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"I'm, afraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir ." "How are you on Tilsit?" - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
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"I'm, afraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir ." "How are you on Tilsit?"
It's odd for me to be posting about sport, given that the NFL season is way past, baseball's in its seasonal infancy, and the Sabres are long removed from NHL contention.  But I always love an underdog story, even if it involves a sport I care nothing about: that other thing calling itself football, at least in the UK.

"Soccer," we call it to distinguish it from those men in pads who hurt each other from September through early February.  This sport has never taken to the popular taste within this country, for various reasons- the low scoring, the ties draws, the rather obvious flops and miraculous recoveries by players intended to get penalties for their opponents- but the English Premier League has attracted a decent local following, even in Buffalo, among those who don't mind getting up at early weekend hours to watch their matches in local sport bars.

English football teams are positively Darwinian; they have no salary caps to encourage parity, but rather have a means for discouraging suckage among the lower of the teams in the top major league. It's called "relegation." Pick your favourite baseball team; yeah, I know it's not the Mets.  Say you've got impeccably bad taste and it's the Yankees.  Now say the Bronx Bummers have a really bad season (one can hope). In the English soccer universe, they would be tossed out of the American League East for the coming season, replaced by the Columbus Clippers or Buffalo Bisons or the otherwise best of the teams competing at the minor-league level one down, and the Yuckees would play a minor league schedule next year until they worked their way back up.

You've vaguely heard of the Premier League teams which dominate England's top-level play as the 800-kilo gorillas of history and profit: Manchester United (in an international partnership with those same New York Yankees). Liverpool (owned by John Henry, who now owns an MLB team in Boston known for the ruddy color of its hose).  Others I've actually heard of prior to the past week: Tottenham Hotspur, Arsenal, West Ham United (I think from a Monty Python bit), Chelsea.

Not one called Leicester City. My only recollection of Leicester was as the first product mentioned in the Cheese Shop Sketch. Never been, never met anyone from (wot I know of), had no idea the town, village or burg was even in the top level of English football.  And indeed, to a large extent, neither did they.  Leicester City has been a doormat of the big boys for quite some time- enough so that they were relegated to the English equivalent of AAA baseball in 2008.  A year ago, after eventually returning to Premier League membership, they landed 14th in the 20-team top league, barely missing a re-relegation to the buses and low esteem of the minours.

Yet something happened- and still is happening.  Leicester City has led the entire league for most of the 2015-16 season, and with one more win at the once mightee-Yankee-partner Man U on Sunday, they will clinch the league title, giving them top seed for the....

oh wait. The Premier League has no playoffs.  If they win even only one of their remaining games, they'll be the champions, my friend. Something they've never done since their founding in 1894. Something they've only come as close as second to, once.

This is Mets country, my friends. And so I say:

Leicester City crest.svg
Let's Go, Foxes!
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