2# Eddie Johnson and the Quarter Pounder with cheese

Anyone who knows me will know that I’m a fantastic gambler; I always lose so that I don’t get hooked.

One catastrophic bet I made came shortly after Dave Jones had signed a certain Edward Johnson on loan from Fulham in August 2008.

Having applied the usually infallible Championship Manager test, I had assumed that Eddie would be an instant hit and decided to bet a friend of mine £50 that the American would reach double figures for the year. A work colleague had explained to me how the cyber Eddie had helped his Rushden and Diamonds side earn three consecutive promotions taking them to the Premier League. Pretty impressive I thought. Fulham had paid a lot of money to take Eddie to Craven Cottage, and I was sure that Eddie would make an impression at Cardiff City. He sure did that.

Eddie’s finest hour in a Cardiff shirt came in a 3-0 victory over Doncaster Rovers at Ninian Park, when the American scored his first goal on his 23rd appearance for the club. One of those ‘I was there’ moments.

I was also there to witness possibly Eddie’s lowest point at Cardiff. I’m not talking about his half time withdrawal against the Jacks in the Carling Cup or his own goal against Derby (which theoretically cost the club a playoff place on goal difference); oh no.  For me at least, the moment Eddie Johnson hit rock bottom at Cardiff was around 11pm on 31 January 2009 at a McDonald’s restaurant on St Mary’s Street.

We’d beaten Forest 2-0 earlier in the day and I’d been enjoying a few beers with some friends in town before I decided to go home, via McDonalds.

Now for me, eating McDonald’s is a little like cheating on your girlfriend. You’re usually drunk, it feels great while you’re doing it, but you regret it afterwards. Anyway, I ordered my Big Mac, sat down on a stool and got stuck in.

Half way through my meal a dark-skinned gentleman (completely sober by the looks of it) sat down on the stool next to me.

“Eddie Johnson isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah man,” he responded in his thick American accent.

“You enjoying things with City?”

“Yeah things are real good. I’m loving the fans and I…” Eddie paused mid-sentence as he started examining the burger he’d just removed from its box.

“What the hell man?” Eddie exclaimed, staring at his burger in disbelief.

I peered over to take a look. Eddie had removed the top layer of bread from the bun and sat directly on top of the meat was a shiny blue unopened condom wrapper.

“That’s sick man.” Eddie looked disgusted.

It was, without doubt, one of the most surreal moments of my life; there I am sat in a fast food restaurant in Cardiff and Eddie Johnson is sat to my right with a durex extra safe in his Quarter Pounder with cheese. Actually, at the time, surreal didn’t come close.

Fair play to Eddie as well, he didn’t complain or kick up a fuss, he just bid me good night and off he went, pushing his uneaten meal off a tray and into one of the bins as he left. Perhaps not a great player, but from the very brief time he was in my company, definitely a decent guy.

If Eddie does ever return to Cardiff for a visit (and let’s hope to god that it is only for a visit) I’d be happy to wager £50 that he doesn’t order a Quarter Pounder with cheese at McDonald’s in St Mary’s Street ever again. Even I would be confident of winning that bet.