I love football. It either kills you or keeps you alive. Inside. Buzzing-a! Like the cat.
It’s almost irrational the dread, anxiety and expectation that each 90+ minutes brings out of us. And though we love the game, it boils down to general humanity – winning, losing, having the power or having absolutely none.
And you have none. Zero. It may look like there is something in that particular jersey, or the fact that you surround yourself with positive energy when your team is playing, but in essence there is nothing there but hope and faith.
To be a true fan, you are operating completely on those two precepts. However hard you think, or keep watching The Matrix, there is no time travel in the real world.
Not ever. So your only bet during a game is to focus on silent prayers like:
I know Wayne Rooney has some really spontaneous goals, but can he see it today?
Christian* Ronaldo is amaaaazing but will he focus on the game and not the ref for me?
Yaya Toure is an elephant, but woz tha…?!!??? Like, woz tha? (in a British accent).
Faith, fear and nail biting… It’s like the thrill of life but without the elastic rope and cliff to bungee jump off. It’s so powerful it has made our lives a soap opera.
Can you imagine just how many people have changed over the last two years? Some are more confident puffing their chests, others are hiding under the sheets, others laugh louder, pray harder, and some have even learnt the art of pointing fingers in a show of heartless cruelty.
All for the love of the game.
That said… I pray, silently, that my team would win the Barclays Premier League, somehow. Yes my friends, love makes you see things and that hope never dies until the owner of that very last vuvuzela, loses the will to blow.
Long live our hopes, dreams and the wonderful game called footi-ball!