This post is bought to you by this and this.
Football fans are idiots. Or, to rephrase that sentence using less incendiary language: when it comes to football, intelligent people act stupid. And yes, that probably includes you.
Read the whole article and the feedback. It's a thought provoking piece with more than a few echoes of football downunder. And, yes, in case you're wondering, it most certainly "probably includes" me.
A friend of mine, Tim, lived in London and loves the Premier League. (Even though he follows Tottenham.) "Unadulterated," is how he describes it. By that he means the competition is all about the best club winning - if best means richest, well, so be it. Should clubs drop out of the comp, that's their penalty for losing. It's the dog-eat-dog mentality of the Premier League that Tim admires. Unlike here where struggling sides (including mine) are spoon-fed funds to keep them viable, and the many and varied compromises that keep the competion alive in its present format keep throwing up unpalatable (read - manufactured) outcomes. Let's not beat about the bush - Sydney would not have won the premiership without the inconsistencies delivered by the AFL's absurd tribunal arrangements. Mind you, Sydney would not have won the premiership without Steven King pulling his hammy in the Gee-Long game, but that doesn't assist my point.
What is my point? Well, if the AFL were like the Premier League and allowed open-slather on transfers, salary cap, etc, and my team went out of business (as they probably would), I'd be upset for a little while, then I'd go find something else to occupy my time. Something infinitely more meaningful like ... umm ... well, I'm sure I'd find something. The more mature (Shut up - it's a figure of speech which almost fits.) I get, the more my enthusiasm for the caper wanes. Being off the piss doesn't assist matters, either. Spectator sport, being a vicarious pursuit, requires a little extra seasoning to make it attractive. It's an entirely different beast when you take out the social aspects. Almost three years ago I had a blinder at a match and decided to take a break from the juice until Melbourne won their next premiership. Trouble is, the way things stand Melbourne won't win one in the near future, and if they do, I will have been off the piss so long, I won't care. Well, I probably will - a bit. Alright - a lot.
At 44 I've spent around 35 years gobbling up facts, figures, history, tactics, anecdotes, gossip, not to mention playing the game. I was a good player, too. I know as much, if not more, about Aussie Rules than 99% of people I meet (the other 11% are sad freaks) and a large proportion of the so-called experts. (Malcolm King in the last letter of Guardian feedback, makes a good point when he writes "Ray Wilkins will never tell me something about a game of football that I don't already know". It's the same here where the experts are only expert in stating the fucking obvious.) But you know what? You know fucking what? It's all been a colossal waste of time. Where's it got me? Nowhere - that's where.
Bring on free-agency! Ditch the salary cap! Put me out of my misery, you corporate dogs! But before you do: fuck it all - bring on Round 1.
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