In the Real World, Disaster implies loss of life, or serious injury, or unplanned significant cash outflows.
But in the Parallel Universe What Is Football no words are permitted to be committed without a quota of hyperbole.
Thursday. the Nation Waits With Baited Breath. Some affect an attitude of Studied Indifference. Some think 'woot, the roads/trains/restaurants will be half-empty'. Delicate domestic negotiations have taken place "Well, okay you can watch it near work, but make damn sure you're on that ten past seven train home."
In a workplace somewhere, Billy-no-Mates tries to persuade people down the Civil Service club.
Colleague #1: I know you're my special-friend-at-work but that's only so I can use you; I'm meeting my real friends so yahboosucks.
Colleague #2: If I leave at half four I can get home for kick-off.
Colleague #3: I'm playing golf and recording it. If I read it's worth watching, I'll watch it. If not, I'll delete it.
Colleague #4: I'm a Scotland fan
Colleague #5: I don't watch football
Gert: You could come with me to a bar in Kensington.
B-no-M: I want to go to the Civil Service Club. It's £2.20 a pint. And I might meet a girl. (He's the Sevitz of this particular workplace. without the frequent joint injuries. And the idiosyncratic spelling).
Gert becomes Gert-no-Mates. It's logistics. Not possible to get from Westminster to Holland Park between Final Whistle and Curtain Up. Getting to a bar in Kensington for Kick off means leaving at four.
Inspiration. Rings up Jimmy. Please record the match. Basically, get the TV guide up on screen. Move to where it says Match of the Day live, or whatever. Press the button with a white 'R' on a red background.
Sorted. First half. Keep the BBC-refreshes-every-two-minutes-page up whilst copy-and-pasting for work-purposes.
Second half. Travel to High St Ken and keep refreshing WAP. Problem, WAP is quite a few minutes behind, so it's problematic when walking along KHS seeing the vehicular and pedestrian traffic moving again, and the WAP says 0-0. Finally, walking through Holland Park, it's final Whistle and we won 2-0, late goals.
Not a problem. I could just watch the final fifteen minutes.
Some hours later. Gert Cottage. Turns to recorded match. Part recorded it says. Uh-oh. Two minutes recorded. Recording interrupted. Fucking ace. Am I the only woman in the whole of England who has a man who is incapable of recording a football match.
Fortunately, I got a ball by ball post hoc report from my mother. Trinidad and Tobago deserved to win. David Beckham and Michael Owen are past it.