The Mug.

Blacknight are running a nice little competition to give away one of their now-famed custom mugs, with some t-shirts thrown in for good measure. All they ask to enter is you put up a blog post, or comment on their blog, detailing why you deserve it. Well, I rambled a little bit more then others but the competition ignited something deep within me. A memory from years ago that extends to this very day. It’s an event that seems insignificant, but it really did affect me. And it is honest-to-god true, too.

Perhaps my tale is not as deserving as others above. Perhaps I’m not even the best BlackKnight customer, deserving of free swag (though a few domains and hosting for the last 2 years later, I am at the very least somewhat loyal!). Perhaps, even, I’m not even the most likable person in the world – entirely undeserving of such free gifts.

But here’s my tale…

Ever since I was a young kid I remember not caring too much about football. In fact, it’s only in recent years I’ve taken up an interest in the sport. Bayern Munich are my team of choice. Why? Well, I dislike the premier league. It’s marred in my mind as it gets represented rather poorly by its fans both in the UK itself and here. All of my friends love the EPL. Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal. My friends are a split bunch with no clue who they like most of the time, or why. I like Munich for a simple reason, I’ve family from there and I like their classy style of play and wonderful stadium.

But that’s an aside. As a kid, I didn’t like Bayern Munich. I couldn’t really name footballers, except the really famous ones like Eric Cantona, Robbie Fowler or Roy Keane. Nope, I was hooked on another sport altogether. Formula 1.

The first race I ever saw on TV was the German GP at Hokenheim. Sweeping, long and fast straights leading to tight, winding chicanes. Ripe for overtaking, action and an event not to be missed. The first car that zipped past the camera as I watched was a Ferrari. Brilliant red of the scuderia lighting up the pixels on the TV. So, from here on in I was a lifelong Ferrari fan.

A few years of loyalty (like my loyalty to Blacknight!) later and one Christmas my uncle, who stays with us over the Christmas period every year – a nice tradition we’ve kept up over the years (probably the only tradition my entire family keeps, too) bought me a nice present. I don’t remember what the “big” gift was, that’s how significant the stocking filler was. Yes, it was a two-part gift. No doubt the big gift was lego, or a high-value voucher for HMV. But I don’t recall… all I recall is my lovely black and red Ferrari mug. I only drank warm milk before bed. It wasn’t until I hit my teens that I succumbed to a crippling tea addiction, which has more recently morphed into a full blown coffee ‘problem’.

All those years, with my tastes changing consistently from hot milk to coffee every morning and evening. All those hot drinks poured, spilled and drank. Even though my tastes changed, my mug didn’t. Nope. I still had that Ferrari mug. Hell, it survived the birth of my youngest brother.

Then, a few years ago, as I trapsed back into the kitchen to get a refill of my preferred hot beverage, I went to the end of the hall from the front room I had procured a seat in, one door in my way to get to our back room which leads into the big, extended kitchen on the back of our house, where upon disaster struck. As I reached for the door, clasping the handle with steely determination and using the correct amount of force to pry the door from it’s spring-locked position – my youngest brother popped the door open from the other side, with far more force then he needed to. He was too young to understand the forces required to open doors at that point. He was either too ginger or too hard. This time he was too hard. He yanked the door away from me, but me, still grasping it, fell forward slightly. In the act of re-balancing myself, I lost my footing a little. I needed to get balance, and quick. I needed to reach out and stop myself from falling. I did. But in the act I forgot my precious mug. It crashed to the ground as I saved myself. I tried to pull my leg forward to ease the blow and potentially save it, but it was too late.

My mug was dead. Smashed. Not even into a million pieces. Just large chunks torn from it’s ceramic flesh with surgical precision.

I put up with the typical house mugs bought from Dunnes or whatever pottery shop you get them from. You know the type: shiny, with unoffensive colours strafing the edges in a “hooped” fashion.

A year or two ago my loving girlfriend went ahead and took the plunge to buy me a new mug that caught my eye. It’s not a Ferrari mug. It’s an “F1″ branded mug. It’s a decent substitute. Not as big as my old mug. Not as nice to hold. It also tears a lump from my soul knowing I benefited the pocket of Bernie Ecclestone. It serves coffee as well as a mug can.

I have thought about stealing a large Starbucks mug several times over. But shame and guilt always rear their ugly heads when I attempt to slip my empty (except for left-over foam from my Cappucino), grande-sized mug into my bag in one of their outlets. I just can’t do it.

And so, I write this as a plea. Not as a good example of a person who loves Blacknight (though loyal as I am), but as a person in need. I may not deserve the mug as much as others, but giving me a nice, big, lovingly made Blacknight mug will fill me with the same joy as my old Ferrari one. It’ll also fill me with adequate amounts of caffeine to support my crippling addiction. It will also save Starbucks a few euro on replacing one solitary, but stolen none-the-less, mug.

And yes, that was a true story, written out of sheer boredom.