The Morning After Conversation: From London to Madrid

By Eric Beard. Trying something new. Responses and reactions welcome.

Tom (thinking): Oh my… Where on earth am I? London, still? God I hope so. WHAT. A. NIGHT. After the clock struck midnight though, bam! I can’t remember a thing! Remember the match perfectly though. Nothing like a little passion to show those Spaniards what England is all about. Seriously though, where am I? These bed sheets are so comfortable. This room is so clean. This flat is just all-around brilliant. What’s this? A note? And who could this be from? A girl named Poppy? You would, Tom. You would.

Poppy’s note: Morning Tom, help yourself to a shower and anything in the kitchen. Last night was absolutely wonderful. Wearing your Scott Parker shirt to work this afternoon. It’s a bit large, but I just couldn’t help myself. I put my number in your phone, which is charging by the desk. I get off from work at six this evening if you’re still up for Wagamama. Let me know. xx -Poppy

Tom: Holy Fabio! Calm down, Tom. You’ve done well. You’re shirtless, yes. But you’ve done well. Pull yourself together. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, breathe. Second, breathe again. Third, keep breathing. Okay, that’s enough steps dedicated to something you’ve done literally every minute you’ve been alive. Fourth, get up, get your phone, and call Connor.

Two Londoners. Two England Fans. Tom was at Wembley. Connor was in Madrid for business. This is their conversation the morning after England’s victory against Spain.

[phone ringing incessantly]

Connor, sitting at Café Central in Madrid: Ah, perdóname Claudia! Tom me está llamando. Soló será un minuto!

[picks up]

Connor: Mate, how are you doing? All good?

Tom: Better than good, Connor. Good doesn’t even begin to capture what is going on in and around my body. I’m on a tremendous high, like that one time at Glastonbury. Tell me you saw the match. You know I’ll never forgive you if you missed it. In fact, I think that will be sufficient evidence to finally report you as a spy to MI-6. 

Connor: Yes Tom, you know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Great game all around. I was watching here in Madrid with Claudia. Wish I could’ve held on to my ticket, but hey, we watched it at a fairly excellent tapas bar.

Tom: Nice one. No way it came close to the 87 thousand packed into good ol’ new Wembley though. We beat the best in the world, Connor! Can you believe it?

Connor: No, I can’t Tom. But you do understand it’s only a friendly, yeah? The Real Madrid fans here were saying Iker would have never conceded a goal like that. The paper I’m reading at the moment, AS, says that “Capello had all the luck in the world concentrated in ninety minutes to get a win so undeserved it was vulgar.”

Tom: Oh, typical Spaniards. Making excuses and all that. The atmosphere was like a final at the EUROs! England were disciplined, committed, and full of passion! Joe Hart barely had to make a save. Scotty Parker took Iniesta and Xavi out of the game. It is what dreams are made of! In fact, I’m in such a good mood I think I’m going to put a few quid on England winning some silverware this summer.

Connor: Are you with a girl, Tom?

Tom: What? What makes you say that?

Connor: Every single time you shag a girl, you wake up the next morning and feel like you’re that Greek god with psychic powers. Always feeling like your luck will continue.

Tom: There was a Greek god with psychic powers?

Connor: That’s not the point, Tom. The point is that England weren’t all that magnificent. I mean, yes, I didn’t think they would win. Welbeck and Jagielka looked bright and Lampard did well enough as captain, but come on, we’re still miles away from being as good as Spain. Hell, we’re still miles away from the Germans.

Tom: Listen, yes, I was with a girl last night. From what I can vaguely recall, she is lovely. We’re going to Wagamama for dinner. But you know what was more lovely than spending the night with her? Watching our Three Lions go out and show the world that we are capable of beating anybody. Even without Wayne Rooney.

Connor: I won’t bring you down from Cloud Nine, but all I’m saying is that there was a bit of luck involved. We played at our very best and, to be frank, Spain played pretty poorly. Xavi, Iniesta, Sergio Busquets, Cesc Fabregas, David Villa, and Carles Puyol all played in a Copa del Rey match midweek for Barcelona. They looked exhausted. The urgency was lacking. Quite simply, they were off last night and we still barely managed a victory. And my god, don’t tell me you’re a fan of Lamps suddenly. You know we both agreed he’s hardly good enough to play for England anymore. Now, Scott Parker is a man I can support. I only wish his best years weren’t wasted behind the useless Lamps-Stevie G connection.

Tom: Fine, Spain were off. They lacked their typical cutting edge and still bossed the midfield. I’ll admit that. I don’t know why though and I’m not going to sit here and defend them. I think Fabio got his tactics right. We looked like Italy 2006 after we scored.

Connor: Yeah, you mean we desperately defended for the entire second half? Is that what world class teams do? Italy can get away with it in extra time in a World Cup final, but it’s not good enough for me to see that at home in a friendly. And if you even begin to compare Parker to Pirlo, then I’m going studs up on you in Sunday League. It was an awesome result, don’t get me wrong. But please, let’s not get carried away. We don’t need to do this to ourselves. We did it for South Africa, and how did that work out? Spain’s tiki-taka is clearly orientated for tournament competition, not meaningless friendlies that make FIFA an extra million pounds. Can you promise me that you’ll keep things in perspective until next weekend?

Tom: Restraint from betting I can offer. Perspective I cannot. Give me a few more days. Can’t you just let me bask in the glory of the past 24 hours of my personal and football-filled life?

Connor: Fine. How bad is the situation? Rather, how good is the situation?

Tom: In a comfortable bed. She took my Parker shirt to work for the afternoon. I think we’re doing Wagamama tonight. Can’t complain, though I would like a shirt.

Connor: Okay, here’s your course of action. Take your England flag. Wear it as a cape. Find out where you are. Go out into the street wearing your cape and sing God Save The Queen. Today, you’ll barely get away with it. Hop in a taxi. Chances are you won’t make it out of the tube. Go back to your flat. Shower. Put on something respectable. Pick her up from work. Go eat some noodles. Bask in the glory of England’s past 24 hours.

Tom: You got it, gaffer. ¡Hasta mañana!