beautiful game my arse

I don’t like football. Football doesn’t like me. This is fine, and we tend to keep out of each other’s way. We’ve found that the easiest solution for our mutual dislike is mutual avoidance. Mostly this works, because luckily football doesn’t especially agree with my boyfriend either, so I don’t have to spend my saturdays with Match of the Day, or listen to witless conversations about footy (what’s more tedious than football? People talking about football). I don’t watch any sports channels, read the backs of any newspapers, or ask my brother how West Ham are doing.

Unfortunately there is one instance where football flagrantly ignores our peace pact, and that’s when it comes to the pub. Because, let’s face it, if you don’t like football and you want a peaceful drink on a saturday afternoon, most of the time you’re pretty much fucked.

Today was a good example; we wandered off out after a long morning and early afternoon spent mooching about indoors, looking forward to have a couple of drinks and a nice chat about stuff. After all, this is what I expect the pub to be about; drinks, and chats. That’s all I ask of it. We made our way to my current pub of choice in our neighbourhood, ironically avoiding another local because they charge an entrance fee if there happens to be a match on (and that is another fucking rant altogether). It’s a cosy place usually, with an interesting mix of regulars, and pretty decent (and cheap) thai food. I like it there. When we got in and ordered our drinks it was busy; the big screen up the back was showing rugby*, which I expected really, so we made our way to the far corner, which was out of the way of the main crowd.

Cool, I thought. They can watch their footy/rugby/sportwhatever, and we can have a quiet drink and a chat. Unfortunately I hadn’t noticed the tiny screen just above our heads playing the apparently less popular football game. Soon we were joined by a quite alarmingly arseholed old geezer, who sat around about a foot away from us and proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes randomlt shouting things such as “SPREAD! SPREAD THE BAAAALL! SPREAD IT!” and “GET ON DEFENNSHH, YOU FACKIN’ IDJITS!” and “YOU ARE RUDE! YOU ARE A VERY RUDE MAN!”. He also stood up at one point with his arms in the air, silently saluting nothing for a few minutes, and then stumbled back down again. Riiight. As the game went on, we were gradually surrounded by an army of similarly shouty winos. Any chance of hearing each other talk, and me not wanting to punch people, went right out the window.

I fucking hate you football. Leave me alone.

*By the way, I lump rugby in with football; it’s all about blokes chucking a ball around, what’s the difference?

10 thoughts on “beautiful game my arse

  1. I can only wholeheartedly agree on this… Fucking Football has been the bane of my life. Its hard to be a man (or fella in Football parlance) and not be required to have a opinion about 22 men who bath together (in a manly way) who spend 90 minutes in their shorts kicking a pigs bladder in to one of two onion bags. I hate the fact that this moronic game, run by morons, featuring morons and worshipped (in the main) by morons is seen as some kind of golden standard and unifying force between all males old enough to walk. I also hate that any failure to conform with this immediately gets you labelled as some kind of outcast, nerd or some aspersion on your sexuality. Football is a fucking excuse for human gibbons to become tribal racists but using coloured t-shirts as the reason to fight rather than coloured skin or race… Plus if you wear a football shirt you’re a bloke, if you wear a T-shirt with a slogan or something not footie related you’re a geek…I say dump the lot of it and spend the billions world wide sorting out something worthwhile rather than allowing David Beckham (who is one bayou away from finger picking the star spangled banner on a banjo with Ronnie Cox) to earn more in a week than I earn in nigh on 3 years, simply for kicking a ball about for 6 months of the year.Fuck football fuck it right in the ear!

  2. YES. Exactly. It always dismayed me as a kid that I was a pathetic nerd for reading *gasp* books about *gasp* star trek, and for having Star Wars posters in my room, but grown men spending tons on hideous t-shirts and painting their faces blue to go and swear at each other, that was completely normal and admirable behaviour. I am always glad that I am not a bloke and therefore not expected to have an opinion about it in my silly little head (although the same could very well be said for women and a variety of subjects – shoes, celebrities, diets, going to the gym. Because I don’t give a fuck about any of this, I am pretty much a leper in ladytown.)

  3. A typical conversation:Someone: So, what football team do you support?Me: I don’t follow football.Someone: Oh, right….followed by them looking at me as if I’m an alien, and going on to talk with other, more ‘normal’ people about who said what or who might get transferred where or what drama unfolded in training oh my god isn’t it so interesting? Work does seems to be the only place where I have to interact with people who actually like football these days though, thank fuck.

  4. So we’re agreed? Football is rubbish, we can go ahead and spend all the money on more cinemas or something instead?

  5. I so wholeheartedly agree. Our area got a brand new Soccer team here last week. It’s all anyone wants to talk about. I don’t care! I was never much into the girly shoe/fashion talk, either.I suppose this is why we’ve all found each other, right??I suppose all the odd looks are worth having made such fabulous friends, though. :)

  6. I don’t suppose you thought of moving tables/seats perhaps?However, I agree. All sports talk is boring, football probably the worst of the lot. I mean, cricket talk is pretty damned tedious, but at least it used to be played by smart men with big beards, which is more than football going for it.I once went into a shop, and the guy behind the counter asked if I was watching the football that afternoon. Trying to be friendly (more fool me) I asked who was playing. The very fact that I didn’t know singled me out as a not-we, and I left before I was chased out of the village with pitchforks.One thing that really does annoy me is that if you know football results for every single game going back to 65 BC, no sweat. But if can, say, list all of the people who have been companions in Doctor Who, you’re some kind of freak.I’ve known people who mention sport in EVERY SINGLE CONVERSATION. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning Doctor Who to anyone who wasn’t interested.In short: fuck football :-)

  7. Thing is, we sat in the only corner of the pub that wasn’t full of sports fans. It was the fact that I didn’t spot the tiny screen directly above our table that doomed us. I try to stay out of football’s way, and it still ruins my pub time! ;)We moved on to another pub eventually, down a backstreet and practically empty- this turned out to be because it was run by an incredibly grumpy barmaid. :s

  8. Lily raises a good point of course; I am lucky enough to have mates who only talk about cool stuff. In this at least I have managed to avoid the evil tendrils of footy. :)

  9. I watched a whole game of football in the pub last night. Excrutiating :(I felt as if any second they’d find me out (like Roy and Moss in that blokey episode of the IT Crowd) ugh.

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