The 'F' Word

I was asked recently if I'd like to play football or soccer if you happen to be from The Colonies.  This question was said at me by someone you might - mistakenly - believe to be a reasonably intelligent, free-thinking adult.  He did it with his mouth.

Now at this point you might be sighing and rolling your eyes at the thought of another anti-football rant, irrespective of whether you actually like the sport or not.  Well hold your horses there Captain Presumptuous of the good ship H.M.S. Imperious 'cause here's the thing:- More than my dislike of football I.  Just.  Don't.  Bloody.  Get.  It.

People from all walks of life seem to get interminably upset if 'their team' fails to place a ball in the back of a net during a fixed, measured period of time at a predetermined location.

From what I can gather a team is yours if you were born somewhere in the vicinity of its grounds.  This may not be true of all supporters but is a good rule of thumb.  In other words, a supporters loyalties are rigidly preordained by the GPS co-ordinates his/her mother happened to be located at approximately nine months after his/her fathers' twitching penis spat forcefully into his/her mothers upper vaginal cavity, across the length of her uterus and onward onto his/her mothers' ovum.

Apologies to any football fans that are starting to feel a little bit silly now at this point but these are facts.

Anyway, there is a season that is supposed to have a start and end but I cannot determine when these things happen because football is never actually off the television, nor does is ever stop so I have to assume this is a running gag and football one and only attempt at irony.

Sometimes a team will play at home and sometimes away.  For some reason the latter is seen as some sort of disadvantage but unless the opposing team are allowed to play at the top of a field angles at 45 degrees or plant and memorize the location of mines on the own pitches, I am unsure as to how playing on a steadfastly regulated, standardized that happens to be somewhere else would make a jot of difference to a squad's performance.

The next area of sheer bafflement from my standpoint:-  Why football?

The game itself - to my eye at least - showcases no skills I would consider of any value or worth whatsoever.  Swimming is a useful skill.  Hearing a new athlete has run faster than anyone else ever has is of at least passing interest.  That's because these are relatable practices.  Motions that have been carried out by most individuals and it can be worthwhile knowing your abilities and limits in these fields.  To the best of this authors knowledge, nobody ever saved their own or anybody else's life by tapping an artificial bladder surrounded by thermally-bonded plastic about.

Ultimately though I find myself confused by the double standards and sheer tribal blindness that football seems to nurture.  On the one hand there are the feckless masses who complain unceasingly about rising ticket costs and underwhelming players and their undeserved salaries whilst handing theirs over to shout over their pie-filled bellies at paid sportsmen how to do their jobs and on the other?  Well here you have the multi-millionaire players who wouldn't dream of wearing their team shirt off the pitch and will happily move to and play for the highest bidder displaying all the morality and loyalty of Fred West in a brothel above a D.I.Y. store.

 In the interests of fairness I have, on occasions where the subject has been brought up, endeavoured to find out why certain associates of mine avow to 'enjoy' football.  It only seems right given that most reasonable human beings and many unreasonable ones can happily discuss their proclivities and the reasoning behind them.  Alas, thus far and after many years of trying, I have yet to receive more than a shrug of the shoulders and a primate sounding grunt.

The conclusion?  Football supporters:- If you don't know why you like it, don't deride non-subscribers for showing no interest in what should really be a niche pass-time at best.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Most people would, if asked, say they 'keep up on the news'.  It's a broad sentiment but whatever your stance is, you do.

For example, you may not read the paper and may instinctively hit the + channel button on your remote at the site of a scrolling report banner as though every second you delay will result directly in the death of a cherished family pet, but you are by and large aware of the issues that immediately pertain to your situation.

Is the economy principally okay?  Has the despot of the week been shot through the eye?  Has my pension been spunked up a tired, jaded, illegally imported prostitute by a soulless, piss-drip of a so-called person that works for one of our great banking institutions?

These are worthy questions but what is the price of knowledge?  It's having to suffer the woeful and empty tales about kicking sport players and orange women who seem to have completely circumnavigated the burning 'why am I here' question in favour of being so pointless that they themselves could not honestly tell you what they are for.

At the time of writing, a man who tries to make a ball go over there is still headline news after a month because he put his willy in a lady and became surprised when this reality television 'star' turned out to be a shameless, fame-hungry oxygen-thief of even less merit than he himself.

We shall not be looking at this with any kind of scrutiny here.  It's just that I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!  A man, albeit a barely evolved one, had sex in a 'lady'.  That's the news that supersedes the daily atrocities, the war, famine, pestilence and continued career of Justin Lee Collins?  Why oh why can't we be allowed to filter news levels so that right-minded people can stay up to date on the grown-up stuff and people who watch pretty any of the detritus that's on on Saturday nights can remain informed about which low-forehead has been goaded by Max Clifford into following Jordan between despicable shindigs like Landon following Taylor in Planet Of The Apes.

As Sherlock Holmes said; I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it.