The Beautiful Game. (What’s ‘idiot’ in Hooliganish?)

Now I wouldn’t want people to think that I’m not a sporty person going on the fact that I’m a MAN who likes reading and playing guitar, but my sexuality has surely been questioned by a few hardened readers.
And therefore;

Football! I fu**ing love football!
And by football I obviously refer to real football (played mainly with feet and not bloody hands…. No, America, what you’re playing is rugby with padding).

To me, football is God’s God! Get ready for this explanation!

I don’t mind bringing down religion (as the odd Sherlock Holmes reader may have gathered from previous blogs) but when someone proves footy is wrong and only a money-orientated waste of money involving failed-actors kicking rubber and material around, Gerrard forbid, I get angry. Hypocrisy at it’s greatest!!!! Right?

But football is life….

When I was 12 (playing for the less-than-un’lucky’) Under 13s, my Dad told me that when I was upfront and there was a break in play to growl at my opponent. I was told that said opponent wouldn’t attempt to tackle me when play restarted. Owing to my less-than-impressive physique, father’s plan never actually worked when put into practice. I actually, surprise surprise, ended up like a bit of a lemon. Although, looking back, my dad was teaching me to stand up for myself against the ‘enemy’.

Football is our leader!

We go across the planet to follow our teams and paint our plundered cities in our scarves and mannerisms. Scars on the local children who now have an England star to idolise.
We won IT 5 times, by the way! …. And then they stole McManaman and Owen and Alonso…. Bloody Spanish. But not Rafa!
But I digress;

Football has a roof-fund!

We all get the stadium tickets and building contractors, the players and songs, the logos, the programs, the pie and lager, the magazines, the memorabilia, the Torreses and Trundles, the products. They are our churches and masons, our idols and chants, our symbology, our manuscripts[/æ], our bread and wine, our treasures, our artefacts, our Judas’ and Eve’s, our bibles.
Our children are prepared for our Gods as offerings…. All but unlike-lily (should they ever become footballers) pressured onto a spiral road down into a burning pit of money-and-drug-orientated lava!
But Christmas will always be bigger than the date our teams were established!

5 star smiley face 🙂

P.S. Officials stop our managers fighting when we all want them to fight. Now officials are the hypocrites! Hate those linesmen (NOT assistant referees!) and let them know what OUR Hell feels like! Grr!

P.P.S. Want your own religion…. buy Football Manager! Do NOT claim you’re a Jedi!

P.P.P.S I went to Kernow last week.



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