Why the fuck would anyone ever support a football team? It simply makes no sense whatsoever. Its a one-way deal; you give everything to the club and they give nothing back in return. Nothing. No joy, no happiness, no pleasure, nothing. In exchange for all that misery you just pay them a vast fortune each year to watch them, to buy their merchandise (simply essential, I could never get out of the bath without my Spurs dressing gown, nor drink out of anything but my Spurs mug, wear my Spurs cufflinks, eat my Spurs cakes and take my Spurs Ibuprofen in times of pain… other than match days, doesn’t help that much) and give them our hearts, souls (Chelsea fans excluded, obviously, they don’t have them), our love and devotion. Unconditionally and forever. You can divorce your wife, you can abandon your kids, but your football team is forever. See how far I’ve come to become this reconstructed new man iconic figure?

Take yesterday’s results. Who is happy and who is sad?

Spurs lost. To West Ham. Because we were just pure shit, and even then only 10 shitty players instead of 11 following the sending off. Misery. West Ham should have been happy because they actually won a match, but they weren’t, they’re all angry at their manager for having the cheek to keep them in the Premiership for another season in a dull and drab manner, when they’d rather be playing ‘beautiful’ football in the Championship.

Manchester City won the most important match of their season, but are probably miserable because they haven’t won the title already, and Everton are unhappy because they lost and have given up any chance of Champions League and the only way Man City won’t win the league is if hated rivals Liverpool win it.

Liverpool are miserable because they threw away their title chances last Sunday against Chelsea, who are doubly miserable because they’re still not going to win the league and they were humiliated on Wednesday night by the awesome Athletico Madrid. In an effort to make Chelsea happy, their (moronic, horrible, wanky) little manager has taken to slagging off all their best players in public, blaming them all for his managerial shortcomings. Tosser.

Here’s some teams with nothing to be happy with at all: Cardiff, Fulham, Norwich (though that may change if they beat Chelsea today or if the world turns into a giant cream cake with cherries on top; each equally likely to happen), Stoke, Newcastle (even though they finally won a match), Manchester United (the Giggs effect lasted as long as a single dose of viagra) and Doncaster (who were relegated to division 1 at the end of a gruelling afternoon that saw Birmingham cling on).

Me mate Dave might be happy because QPR are in the playoffs, but so are 3 other teams and only one will win and get the right to have a horrible, disastrous, struggling season in the top flight.

So me, football, we’re finished. Over. Done and fucking dusted. Hate the game, hate the players, hate the managers, hate the fans. Its ice-dancing for me from now on. That and darts. Or darts on ice, once I’ve invented it and sorted out the inevitable dangers.

Happy fucking Sunday

A xxxx