The Remote Control & The Beautiful Game
For a short, glorious spell, I lived like a footballing James Bond. My mission? To watch Liverpool matches without the usual pleading, groveling, or flipping through hundreds of channels of dreck. My tool? Not a tuxedo or an Aston Martin — but a sleek, voice-activated Xfinity remote.
I would have preferred to have linked it to my smartwatch like Maxwell Smart, but c’est la vie.
READ MORE: My UK Football Quest by Jeff Cutler
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The Plan Is Hatched
The scheme was hatched when a buddy of mine (let’s call him Jeff) went to the cable office with nothing more ambitious in mind than fixing his bill. But after some cheerful banter with the clerk, he walked out armed with a device so powerful it could turn a suburban bar into Anfield in a whisper.
Fast forward to match day. Instead of risking a jittery stream at home, Jeff set out on a mission to the local family-owned Irish pub. Scoping the room like a jewel thief, the TV furthest from the bartender’s gaze was selected, and with a subtle flick of his thumb, soccer was on the screen.
After ordering pints and meals, Jeff basked in the glow of his private soccer screen. The staff never suspected…or did they?
I pulled this stunt a few times, each success feeding my hubris. It was the perfect crime. No confrontation, no complaints, no angry locals deprived of their soap opera fix. Just me, my pints, and Mo Salah flying down the wing.
You’ve seen “The Crying Game.” No good deed goes unpunished….or was that “Nighshift”?
Regardless, the run ended. First Friday of the 2025 season. Liverpool and Bournemouth. Not a match for the ages, but Liverpool won last season, so every match matters. Kickoff was at 3 PM, and I was poised for excitement.
It was exciting, I’ll say that. Until they found out…AND I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW.
The Ruse Is Over
But it happened. I tuned in to the match, and I was happy. Kick off was a few minutes away, and warmups were on. Then the channel jumped to NESN.
Nothing against New England Sports Network – I used to write for them. Yeah, I have some cred. But this isn’t about me…or is it?
So, after getting my drink – a beer or a cider in my mug-club mug, I flicked the channel back to USA Network. Thinking that the channel jump was just a mistake, I sipped from my mug – representing customer loyalty (or loyalty to a $3 beer).
It seemed as if we were locked in. The match was on, the burger was ordered, mug was full of booze. HAPPY DAYS!!! Warm-ups went great, and then there was a commercial on the TV.
A commercial?
AMERICAN SCOUSER TAKES ANFIELD
That’s not right. I shook my head and blamed the EPL for grubbing for money. Who needs to run ads on a soccer match? We’re watching for 90 minutes.
We don’t care if nobody scores. We are invested. We’re staying. We’re eating. We will be drinking. We’re not louts or louses.
The commercial ended, and then I saw a golf technique lesson taking place. I thought, “crappy infomercial”. But it wasn’t just that. I thought, “Wait a minute, USA doesn’t show golf.”
And then I knew. Turns out the bartender and manager were in cahoots to quell my soccer joy. I don’t see it as malicious because they had mentioned repeatedly that soccer wasn’t a sport they wanted on their TVs.
That’s their choice. Seriously. It’s not a choice I’d make – I’d want every dollar that could come through the door. So, what were my options? I could play badminton with my remote and keep changing the channel back. Or I could abandon my plan and find a more comfy place to watch the match.
I chose the latter.
A Head Scratcher
While I wasn’t exactly escorted from the pub for using a pirated remote to watch soccer, I wasn’t really allowed to enjoy my time there. So, if you went to a restaurant and their approach was to hinder your enjoyment of their venue, would you stay there? Would you keep going back once you found out what they were like? Would you give them any more of your money?
I decided I was out. At halftime. In the middle of an EPL match. One TV had a replayed baseball game on it. And two TVs had a golf lesson on them. Looking around the room, not counting me, there were 0% of patrons watching the televisions.
