Ah, early August… what better time to usher in the new season of everyone’s favourite winter sport? Football. Over-hyped, over-priced, glorious football. Finally the players are off the beach and making their way to a not-yet muddy pitch. So that we watching masses can once again have something more diverting to focus on than the usual mundane boringness of life (as exemplified by the writer of these words right now by East Orange train station slowly ranging into view).
Just imagine, indeed, how unutterably bleak life would be if there were only one such thing as football – and it was the sort played by Giants, Dolphins and Jets. How forlorn and lost would we all feel then?! And how much more miserably would we stumble into the icy arms of death?
Imagine… counting down the days to a new year’s worth of football and seeing only puffed up quarterbacks and line-backers strutting forth. Doesn’t bear thinking about it, does it? Just when you want something fast and flowing and breathless – a load of old fat men in helmets standing around to have a conference meeting.
I mean really. At the risk of getting comprehensively sidetracked, is there anything on this inessential earth duller than football of the ‘gridiron’ form? More endlessly ponderous and, frankly, anti-football than. a. game. that. can. never. (ever.) quit. STOPPING? (I know – but what about that oh-so exciting bit when they throw the ball three feet and then all dive on top of it…)
But, hmmm, I was going to write about football, wasn’t I? Soccer. Of the “EPL” variety…
So: how about we take a fast moment and look forward to that? To another giddy, silly, hopeful, desperate, skillful, playful, pretty, ugly, prancing, bruising, tough, blisteringly quick, noisy, maddening and mad, go-around of football. You know, the one that everyone in the whole world plays, and that’s more dumb fun than a carnival load of curio, ice cream and pop. The deathless, wondrous pursuit of scoring slightly more – less the autistic urge to stop first and count a boring lot of ‘yards.’
Proper football, eh? Don’t you just fucking love it.
And why not join me again tomorrow as I continue my Premier League countdown with a closer look at its most amazing team (subject to the cruel, capricious vagaries of accumulating points).