Thursday, July 19, 2012

Becks, I'm Afraid We're Through

I could have been doing many important things over the last couple of weeks, such as visiting my best friend and her newly-expelled infant, cleaning up the aftermath of what seems like a tornado's destructive path through my home, or attempting to tame the savage overgrowth surrounding my abode, but no, I had something much more significant to attend to: preparing for the arrival of my true pookie poo, David Beckham.

I used to love Becks
I'm certain Becks can sense me when I wear this.

There was just so much to do in the days leading up to when the LA Galaxy were coming to play footsie with the Portland Timbers. My Manchester United shrine with my 2002-03 kit hadn't been dusted in a whole day and the candles had to be replaced. I needed to practice my endless shrieking, knowing I'd have to compete with so many other females uttering the common mating call. My headband collection had been stolen in a previous burglary, so I had to go shopping for some more to bring for him. I also needed more glitter spray because I only had six bottles remaining and that simply wouldn't do since I was sure to use all of it when I painting my stomach with the Burger King logo.

On a serious note, my relationship with David began in 2002, when I moved to England to teach in an elementary school. This was when I was still doing things of consequence and attempting to change the world. My classroom had experienced many troubles before I arrived and I endeavored to find a way to gain their trust. The bonding began after I asked the dear little ones about what they enjoyed most in the world. The top two answers were West Ham United and Manchester United, with David Beckham himself mentioned due to his play for Man U and being captain of the England national squad.

I soon found myself enjoying far too many hours sitting in front of televisions at home and in pubs, and racing back to school to talk to the children about the magic of football. The fact that on match days, seemingly everyone I saw was wearing a kit or scarf, only made the world of football more inviting and exciting. When I moved back to Portland, I spent nearly every weekend watching matches at the Horse Brass. Unfortunately, West Ham was spending one of their many spells in Championship level play and they weren't on television here, and Beckham had moved to Real Madrid, so my only outlet was watching Manchester United with Ruud van Nistelrooy and trying to focus on his legs so I wouldn't have to be scared by his face.

David Beckham and I are breathing the same air
This very moment defined my entire life.
One day at work at one of my many jobs in 2004, the UPS guy told me about the Timbers, and that I should go to a match. I immediately knew in my heart that if I went to a Timbers match, that some day they would move from USL to MLS, and that Beckham would also someday come play in MLS, so all I had to do was wait. I also knew I had to get with someone who would write for a news organization, so then I could get press credentials, and then I could be on the pitch with Becks.

Of course, all of this occurred according to plan and I first got to breathe the same air as my dreamboat last year when he took a corner kick right next to me. Our minds became as one and I suddenly felt inadequate as a devotee. I just wasn't shrieking enough to get his attention. I should have fainted. I should have asked him to sign my chest. I know he was disappointed that I wasted our time together. I then plotted that when he came back, things would be different.

The couple of weeks prior to the match were the most strenuous and agonizing. What would I say? What would he say? Would I have prepared amply to attract his attention? Have I watched those Burger King commercials sufficiently? Have I practiced not smiling enough, since he seems to find that alluring? Despite hours of practice, my duck face look still seemed flawed and not suitably off-putting.

Game day arrived and I threw up even more than I usually did. I arrived at the park and took my regular position on the pitch in the North End. I had done my hair and makeup even better than their ordinary brilliance, with Sharpies and everything. This was about to be epic. But guess what? It turned out to be the biggest letdown of my life. Sure, he looked in my direction a couple of times, but did he ever come over and say, "Keep screaming, I love it." or "I'm leaving my wife for you." or "I made sure my hair was extra greasy the way you like it." or even, "Hey Jen, you don't look as fat as last year."? NO! I guess I lost those 40 pounds for no reason, then, huh? Did you even see the duck face I was doing? It was freaking hot! Your loss, pal. I'm done. Have fun with your new best pal Landon. You guys totally deserve each other.
It's like David Beckham doesn't even see me.
I didn't think it was all over. It is now.


  1. It's for the best. If you stand too close, babies start popping out!

  2. So mr Becks, after the game, took his shirt off in front of section 119, and walked in front of 118 and 117 to the locker room showing off his aging temple... but more importantly, showing of a tattoo of you on his arm.
    Now, I don't know why he didn't do this in front of you, maybe he was a bit shy... but you shouldn't be all depressed...

    1. OMG!!!!!!! Why didn't you tell me sooner! Now I need to keep looking at my phone every few minutes so I don't miss his call. I never gave him my number, but I'm sure he has a research staff to do that stuff for him. They are also probably looking up what kind of flowers I like. SQUUUEEEEE!!!

  3. Jen, you have given me a reason to hope for the unreachable star! Your hard work and and whatever are heroic!