I am not a football man. This is unlikely to come as a shock given my general lack of enthusiasm for sport in general (running should be reserved for the three necessary situations; away from something dangerous, towards something tasty and the water for a nice warm bath), but with football my usual disinterest melts into an apathy that would make Albert Camus seem an upbeat, excitable and generally bubbly kind of bloke. I just don't care. I tried caring, picked a couple of teams to follow, tried to learn a few names and things and ended up more bored than a toddler at the National Accountancy Convention. I can't get excited about it.
Which is funny really, because millions of people around the country, around the world even, do get excited about it. It's a game that I think has more of an emotional effect on its spectators than any other. You only have to walk into any pub in the North on a Sunday afternoon to see why. Working class men, men who any other day of the week would be unlikely to display their feelings in anything other than a fart and whose idea of 'love' is expressed through a dead arm or a pint that they paid for, suddenly become emotional wrecks; hurling advice or abuse at a screen ("Pass it, PASS it, DON'T GET MARRIED TO IT!" being my granddad's favourite), grinning wildly and shrieking like schoolgirls as goals are scored and coming close to tears if the match comes to an undesirable outcome. This passion and energy can turn nasty; fights can break out between fans of rival teams, people's moods can be affected for weeks and it is a proven fact that people get more aggressive whilst playing Fifa than they do Grand Theft Auto. What Mummy said about "the taking part" flies out of the window; in Football, the winning is everything.
There's a grain of truth in the joke, "Life's a game, but football's serious".
Why are people so affected by 'The beautiful game'? What is it about football that creates such emotion? Maybe it's the sense of identity that comes through supporting a team. Most towns have a local club, and many support them unquestioningly for the simple reason that it's a symbol of where they're from, a symbol that unites the fans through both the good and the bad. In some areas, particularly in the North, where the destruction of the industries that held communities together has taken away their common livelihood (well played Maggie), a local football team is one of the few things that still manages to keep that community spirit alive. Sons will follow the teams that their fathers supported for generations after the family has moved from the area. Football becomes a huge part of who you are.
Or maybe it's because of the excitement of the game itself. There's no sport that can rival the sheer drama of the football pitch. Cricket has its thrilling moments, but, for the untrained observer who cannot comprehend the difference that a new ball can really make, why a team would actually stop trying to get more runs and give the other side a go and wonders whether the whole thing isn't actually a 'Daz' advert taken a step too far, the apparent lethargy of a five day test match isn't particularly gripping, despite the huge amount of skill and tactical thinking that's involved. Rugby has the pace of football, but the billions of rules that accompany it are bewildering and the game is played almost exclusively by men who look more like the rejects of a potato crop than athletes. Football is uncomplicated, the offside rule being about as tricky as it gets, and, what's more, it's dramatic; a game can swing either way in a matter of moments, the energy is tangible and electrifying. In a world of entertainment cluttered with technology, football appeals on an incredibly instinctive level.
And perhaps there's a whiff of childlike indulgence in a love of football. As a young boy, football is your world; it's your favourite way to spend your lunchtimes at school, its stickers are what you spend your weekly pocket money on, and its players are your idols. Even I, a boy who ended up a theatre-loving, all-singing, not-so-much dancing arts student with a touch of the John Barrowman about him, even I wanted to be David Beckham of Man Utd at the age of 7; my brother, now a brilliant rugby player, wanted to be Michael Owen of Liverpool, and the rivalry of our two favourite clubs was the cause of many a fight. Is it possible that for many men, deserted by the carefree play of childhood and drowning in the stressful and uncertain reality of adulthood, football is a way to escape and return to those blissful summer afternoons at the park or heavenly Sundays spent with Dad at the local ground?
Whatever the reason, one thing is certain; football has us hooked. This is apparent in the billions that pass hands in the transfer season, in the squabbles for exclusive media rights to the big competitions and in the mind-boggling salaries paid to talented players, but there's a much more concrete indicator of the importance football holds for our culture. On big match days, the National Grid experiences huge power surges at particular points during the day; most notably at half-time. This has become known as 'The Half Time Kettle Effect'.
Football and tea. Could there be anything more British than that?
