Men in tiny shorts kicking a tiny ball around a field whilst thousands of people yell, sing and shout abuse at the massively overpaid actors on the grassy stage that is the pitch.
That’s the dictionary definition anyway! Well, perhaps only the dictionary in my head but an important opinion nonetheless!
The Brother (who is not an obsessed football fan but will watch England play occasionally) tells me that there is skill and finesse involved, and it’s something I’d never be able to do in a month of Sundays…..
Well, durr! Of course I wouldn’t be able to play football to that standard! (Or any standard if I’m being properly honest!) For a start I think I’d get very fed up chasing the thing around the pitch (and everyone else running rings around me!) But above all else I find I have trouble grasping the point…
Imagine an overdressed younger version of Vanessa Feltz (she would be overdressed, you wouldn’t catch me in those shorts….Ever!) lumping around in the mud missing the ball with every poorly aimed kick, falling over someone else’s feet and managing to run roughly half the length of the pitch before deciding that a cosy armchair and a glass of pink fizz would be a far more preferable way to spend the day!
Well that would be me if someone ever actually managed to coerce me onto the field. Let’s just say I’d be seriously out of my comfort zone and wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
The Brother and The Friend are currently watching ‘the footie’ as I am writing this, and thank goodness it’s a relatively rare occurrence in my house, otherwise I think I’d go mad with all the noise and yelling. As it is I’m wondering how much trouble I’d get into if I ‘accidentally’ fell on the tv…..I’m weighing up the options between paying for a new one or simply moving my laptop into another room. I am notoriously bad when it comes to balance though, so it is something I might possibly get away with!
Having come to the rather obvious and sane conclusion that destroying one of my favourite objects in the house is a bad idea (favourite only to my bed and the fridge!) I have removed myself to my room in an attempt to fathom why football is so popular.
I understand about the supporting the team thing, I do! It’s much the same as being loyal to The Friends: you want them to do well in life and encourage them in their chosen endeavor.
What my befuddled and over-tired mind has trouble grasping are the aspects of football that get exacerbated on such a massive scale: what might be a little tiff with one of The Friends and necessitates both of us walking away for the day, translates into full on hooliganism in a stadium that ends in multiple arrests and jail time.
Similarly, if I were to demand a footballer’s wage packet simply for being good at my job, people would look at me as though I’d lost the plot!
Then there’s the bit when they get kicked by a member of the opposition and fall to the muddy ground in an entirely over the top approximation of being injured. Their little acts seem to fool no-one, as the excitable yells of ‘C’mon Ref’, ‘Oooiii!’ and other general grunts of indignant annoyance can be heard throughout the land!
Yes, I know it’s one of our most popular national sports, yes I know I’m ever so faintly ashamed that I’m only 56% certain of what the offside rule is all about, and no I don’t really think my life would be richer for knowing it.
There are some things in this world that I am quite happy to carry on regarding as slightly mysterious; being knowledgeable on the subject of where people should be standing at any one time, whilst attacking an over-sized string vest with a butch ballet dancer standing waving his arms in front of it, is definitely one of those occasions!
Other world occurrences to remain mysterious include:
How people are able to do the tablecloth swipe-offy trick without breaking anything.
How Brad Pitt still manages to look strangely hot with a nasty, ratty mustache under his nose!
How to get the self-service til machines in the supermarket to stop yelling at you: ‘Unexpected item in bagging area!’ What, you silly machine!? What on earth could you think I’d put in there you weren’t expecting? A 70s fondue set? The Complete Works of Shakespeare? Or maybe it was simply the innocuous packet of butcher’s choice sausages I HAD JUST THAT MOMENT SCANNED INTO THE MACHINE!
So I’m fairly certain mine and football’s relationship is set for life. I will continue to resignedly grimace when I walk into a pub and it’s blaring out from three different televisions in a room the size of my kitchen. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t have the volume on each tv turned up to the maximum, as though all of the pub’s patrons were deaf and unable to see further than the end of their pint-holding arms!
I must remember to look at life’s positives, The Football For Girls, if you will!
Gorgeous legs in short shorts, with impressive displays of aestheticism. Then there’s the yummy ones who get underwear modelling contracts…That’s never a bad thing is it? Maybe I need to forget about the boring bits and the fact that it turns nearly every bloke I know into a spluttering nutter, and just go with the flow!
Fatty Blob Head