Ramblings of a British, Eagles’ fan

Josh Adley (@joshadley)

Being an Eagles and Barnet FC fan has been a one way ticket to anti depressants and low expectations. I’ll never forget spilling my hot chocolate on a late Tuesday night when Jason Puncheon scored an outrageous free kick in the last minute to clinch victory for the Bees. Partly I’ll never forget it because the hot chocolate was watered down, tasteless and over priced. Also because it scolded a bald man next to me who didn’t know how to deal with the pain of life time burns, married with the joy of Barnet’s victory.

In my view if you’re going to make a hot chocolate it has to be thick and creamy. If I’m not feeling sick afterwards I’ve wasted my time. I think people get carried away with the extras like marshmallows and cream. Don’t run before you can walk. Get the foundations in place, then look for the sparkle.

You might be wondering why I’m talking about hot chocolate. You might be wondering where you can get a good one yourself. Well it’s tough to say because I don’t know where you’re reading this from, but if you want a chain recommendation I’d say Cafe Nero do the best. Of course, all other brands are available. But I’ve had a good experience with the combo of Waterstones & Cafe Nero hot chocolate indulgence on a Saturday morning.

 

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I want you to think about the Eagles as a hot chocolate. And this is where I justify the big bucks Zing Zing and the boys are paying me.

The Eagles always used to worry about the marshmallows. A few star players here and there, a fancy QB, a big name wide receiver. Yes they can all do the job, but not if your offensive and defensive lines are watered down and tasteless.

The Eagles called me up and we had a long chat over the phone. Finally I persuaded them to fly me to Philly and sit down over the finest hot choccy they could muster up. And that’s where we built the master plan.

The essentials were prioritised. Then came Star wide receivers. Then came the cream on top in Carson Wentz. And finally Nick Foles has emerged as that bit of scum that accumulates around the fringes that you usually discard away without a second thought, but sometimes, on a very rare occasion, when you’re so bloody hungry you dip into and after the initial foul first taste you realise isn’t that bad at all.

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Next week we’ll see the hot chocolate scum embarrass the vanilla late of Tom Brady and I’ll be sat in my pants at home laughing. And still feeling guilty about the bald man whose life I may or may not have permanently ruined.