Powering through it, on a cold night at the Emirates

If you spend a day or two namby-pambying around getting adjusted to the clock, you may as well stay home. By the time you get set, you’ll already be inbound on the mighty 777 back to the States.

So when you arrive at Heathrow, usually in the a.m., you set your bags, you say hi to your friends, grab a little lunch and then … head out to the pub. No nappy time. You gotta power through it.

Of course, last night that meant going ‘round to the pubs of North London, near the glistening Emirates Stadium, which looks a little more like a shopping mall until you get up a little closer.

Inside, we were greeted to the news that, apparently, there are no beer sales at the Emirates for Champions League matches. Who knew? Certainly not by buddies, who nearly went into their sad place at this devastating turn. (Me? I don’t sleep on planes. So I was working a 36-hour shift, so to speak, having not slept for a day and a half. I did have a couple of pints before, but I had to match it with some strong coffee at a local Turkish deli.)

Of course, it was a bit cold. In fact, I’d say this one rivaled a couple of nights at Craven Cottage, where the wind comes right off the Thames and can put a fierce hurt on a man. It was 31 when we left last night. We went to a nearby non-sporty bar, with disturbingly crazy cartoons on the bathroom wall and artsy-fartsy paintings of naked women in the front. It was so cold outside, the “cold” beer there actually warmed us up.

Not that I could tell. By then, I was saying to friends, “I think I forgot what it’s like to sleep.”

So, back to our little home away from home and in bed by midnight … having powered through it.