I’ve always disliked football.
I can probably trace this back to standing in the cold (and rain and uphill against the wind) at school always being the last, or usually second to last next to the fat kid, being picked for teams. I don’t know quite why this was because I was quite good at sport at school, being second in cross-country running and a bit of a demon at badminton. Clearly this was a bit limp-wristed and not good enough for the gods of football.
When I was picked for the teams I was always relegated (Is that the right word? Do I care?) to ‘defence’, which was obviously the ‘Hades’ of football. All the self elected elite got to play in far off and exotic positions like ‘Left field’ or ‘Centre Forward’ which meant they actually got near the ball on occasion.
‘Defence’ was a position of inferiority characterised by standing around in the cold and mud waiting for the brief periods of panic when the ball did come in your direction, swiftly followed by the opposing team’s top players charging at you; blame and recrimination marched closely behind as the ball passed the goalee, a chap who (in my view) was the only one who had an even worse job than us.
It was cold, wet, miserable and utterly boring. Football clearly never wanted me and the feeling was mutual.
I discovered in history lessons that football originated as a game played by yobs kicking an inflated pigs bladder between villages with scant regard for property or chattels in between. Apparently few rules were applied and the ‘game’ usually ended in a brawl. Not much changed there then.
Later I read in biology that sports, particularly team sports, are the result of mankind being denied a more natural way of ‘marking their territory’. Tribal associations played out in a game, rather than direct conflict. I’d kind of hoped we’d matured beyond base instinct, but clearly many of us haven’t. Still, it beats peeing up lamp-posts I suppose.
Football was inexorably liked with delinquent behaviour in my mind, and I’ve seen little to break me away from this early observation. The English are particularly bad in this respect. The reputation for post match violence and pre-match intimidation is shameful.
I don’t know if I’m the only person in the whole of Europe who hasn’t got the slightest interest in this overhyped and pointless game, but it seems like it. Work stops, traffic stops, people get stupidly drunk and all the decent pubs are ruined for the duration.
It’s not that we’re even particularly good at it. We last won in 1966. Colour hadn’t been invented, and people walked too quickly in films. Some group of singers called the Beatles were popular. Today we’re far better at motor-racing, yet we don’t get this unseemly obsession about that. We pay these footballers utterly outrageous sums of money for this so-called ’skill’. Big question then, what do they actually do that makes them worth their inflated pig-bladder salaries?
I also dislike how I am obliged to pay ‘homage’ to it, accord it ‘respect’ or be branded a social outcast when I answer the question ‘So, who do you support?’ in the singular negative. Been there before; small hermit’s cave for me.
Worse than this though are the stupid flags people are sticking on their cars. I bet they are popular with bikers as they are ripped off at highspeed on the motorway. I saw one car with its wing mirrors painted with an England flag, enough is enough!
I was accused last time round of being ‘unpatriotic’ for not following it and hoping that England would be knocked out early. Given that I’m British, but not English, the comment somewhat irrelevant anyway, but I resented it nonetheless.
And what has football got to do with Patriotism anyway?
I endured listening to our ghastly entry in the Eurovision song contest, how much more patriotic can I be?
Roll on July 12th!
Excellent post, Drew, which I will reblog.
I went up to London by train last week and at 11 in the morning, the train was full of men drinking beer. I gather there was a match at Wembley. I wonder whether some of those so-called fans do actually like football or just the opportunity to drink which it affords (maybe that’s the only way they can bear it!). Being at Victoria Station while hordes of yelling tanked-up yobs descended was not an experience I relished. I apologise to any foreigners subjected to it.
Well said Son!