bit and contribute a little to the local economy in one fell swoop by getting half a dozen steak and gravy pies from the butchers up the main street. To help pay for this extravagance I went into work to do some overtime and asked my wife if she wouldn't mind getting the half dozen pies I wanted.
While I was at work my wife messaged me on WhatsApp to say that the butcher didn't have half a dozen steak and gravy pies so she got three sausage rolls, two bridies and a steak bake instead. I told her that Champions League Sausage Roll, Bridie or Steak Bake, Beans and Chips was a bit more of a mouthful than Champions League Pie, Beans and Chips but that it wasn't a problem and we'd roll with it - after all, how much can I complain when I've got other people running about after me or providing others with a free feed? Besides, I'd already mentally planned my bit of showmanship to gloss over the fact that there were no pastry encased seasoned arseholes and eyelids.
I thought no more of it until later that night when my mate turned up with 12 Scotch pies and 4 Macaroni pies. Unbeknownst to me my wife was out with my mate's girlfriend who phoned him to ask him to get some pies. In the meantime my brother-in-law asked if he could bring one of the boys we play five-a-side with. "No problem" I said "I'll need to go out another pie for him but the more the merrier, it'll be a laugh".
In addition to the two pies I bought for the late arrival my brother-in-law brought four pies which was in addition to the sixteen pies my mate had brought which was in addition to the assortment of six sausage rolls, bridies and steak bakes.
Then, when my wife got home with my mate's girlfriend, they'd brought another four pies.
WHAT IN SUFFERING FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH TWENTY SIX PIES, THREE SAUSAGE ROLLS, TWO BRIDIES AND A STEAK BAKE?!
Now this is a story all about how six of my mates brought twenty six pies and I'd like to take minute just sit right there I'll tell you how I became the owner of my own Gregg's franchise..
