I maintain that I lack the football gene, since I've always been almost painfully unable to watch an entire game all the way through, no matter who's playing. I see this not as an inverse badge of pride (see how individual I am, footsheeple!) but as a personal failure, albeit a minor one. It used to puzzle/disappoint/irritate my sport-loving father terribly; he once took me to a game, I think to see whether I'd get swept up in the Event!ness of it all, but I was even more bored and fidgety. And cold.
It really does feel like an inborn thing, because my non-comprehension of football predates the standard-issue male-Barbeloid 'picked last for the team' experiences at school (although I did, for a while afterwards, consolidate my feelings into a hard, little lump of rabid hatred of all things footie). I can't even blame being a gayer either, since I know plenty of gay men who're well into football as a spectator sport (and not just for the CLICHE ALERT! meaty, satin-shorted thighs and locker-room fantasies).
And yeah, at this time of year, I really, honestly wish I could get into it - because, as someone pointed out in the Music forum, I imagine being fiercely into this or that team has a similar warm, glowy belongingness as I get out of, ooh, a Morrissey gig.
I really have tried - more so since moving to England, where it seems to be a national obsession to the extent that televisions are regularly brought into work-places, and managers grant special dispensation to bring 'nibbles', drop work, gather round the set and shout pertinent (if rather obvious) advice to the little figures onscreen. Among my colleagues, I typically plead Scottishness as a reason for non-enthusiasm - but the fact that I feel compelled to come up with an excuse is, in itself, rather sad.
So... the groups of shouty, face-painted men in public just make me want to hide. |
