Newcastle United-Bolton: It Burns, It Burns

I won't lie, I only saw about 35 minutes of the Newcastle game this morning.

I woke up, rolled over and saw the time of 9:55 a.m. flashing on my clock. "Five minutes until kick off," I thought.

Alarmed and afraid I’d miss the start, I ran into the living room and fired up the ole laptop in hopes of finding a way to watch.

(Note: Bolton v. Newcastle was not on FSC this morning. That would be too easy and ruin the premise of this editorial.)

Considering we were playing Bolton, I should have expected to find nothing but the shadiest, dodgiest web site ever which offered an option. It was the kind of site that would make your anti-virus crash just loading the page.

But this kind of thing never stops me. Nothing gets in the way of me watching Newcastle.

(Not even forgetting to call my girlfriend after promising her last night that I would when I got home from the bar. Boy, was she unhappy when I finally called her after the game, nine hours too late.)

For those of you who are unfamiliar with trying to find a way to watch on the Internet, it's quite a labor and test of patience. Think of it like this:

You're a smoker and you have a brilliant pack of $10 cigarettes that can't wait to smoke, but you can't find a lighter.

But all of the sudden you find a book of matches lodged under the chair.

"Success!" you think.

Yet after several minutes and a whole book of matches later, you've managed to light a few, but they've either been blown out by the wind or just wouldn't catch fire.

At this point you're determined to get that cig lit, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

You think to yourself while peering into the kitchen, "Well there is one way…"

So you rearrange some pots and pans and clear a space atop the stove. You fire it up, hear the hiss of gas and see the sudden burst of flame light the burner.

"Finally," you think, "Now I can finally enjoy this cig."

So you tip yourself forward and light it.

Seconds later you smell something burning and while running your hand through your hair you notice something.

You’ve burnt some of your hair off.

Needless to say, you might end up finding a game, but you’re almost always going to get burnt.

And after 50 minutes of trying, I was ready to take desperate measures.

There was nothing available and from what I could tell by text updates, there was not a lot going on, but there was a feeling in my gut, a feeling that told me that we were close to a break through.

I was ready do anything to find something, anything which would work, whether it be in Spanish, English, Mandarin, Korean and French or have porn broadcasted during halftime.

And luckily for me, I got my wish. (And at the same time probably infected my laptop with tons of malware.)

The minute I had connected, Shay Given had knocked away Kevin Nolan's penalty.

Good timing for both Shay and I.

What followed brought me out of my chair and had my fists pumping in the air.

My roommate and his lady friend in the next room surely heard me cheer, as did everyone on the street I'm sure.

I thought to myself, "Michael Owen, you beautiful glass bastard, you’re certainly not worth 140k a week, but if you keep this up… maybe 120k."

So after nearly an hour of frustration, I was rewarded.

They say where there's a will, there's a way and with the help of some perseverance I was able to watch the Toon close up shop and snag a nifty three points.

And after the full-time whistle was blown, I walked into the kitchen, whistling Blaydon Races and thought to myself, "I'd really like a victory cigarette right about now."

And then I looked at the stove.