Contrary to much media coverage this weekend, the football season did not start last weekend. For many, it started the weekend before. For me, I could hardly give a toss.
I’ve watched one televised game so far this season, that being Liverpool’s stuttering destruction of a very game though hopelessly outclassed Norwich City. I can’t even call myself a Liverpool supporter because to every intent and purpose I don’t support them in any sense. I never go to their games, I have no familial or geographical connections with Liverpool. I just like watching them on telly. There are lots of people like me. Many are called Manchester United fans.
I used to go to Bristol Rovers games. I gradually fell out of love with them after I was removed from my Bristol Post fans column during a period of upheaval at the club. Year by year, I started to lose the emotional attachment until I lost it altogether when a bunch of Jordanians took over. People said I should just watch the football and enjoy time with old friends. Believe me, I did try that but ultimately had to admit the obvious: the passion had gone. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
So when this season started, I was overcome with apathy. I could not be bothered to watch the Community Shield between Manchester City and Liverpool, I didn’t even know who Rovers were playing until I heard the football results a week ago Saturday. I only knew they were playing Wycombe Wanderers last weekend when their manager was a pundit on Steve Lamacq’s Round Table, reviewing new records on BBC 6 Music.
I’m actually okay with my new found apathy. I wanted no part of Bristol Rovers when the vindictive and autocratic Nick Higgs owned the club, I want no part of it with the Al Qadi family in charge. Perhaps, that might change when and if they are bought out and the second raters they have employed to mismanage the club leave, too. But perhaps it won’t change. Frankly, I don’t give a damn one way or another.
There were loads of games on the TV over the weekend and I can honestly say I could not have cared less about any of them. Indeed, why should I give a toss about one lot of pampered millionaires owned by a Russian Oligarch playing another lot of pampered millionaires owned by an American hedge fund?
This could all change when the nights close in, although I doubt it. Not that long ago, annual holidays and social events were arranged to take place around the football season. I daren’t miss a thing. My priorities have completely changed now.
Unless somehow the magic of watching football miraculously returns – and you never know – there’s simply too much to do in life before I die. Football is not a matter of life and death. Anyone who really thinks that needs urgent mental health treatment almost as much as I do.