The Game of Fuckball - A Friends Response
There's this friend of mine that keeps an online blog. He entitled his last entry "Fuckball", and it was such a fooking good read i felt inclined to create a similar entry of my own on the very same subject, even if mine will pale in comparison to the creation of the original by the annoyingly talented philanderer that is Mr Stevens.
Football. Ever since i've been a barely conscious human i've bloody loved this insane phenomena that is football. It all began by annoying another friend of mine by kicking a ball against a wall for hours (literally) and in solitude. Yes i'm an only child, never have guessed would you. I hasten to add that i was about 12 or 13 at the time, though given a different set of life circumstances i'd still be as happy as a pig in the proverbial to pursue that same lonely childhood activity even now.
I wont bore you with my sad life story of kicking balls against walls though.
It would probably be more interesting for anyone that reads this to reveal the disconcerting contradictions that present themselves in my brain regarding the beautiful game.
You see i can no longer blame youthfulness and the naivety that comes with it for my love of the game. I KNOW it's meaningless and nonsense. And for a while that point hits home and i may only watch perhaps one game a week on TV, but every so often the game grabs me back and forces me to pay it attention and dribble over it. Like an assertive, skillful, single minded woman without a soul. At times it just amazes me and i can't ignore it. Not even the banality of the Terry v Bridge pap can put me off.
I was in such a state last weekend. Whilst at work on a Saturday evening, with my client safe and sound in bed, i decided to take a peek at a bit of the Spanish footy on SKY Sports 4. And what a freaking delight it was. Barcelona v Malaga was the match in question, and watching those Barca chaps play the game the way they do reminded me of the joy once again. Without a question of doubt, England have the finest side that i've seen in my years of watching international football, but they have just as much chance of winning the world cup as previous years. Very very little. Those Spanish fellas have taken the game to yet another level, it's an absolute model of how the purest football should be played. On the ground, possession possession possession, totally comfortable in tight spaces and being marked, strange angles and intelligent movement. Awesome.
But back to the contradiction. Watching stupendously overpaid people going about their job (which is t play a game) and becoming emotionally involved in it is an absolute nonsense. If you're a genuine football fan and go to games, have season tickets, pay for ESPN or whatever it might be, then your pursuit is a ridiculous waste of money. Whether your chosen team plays well, plays crap, wins, draws, loses, wins cups or gets relegated should not mean a bloody thing to you. Why? Because its something totally beyond you, unconnected to you, you cannot affect it whatsoever and the only reason you follow this ridiculous pursuit is just either a primal tribal need or a desperation in wanting to belong to something. It cannot mean anything else.
I write this after coming back from the pub after watching my chosen team lose 0-1 to Manchester United there. I was there, i was emotionally involved, i was getting frustrated at passes that went askew, i did feel that temporary hollowness when the opposition scored, and shrieked in absolute frustration at a last gasp sitter being missed at the end of the game. And i know it means nothing. NOTHING. Plus i was doing this via a TV screen.
For me, it is that feeling of belonging to something. And that feeling is heightened when you go to the games. Especially away games, when you and your fellow supporters are in the minority, there's a type of siege mentality and i chant and support my team as loudly as anyone else in the ground. The sadly shortlived elation when your team scores a goal at the game is a feeling that is difficult to match, even when you know, like me, that it means absolutely NOTHING.
Being a football fan is a bizarre thing indeed.
Football. Ever since i've been a barely conscious human i've bloody loved this insane phenomena that is football. It all began by annoying another friend of mine by kicking a ball against a wall for hours (literally) and in solitude. Yes i'm an only child, never have guessed would you. I hasten to add that i was about 12 or 13 at the time, though given a different set of life circumstances i'd still be as happy as a pig in the proverbial to pursue that same lonely childhood activity even now.
I wont bore you with my sad life story of kicking balls against walls though.
It would probably be more interesting for anyone that reads this to reveal the disconcerting contradictions that present themselves in my brain regarding the beautiful game.
You see i can no longer blame youthfulness and the naivety that comes with it for my love of the game. I KNOW it's meaningless and nonsense. And for a while that point hits home and i may only watch perhaps one game a week on TV, but every so often the game grabs me back and forces me to pay it attention and dribble over it. Like an assertive, skillful, single minded woman without a soul. At times it just amazes me and i can't ignore it. Not even the banality of the Terry v Bridge pap can put me off.
I was in such a state last weekend. Whilst at work on a Saturday evening, with my client safe and sound in bed, i decided to take a peek at a bit of the Spanish footy on SKY Sports 4. And what a freaking delight it was. Barcelona v Malaga was the match in question, and watching those Barca chaps play the game the way they do reminded me of the joy once again. Without a question of doubt, England have the finest side that i've seen in my years of watching international football, but they have just as much chance of winning the world cup as previous years. Very very little. Those Spanish fellas have taken the game to yet another level, it's an absolute model of how the purest football should be played. On the ground, possession possession possession, totally comfortable in tight spaces and being marked, strange angles and intelligent movement. Awesome.
But back to the contradiction. Watching stupendously overpaid people going about their job (which is t play a game) and becoming emotionally involved in it is an absolute nonsense. If you're a genuine football fan and go to games, have season tickets, pay for ESPN or whatever it might be, then your pursuit is a ridiculous waste of money. Whether your chosen team plays well, plays crap, wins, draws, loses, wins cups or gets relegated should not mean a bloody thing to you. Why? Because its something totally beyond you, unconnected to you, you cannot affect it whatsoever and the only reason you follow this ridiculous pursuit is just either a primal tribal need or a desperation in wanting to belong to something. It cannot mean anything else.
I write this after coming back from the pub after watching my chosen team lose 0-1 to Manchester United there. I was there, i was emotionally involved, i was getting frustrated at passes that went askew, i did feel that temporary hollowness when the opposition scored, and shrieked in absolute frustration at a last gasp sitter being missed at the end of the game. And i know it means nothing. NOTHING. Plus i was doing this via a TV screen.
For me, it is that feeling of belonging to something. And that feeling is heightened when you go to the games. Especially away games, when you and your fellow supporters are in the minority, there's a type of siege mentality and i chant and support my team as loudly as anyone else in the ground. The sadly shortlived elation when your team scores a goal at the game is a feeling that is difficult to match, even when you know, like me, that it means absolutely NOTHING.
Being a football fan is a bizarre thing indeed.