It all too easy to leave the stadium when you’re getting drummed 4-0 by a better team, but it takes real comedic talent to turn the experience into a great day out. You either chant that you’re now going to win 5-4 or take it to the next level and actually celebrate an imaginary goal:
‘Yes, he’s good. But could he do it on a cold and windy Tuesday night in Stoke?’
When you spot that Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink slimmed down looks a lot like Eddie Murphy or when Steve Bruce’s perfectly round head reminds you of a beach ball it would be cruel not to broadcast such observances. Recently, JonJo Shelvey’s likeness with Lord Voldemort made him the subject of a chant from traveling West Ham fans which warned him that ‘Harry Potter is coming for you’.
Picking out the faults of the opposition is natural but it takes real wit to poke fun at your own. Whether it was for John Carew’s publicised outing at a strip club or Joe Hart’s innocent head and shoulders advert, the home support never let an opportunity pass them by for some ‘banter’. Cue Man City fans to serenade Joe Hart with a chorus of ‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
Not only the reserves, but the under 21s, under 18s and even the academies – the next big thing might be right around the corner and you want to know what to say when somebody asks you about your 16 year old wonderkid dubbed ‘the next Messi’.
As a national football team we are always underwhelming, but there’s nothing quite like seeing England lose on penalties at a major tournament. It has happened so often now (six losses out of seven) that some of us even consider betting against England in such a scenario.
Match of the Day might be a popular footballing tradition, but watching anything further than the highlights is a dull experience. Most of us seem to know more about football than one of England’s best ever players, or at least most of us had at least some idea who Hatem Ben Arfa was before 2010.
He’s still a dick, but annoyingly it is universally agreed that he is the best pundit on television in recent times.
Whilst other people lounge around in a post-Christmas confused daze, we sit in front of the television with our scarfs and the leftovers or proudly make our way to the stadium through what is normally a barren wasteland – an England devoid of working people, whilst navigating around a country where public transport times appear to be also nursing a holiday hangover. Standing in the bitter cold or watching intensely from your armchair, Boxing Day football is where the true Christmas cheer is showcased.
We love to hate the bad guy; the cheater, the wife-cheater, the guy who beat up a stranger at a nightclub or the one who gets banned for drug use. He’s the centre of attention for the whole 90 minutes; even if he left the team years ago (Gary Neville is STILL a dick).
‘Is this a library?’
You don’t need giant screens showing the action with twenty different angle replays and slow mos. You’ve been watching football live for years and you know a foul when you see one. Expect tremendous abuse towards the referee if he dares to book one of your players or if he doesn’t give a penalty your way, because of course, you are always right. Always. That is until you get home and watch the highlights, where 90% of the calls you complained about were, surprisingly, correct.
And they can be spotted in an instant even if they don’t ask you to take a photo of them. Wearing a full replica kit, sporting the specially made match day scarf and sitting awkwardly as those around them chant throughout are just a few of the most common traits that match tourists possess.
Nothing beats the English match-day food. If you’re a burger or a pie sort of person and if you love your hotdogs and oily chips — the half time break is perfection. There isn’t really much else on offer, but a few splashes of ketchup or mayonnaise later, with an additional napkin (as the first served only as a catching platform for the spilled sauce) your stomach is fully satisfied.
It’s a cliché and has been said over and over again — but there’s something just oddly poetic about the FA Cup. After 144 years you would imagine that ‘expecting the unexpected’ would eventually become standard. But we still see smaller teams made up of part-time plumbers and electricians beat the powerhouses of world sport with a team costing a minuscule fraction of their opposition.