I speak from years - decades - of sheer hatred. It is not enjoyable, there is no pleasure to be gained from football.
And we are now entering the period of the year when football becomes even less enjoyable. Take Saturday. Why on earth has there to be an early kick off. What team in their right minds takes off Wayne Rooney and replaces him with John O'Shea? Of course, I leapt in the air when John O'Shea scored United's winner. In injury time. At Anfield.
And that's when the misery begins. Alex Ferguson dancing on the sidelines, reminiscent of Sheffield Wednesday at home, 1993. Commentators using the nasty C word. Commentators trying to convince us that United are 12 points ahead of Chelsea; tea-time adjustment to 9 points. In my opinion, no more than 6.
Nine games to go, ten for Chelsea. I envy my brother who today reflected "At least we've avoided relegation this season..." And that's as much as one can say.
I don't know what's coming up. Except a Euro match on Wednesday. Never look beyond the next game. one game at a time. Bloody Sky regarding yesterday's fluke result as a Coronation. Okay, not a fluke result. United play to the final whistle. Good teams play badly and win.
One of these days I shall declare myself not to be a football fan. there's no fun in being nine points ahead of the Premiership whilst still in Europe and the FA Cup.
It would be so easier to be a fan of a team that never achieves anything.
