Tuesday, 18 September 2007

Football

Before I start, let me explain that I KNOW football is to Britain what chocolatey goodness is to Mr. Cadbury, me gets that...but football to me is like what deep vain thrombosis is to a frequent flier. A riiiiight arse pain. A crack in ones favourite porcelain mug, if you will.

So what things irritate me the most about my country's favourite national sport? Is it when fans discuss, in detail, one single kick of the ball for about an hour, and then discuss, in detail, exactly what was going through the footballers mind as he kicked it? Yes, he was definitely thinking 'Right, if I use the right hand side of my boot, and kick it just left of the centre and propel it smoothly through the air into midfield' wasn't he, and definitely not 'DUUUUHHHHHH KICK DA BAALLLLLLL!!!!!!!' because it is his intrinsic knowledge of how to kick a ball that is earning him millions of pounds a year. Sure.

Which brings me to my next issue. The money. Millions and millions of pounds changing hands every week to swap these illiterate two legged donkeys who spend more time on their hair than the field from team to team. Whole sections of newspapers devoted to which team's selling who to where, for how much, and whether it'll go through. Millions of people who actually care who signed who, that spend time talking loudly about it on the next table, thus boring the knee length socks off the rest of us who don't give a shit.

As if it's not bad enough that you can't find a pub that isn't showing some Premiershit match on a Sunday afternoon, played at an offensively loud volume outdoing the stadium itself, you are then inflicted with the dreaded highlights. You've just watched 90 minutes of the crap, or rather it's been forced upon you along with the equally loutish shouts of 'OHHHHH' and 'DAAAN THA FIELLLDDD!' at every botched shot, the exhalations of beer breath mingled with instructions to the players shouted at them through the plasma screen....and then just when you think it's over, Lineker and co pop up on screen to give you the run down and match analysis. Kick. By. Bloody. Kick. You know, just in case you like blinked or farted and missed something, err, important.

Next thing that's wrong with football. Not only are the players convincing advocates for why every child should stay in school and learn to speak coherently before embarking on anything involving a television camera and interviewer, but they could also give drama students a run for their money. The theatrics are laughable; they fall down, clutching at their knees / foot / calves, tripping over their own feet with these acrobatics before lying on the ground squinting in "pain", and all because they slipped on the grass / over their shoe lace in the hope of conceding a free kick. What a load of wet willies. Give me a rugby player who can take a bit of rough and tough on the field, not run off crying about it to the ref.

And there you have it, the inescapable world of football in Britain. The horrendous louts who declare 'we're goin up this season, you're goin daaaan'. Correction: you are not going anywhere. They, the team you support, are doing the movement. The fact that the Rugby World Cup is demoted to the silent screen in the Sports Bar at Centre Parcs, whilst some Premierwank match is catapulted onto the terrace outside via Bose speakers and into my ears with offensive clarity while I'm trying to eat my lunch. The fact that those of us sitting outside are doing so because we don't want to hear or the incessant commentary of people kicking a ball and falling over whilst doing so.

Oh how I hate football and it's players, with their tabloid fodder lives and sexcapades with hookers, WAGS and the occasional goal thrown in for good measure.

10 comments:

AFC 30K said...

I have absolutly no idea about football. That was the reason wifey said she went out with me in the first place

That and the fact that our names are some what compatible.

James said...

At least it keeps the idiots occupied for a little while at least.

the boy who likes to... said...

After last weekends result and that offside desicion I feel the same about football as you do!

Harriet said...

What I hate even more is Boyfriends' needs to try to MAKE you sit and watch it with them whilst they wear one of those stupid football shirts made out of plastic (that incidentally makes them STINK of B.O. after ten minutes of jumping up and down screaming at the screen). I don't think I will ever understand the rest of the population of Britain and their crazy obsession.

xxx xxx

Venting said...

Canadians are like that, but about hockey. And hockey season is right around the corner.

Hannah said...

Get off the fence. Learn to form an opinion.

Ahem.

Miss Understood said...

I found myself standing in the kitchen one day with a pair of hair clippers in one hand, red hair dye in the other, an image of the George cross in my head, and my husband sitting at my feet telling me to 'just get on with it.'

*still shaking head in dibelief*

Jo said...

afc - do tell, you're not Rosie and Jim are you?

james - very, very true. keep them off the streets, as it were.

the boy - I have no idea what you're talking about, but if it puts you off the 'Great Game' then I'm all for it.

harriet - BAhahaha, which is why I have great delight in having a boyfriend who also doesn't like football and favours rugby. Hurrah!

venting - It's that time of year :(

Hannah - Haha, there's no fence on this blog :D

miss understood - oh. my. god....did you??? say it ain't soooo!

London-Lass said...

I bet your `head exploding alert' is now at Def Con 1 with all this media hysteria bout Jose Mourinho (the self-proclaimed `Special One') leaving Chelsea. Still at least it means an end to the almost blanket press coverage of the McCanns ...

AFC 30K said...

Not quite... It's way better than that but of course if I told you that I wouldn't be an anonymous blog

 

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