Tales of America
The wonder and beauty of the Interweb is that I am able to connect with Brits and Americans all over the place. Obviously, since I live in America, it is most excellent that they are based in America and that we talk about our lives in America. 😉
One such fella is Gary Archer, who, despite having lived in the States since he was a wee nipper, is very, very British at heart.
Reasons you can tell Gary is really, really British:
a) he likes naughty and rude humour;
b) he likes ‘proper football’;
c) he spells stuff with a ‘u’ or ‘re’;
d) he likes my British bits in my blog.
Gary Archer was born in London, and emigrated to the United states at the tender age of eleven. Married with two children and two dogs he lives with his family in Calabasas, California (lucky bugger).
After finishing school he went straight into the family business as an apprentice dental technician. In 1996 he branched out into the movie business, designing a line of dental prosthetics for use by the film and TV industry. His credits include the Austin Powers teeth, the Blade trilogy, Interview with a Vampire (OMG, has he had his hands in Brad Pitt’s mouth!?) and, most recently, Nebraska and The Wolf of Wall Street. Check out all those celebrity teeth at his website, GA Enterprises.
Gary is a true storyteller and will be giving us little snippets and anecdotes of his time in the USA on this very blog every now and then. So, sit back, take that cuppa (or pint) in hand, and read his story, which was obviously written with a very British twinkle in his eye… 😉 .
How I Nearly Scored For England……
The story of interesting bits of my life, and living it large in Los Angeles.
The following stories are true, however the names have been changed to hide the everlasting shame of the participants.
It was about as cold, wet and miserable as the San Fernando Valley ever got, which to be honest really wasn’t much compared to where I used to live back in a small town just outside Greater London at the end of the Northern Line.
The annual New Year’s day England v Scotland match had been a pub staple ever since I could remember going into the pub and becoming involved with proper football again after moving to America, the home of peculiarly shaped [foot]balls.
And so it came to pass that as usual, Scotland had scored on their only attack of the game, and the England team were camped out in the Scottish half, with Joe and Andy having a wretched game between them, either blazing high over the bar, or failing to trouble big Kevin in the Scottish goal at all.
Where was I during all this? On the sidelines as an unused sub, in no small part due to the fact that a goalkeeper with a broken thumb is about as much use as a chocolate fire grate. However, I was willing to play on the field (we had no other subs) and the persistent drizzle was making a mockery of the field in about the same way as the Scottish supporters were giving the England supporters stick and insults galore.
About 10 minutes from the end of full-time, the Scottish centre back just about takes Andy’s leg off in the penalty area and gives up a spot kick to England which Mark B duly dispatches into the net to level the score at 1-1. Andy by this time has hobbled off clutching what remains of his leg, leaving us down to 10 men. “Come on Archer!” yells old Doc, the team manager. “Get up front and see if you can stick one in the net for us.”
Now my field playing days were long ago and, if truth be told, I couldn’t trap a bag of cement, much less play the central #9 strikers role. But we were short, it was 1-1 with 5 minutes to go, and running around was better than sitting in the thin drizzle getting cold.
Both sides seemed quite happy to settle for a draw and I think the old Taffy the bespectacled Welsh referee was about ready to call it over and retire to the pub for some complimentary homemade Shepherd’s Pie when, to everyone’s amazement, little George came streaking down the wing, skipping two tackles and a soggy wet scarf thrown by a bemused Scots fan, and chipped over an inch perfect cross that Lionel Messi would have been proud of. All I had to do was get to it. I gave it everything I had and threw myself at the ball headfirst, making contact with the ball and flicking it outside of the Scottish keepers outstretched arm and into the net.
The crowd went mad, the players went mental, and I lay face-down in the mud buried under six bodies screaming and shouting……until we heard the whistle.
To the Scottish players relief, and the English howls of anguish, old Taffy had disallowed the goal. As we got up to protest he told us quite plainly: “He could never have done that with his head, he must’ve used his arm…” and promptly marched up to me, showed me a yellow card, and awarded a free kick to the Scots.
No sooner had they kicked the ball he blew the final whistle and quickly retired to the pavilion, leaving the team to wonder quite how they had been held to a draw under such appalling circumstances – and me to ponder the fact that I had nearly scored for England…….
To be continued. 😉
I really, really want to hook up with Gary and his family and his buddies when we head over to California in the summer. I have a feeling it will be right good laugh. And I might get to try on some celebrity teeth!
You’ll be hearing more from Gary soon. Cheers!
Things that have tickled me this week in the land of America
1. This (it has swearing, be warned).
Yes, ‘erbs / herbs: ‘Because there’s a f*cking h in it!’
(PS. Watch till the end for great comment about the Dutch – so true! 😉 )
2. This (for most American drivers!).
3. And this (they need to distribute this to you at Heathrow!)