Football, Futbol or Soccer; no matter what you call it, it's 22 guys chasing each other in shorts, while kissing, hugging and patting each other's arses or pouting like a child if it doesn't go their way. What a load of wank.
I'm not much of a team player. Sports have never interested me. I'm not competitive enough, I guess. At school I was always last picked for a team and I never saw the need to exert myself to put a ball into any kind of net. As for watching sports, now that's what I call boring.
Being working class in Northern Ireland meant that football was very important, almost sacred. Never say "It's only a game" to die-hard fans during a World Cup match; you may not survive.
When I worked in a warehouse, it was a mostly male environment, so this led to footie being the main topic of discussion. Well, that and booking holidays to Spain. One of my fellow storemen had a son that played for one of the local teams, so this made him a celebrity by proxy. I usually ended up being the only one working most of the time, as with each new customer would come an opinion about football, or the workers that see each other everyday would have to have a frequent, vital, and long conversation about a match or a player. The most useless thing there is, is a sports fan that smokes. They never get anything done; by the time they have had a talk, a smoke, and gone for a shit (with the newspaper) it's time for their tea break.
Is there anything more ironic than a big fat f**ker wearing a sports shirt and talking about how so & so are lazy on the pitch?
Go on, ask me about the Glens and the Blues and I'll stab you in the eye with a pen.
My two-year-old son knows what soccer is, thanks to "The Backyardigans." He plays at being a "Soccer Monster" and goes around shouting "SOCCER!" So now he knows the sport and even uses the silly American name for it, great, nice one. The thing is that he can actually kick a ball; straight, either foot, at a stand still or a run. This is more than I can do. I can see myself running about kicking a ball in my old age, a thing I have managed to avoid in my youth. Coming from Northern Ireland a heart attack may be my only escape. I'll think about it as I fry my eggs and bread for breakfast tomorrow.