I no longer have the passion, or for that matter the anger, to follow a football team. Over 20 years ago, a dear friend of mine walked away from our club, Bristol Rovers, saying he had lost the “emotional attachment”. How could that be, I wondered? A football club is for life. You stick it out through thick and thin – or, as someone, maybe me, once said – through thin and thinner. But then, for reasons that are far too tiresome to repeat here, it happened to me. It’s a weird feeling.
Once you stop watching football with the blinkers on, the game’s up. Gradually, it began to dawn on me that actually referees were not terrible every week and that they were not biased against my team, so what was left? With no sense of permanent grievance and not having my weekend spoiled when we lost, it began to occur to me that maybe I should be doing something else with my life on a Saturday afternoon? I’ve been doing something else on a Saturday afternoon for eight years now, although I did watch one professional game on a Sunday in the autumn of 2023. More about that later.
So much of my life revolved around football. Weekend breaks, on one occasion an actual holiday, drinks with friends, golf, all manner of social occasions were all arranged to suit the game. And for most of my life I was quite happy with that. But once the thrill had gone and, yes, the emotional attachment it all felt so pointless.
My football these days is confined to the odd non-league game, although not since the friend I used to go to games died late last year, as well as games involving my local village team and the occasional game on TV.
With more football than ever being available on the crystal bucket, I have never watched less of it. Yesterday, I watched a small chunk of Hibs v Celtic, a truly terrible game and a much larger chunk of Manchester United v Liverpool. I like Liverpool. They were always my ‘second team’, although I would not consider myself to be a supporter or a fan. I never go to their games, I have no desire to, either. I won’t go out of my way to watch Liverpool games if I have other options, either, but yesterday having done all the things I wanted to do on a Sunday, I sat down to half-watch the game in my man cave, while reading a biography of John Lennon. That’s the level of my passion for football these days. There’s not much of it.
The thing that affected me most of all was the news that legendary Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson had been hospitalised before the game. As someone who likes Liverpool FC, I guess I’m supposed to hate Sir Alex who achieved so much for their great rivals, but I don’t. Far from it. I’ve grown to admire and, yes, like him and enjoy his appearances on TV. I support the view that he was the greatest football manager Britain has ever produced. I’ve not refined my views about Manchester United that much, though. I still don’t like them and my dislike kicked into life once the inevitable “poverty chanting” started off. But even then, not for too long once many home fans applauded when Liverpool’s travelling support sang their song about Diogo Jota, who was tragically killed last summer.
United won the game 3-2 and while I felt mildly disappointed, it had no impact on the rest of my day. the highs and lows I used to get wrapped up in no longer exist, except perhaps with the England national team. That’s in direct contrast with many of the friends I used to go to games with, many of whom would far rather watch Rovers win than England. And that’s absolutely fine. That’s the deep feelings you have for your club at work and the emotional investment you make. That was me, once.
There was one result that I was excited by. And that was Feyenoord’s dramatic late victory at Fortuna Sittard in the Dutch Eredivisie, which virtually guarantees their place in next year’s Champions League (it says here). I don’t give a toss about the Champions League to be honest because it’s literally nothing like the tournament it used to be, not least back in 1970 when Feyenoord defeated Celtic in the final. Because of the way football has become, neither Feyenoord nor Celtic will even qualify for the knock out stages, never mind win the thing. They are purely there to make up the numbers, just like almost all the other clubs who make the tournament in the first place. But I love Feyenoord doing well because I am half-Dutch and they were the first team I ever saw play live on 19th August 1970, just after their European Cup triumph. They won 4-1 against FC Utrecht. (Look closely at the photo header because you might be able to pick me out in the crowd. I’m in the top tier with my uncle.)
The last time I went to Feyenoord’s legendary De Kuip stadium was on 30th September 2023 to watch “us” defeat Go Ahead Eagles 3-0. I remembered what passion was for a brief moment in time and loved the way Arne Slot’s highly technical team played the game. I wonder what happened to him?
Perhaps it’s only geography that prevents me attending regular Feyenoord games and maybe money, too (that game in 2023 cost me an eye-watering €85) and the cost of acquiring yet another TV subscription to watch them on the telly. Or maybe it’s that I can’t be bothered? I certainly won’t bother with the Champions League when it heads off to Paramount in 2027 of if the rights to other football competitions are bought up by other companies. I’ll probably read a book instead.
Get well soon, Sir Alex, and to Manchester United fans, stop the poverty chanting and carry on doing nice things like joining in the applause for Diogo Jota. That, I suspect, is what only someone who has lost the emotional attachment to a club could possibly say. In that case, I am very happy to have lost it.
