How Did That Happen?

Almost the first thing he tells me is that he’s a Liverpool supporter. We’ve just met – part of an escorted “Heritage of America “ tour group – for breakfast in a New York diner* where the waiters are out-of-work singer/dancers who belt out fully-amped over-loud renditions of Broadway hits. The word melody will not sit easily in this context, but they are enthusiastic – and, don’t get me wrong, I like the very idea of these people performing for an audience “between jobs” – but service is, inevitably slowed down. And it’s hellish difficult to hear what these people you’re going to be spending the next week and a bit with are actually saying.

“Yeah,” he groans, managing to get a word in between what I think I recognise as something from Wicked and a tortured Elvis Presley ballad, “… spoiled my night … only went on-line didn’t I … to find the scores …we lost to Aston Villa. I just can’t believe it. How did that happen? The Villa?”

Later on, in the cosmopolitan lobby of the hotel on the edge of Times Square I am talking with a coupe from Sutton Coldfield. Turns out he’s a Villa supporter and asks if I’ve heard any results.

“Just the one,” I tell him. “Your lot beat Liverpool one – nil last night.”

“You’re joking,” he replies, “It was at Liverpool!”

A few seconds to think about it; then:

“One- nil? Are you sure? How did that happen?”

*Ellen’s Starburst Diner