Airbnb Beckham vs. Celtic Football
24. Juni 2024
This is the passage to Scotland, then. Next stop: Glasgow. Apart from Liverpool probably the place I'm most curious about, I would say. I'm keen on the train ride along the shore up north – giddy to hear that famous accent spoken all 'round.
In between Scotland and Liverpool I had a nice stay in Manchester, where I found myself munching on an outstanding Sunday roast and embracing nerd culture at a local classic football shirt store.
I liked walking through Manchester. There was a vibrant, contemporary energy to the city that I didn't quite catch in Liverpool. Good public transport on top made it easy for me to get around.
With Scotland on my mind – set as the next goal – I'm a little sad now I couldn't find the time to write on Manchester more.
An imprint of the Manchester vibe features, of course, canals, boats and iron bridges.
A regional train takes me from Liverpool Lime St to Wigan, where transfer to the express train up north. Especially the latter half is a very quiet, pleasant experience. I reach Glasgow on time – and make the switch.
Inbound: Glasgow Bridgeton
I'll stay in Bridgeton for three nights – my Airbnb is a comfortable, simple, private apartment. The train station is nearby, which makes it easy to reach Glasgow and get around. At night, the area is not too comfortable, though. On my budget, I have to accept that I'm surrounded by mostly auto repair shops and other hardware businesses that are leaving the streets dark and empty after closing time.
Glasgow is my first and only Airbnb. Apart from Mark's pod in Liverpool the hostel experience has been largely humbling – and I'm craving for a couple of quiet nights and true privacy. The money I'm putting up hurts, though. Which makes me want to cherish a private bathroom and kitchen all the more.
Soon, I realize that for the first time during this trip, I'm not surrounded by people. Nights I spend alone in a two-bedroom apartment. There's no (small)talk, there's ample time to sit, lie, and think.
Beckham Football Memories
Tired, admittedly, from long walks, windy days and drawn-out thoughts, I find myself regressing on a foreign couch, in a stranger's living room: Netflix is on.
David Beckham takes me with him: right back to those football-loving years. When Champions League nights were first seen televised. When I sat next to my grandpa until late. When Sheringham and Solskjaer shot me into a perfect frenzy.
I don't watch it to relax or be entertained, really. I don't care about the Beckham soap opera. Never paid much attention to football gossip. Playing FIFA Football was as far as I would go for the whole circus of it. I don't think the episodes are particularly good – nor bad of some intriguing form. This series, I'm sure, doesn't really matter. As content undoubtedly relevant, as a piece not really.
It's the memories I watch it for. It's because I start remembering it all so clearly that I can't turn it off. I'm assuredly reminded that there were years when only this was more than enough to get by on: late goals, football history, fancy shirts, and immaculate strikes. No self-awareness, no irony, no over-hyped folklore. Simply the kid taken by it all. Loving the spectacle of the game. Sometimes even more than playing it himself.
Squirrel-watching should be a universally accepted pastime.
While present-day football tickets barely available on black markets everywhere², while shirts from way past the World Cup of '94 are traded among the collectors of the world, while each and every low- and highlight (past and recent) are streamingly available infinitely, I withdraw into my time capsule. To an age, when I understood and loved the game for everything it brought to my life.
Today, I can barely bring myself to care about anything and anyone related to the football pitch. But I remember how caring felt… and so – instead of diving into the experience happening outside my window – I walk right back into the past, pay a visit to my younger self.
As I can't answer that boy's calls any longer, as I can't complete the circle right here on this day, I at least stop by: sitting next to him, ages ago, I ask him how he felt.
Celtic Football
I couldn't recount how I actually missed the Celtic v. Atletico fixture. Especially, after I went through the match calendar so many times. I must've assumed Scotland's teams play Europa League at best. Here, at my Airbnb I'm cruelly reminded of my lax oversight and the apparent lack of enthusiasm for the game lately.
From my place, Celtic Park is maybe half a kilometer away – and the cheering crowd reaches deep into my bedroom. Football, the idea of football, the ghost of football, remains with me.
Glasgow Necropolis wasn't gloomy at all - rather a strange little adventure in between all types of gavestone.
The roar reminds me that I brutally ignored Old Trafford in the cold, drizzling Manchester rain two days ago. Today, I miss what turns out to be one of the better Scottish Champions League nights.
Here, I fess up to the fact that my melancholy is limited by the idea of spending a probable 100 Pounds³ for a good 90 minutes of football. Spurring teams on I hardly know, supporting a culture I'm not a part of anymore. Still, it's a young boy's imaginations and longings that find here their halt. I watch them fade away, go cold.
What might've been once just as warmingly fulfilling as a Glaswegian "pizza crunch" turns out to be the fossilized memory of a dream from the past. Perfectly stored. Complicated to resuscitate.
The dim chants are rushing in my ears, though. They make me remember – and keep me thinking. About who we were, what we chose as individuals – and where we go.
Time Goes By
At this stage, I realize I've been on the road for way more than just days. I feel myself changing, I see how one thing leads to the next. Relentlessly speeding up time.
It's not that I cannot keep up. My mind just doesn't try anymore. I enjoy myself so much that I find it hard to stay occupied with the basics of life. I try to remind myself to stay in touch with the home world. But I hardly want to.
¹ Yep, it's the documentary who's trailer fuelled social media content for numerous weeks in 2023. ↑
² There's this hypothesis emerging in my mind: ticket shortage, it is a feature of the internet – and digitalization as such. It’s so easy, these days, to apply for tickets. To know where to buy and get them. I remember my parents in the 90s still being dumbfounded about where to get a set of Stuttgart tickets – the Bundesliga club 50 km away. ↑
³ Black market prices, I imagine. ↑
² There's this hypothesis emerging in my mind: ticket shortage, it is a feature of the internet – and digitalization as such. It’s so easy, these days, to apply for tickets. To know where to buy and get them. I remember my parents in the 90s still being dumbfounded about where to get a set of Stuttgart tickets – the Bundesliga club 50 km away. ↑
³ Black market prices, I imagine. ↑