Wake up on what is normally 'Super Sunday'. Several plans I have to get involved in exciting activities fall through. One of my suggestions for today was 'Trannyoke' (Karaoke for Transvestites) but I can't muster up the confidence to go to something extreme this early on in the experiment. I spend the afternoon searching for anything to do. I text one of my friends saying I'm bored, and get the reply "It's your own f**king fault!" I get slightly depressed that football seems to play such a pivotal role in my social life. My sour mood is worsened by the fact that I know Arsenal - Chelsea is on at 4pm.
I think about how my relationship with football started, how did we manage to get here? How did something so beautiful cause me so much pain? My love affair with football began in the mid nineties. My earliest footballing memories are of Scotland trouncing San Marino, Pierre van Hoojidonk scoring the winning goal in the Scottish Cup Final, going to Firhill to watch Partick Thistle and my little cousin falling asleep for the entirety of a 0-0 Queens Park versus Albion Rovers thriller. Good times, but has this nostalgia clouded my realistic expectations of how good football can be?
I resist the urge to give in to my romantic urges, and instead fully commit myself to thinking about more ambitious schemes to fill the next forty five days...
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1 comment:
long time listener, first time caller.
i think you should focus on the pain. don't wallow in nostalgia, really try to remember why it is you have to shake this unhealthy dependency. focus on the pain. focus on pissing away the title on the last day of the season for no tangible reason, focus on colin hendry's hair. contemplate and lament what football did to gazza (god bless his soul).
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