But I don’t own the pub. I don’t run the pub. And now I don’t even drink there. And I certainly don’t watch soccer there.
Apologies to those who had budgeted their income based on my 40% tips – why didn’t that drive some behavior???
And maybe it doesn’t even matter. Were my tips 40% or higher for three years to be snubbed because of my soccer addiction? Did I eat out 50% more than I would have because I like Guinness? Did I vote a billion times for burgers and service and restaurants and brews just to have my enjoyment cut short in the form of censored soccer?
SHOP THE AMERICAN SCOUSER COLLECTION TODAY
Why is this all one-way? I’m finished. These days, businesses are run differently. Shortsightedness is the watchword for 2025, and I’m done with it. If you don’t want my daily $26 check, that’s fine with me. It’s $26 I can spend elsewhere.
So, after the remote-control debacle, I went looking for a new home ground. And it took about 200 yards and a stroll across Bath, ME.
I found salvation at Bath Brewing in Bath, Maine — a place with good beer, plenty of screens, and (best of all) an openness to putting soccer on without a clandestine mission. No spy gear required.
Still, the whole escapade got me thinking: what are the real options for a Liverpool fan in America, especially one burned by the great remote caper?
Option One: The Soccer Bar Safari
Big cities have shrines where scarves hang on every wall, and bartenders pour pints at 7:00 a.m. without blinking. These places are great if you want to belt out “You’ll Never Walk Alone” with 50 strangers. But they’re usually an expedition — gas, parking, and explaining to your family why you’re leaving the house at dawn in a jersey.
Option Two: Couch Potato FC
There’s always streaming. NBC, USA Network, Peacock — cobble them together and you can watch every Liverpool game in your pajamas. The downside? It costs more than a Champions League away ticket, and you miss the camaraderie of a bar. Also, shouting “Come on, Reds!” alone in your living room feels a little unhinged.
Option Three: The Pub Crawl Method
Some folks make a hobby of bouncing from one local tavern to another, gently convincing bartenders to switch channels. This can be fun, but it’s a gamble. Some places are friendly and flip over without hesitation. Others act like you’ve asked them to rewire the power grid.
Option Four: Negotiate With the Enemy
This is the option I feel the most angst about. I really respect and like the people at my first pub. It’s family-owned and strikes me emotionally as the underdog in a town where every other restaurant has more options and energy.
But they essentially kicked me out. They quelled my soccer addiction. And they did it without any common sense that I could see. Nobody was complaining, nobody was watching any TVs. It was just a bad last straw event for them.
It’s almost so disappointing that we’ve already started looking at other places to live. Soccer is THAT IMPORTANT.
Option Five: Build a Base
The dream scenario is what I’m starting at Bath Brewing: a true home for Liverpool supporters. Picture it — scarves on the wall, morning beer specials, maybe even membership cards for “Bath Brewing’s Soccer Suite.” A place where you don’t have to explain that soccer is more than just “throwball without pads.”
I’m currently in negotiations and think 2026 and beyond could see an amazing soccer destination in Bath, ME at Bath Brewing.
Path Out Of Exile
So, that’s where I stand. Exiled from the Irish pub like some footballing outlaw, but happily settled into Bath Brewing. The pints are good, the staff is friendly, and the TVs don’t require covert operations. It turns out that while being a secret agent was fun, it’s even better when you don’t have to smuggle in your own gadgets just to watch your club.
Liverpool supporters know persistence. We endure early mornings, streaming blackouts, and baffled bartenders. We find a way. And while I’ll always smile at the memory of sneaking a remote into that other local pub, I’m ready for the next chapter.
At Bath Brewing, there’s no cloak-and-dagger, just good beer, good company, and ninety minutes of football.
After all, the best match-day ritual isn’t about secrecy. It’s about belonging. And in Bath, Maine, I’ve finally found a pub that lets me belong — without having to pull off an Ocean’s Eleven-style caper every Saturday morning.
See you next month – with some UK images and perspectives.
#YNWA