It’s the end of another football season and here we are, soccer diehard fans sitting and constantly updating ourselves on the transfer window in respect to our so-called teams. Teams that do not give a damn about how it hurts when they miss that obvious chance at goal; one my grandmother will easily push into the net. One that still hurts me till now was the world cup of last year. England as we all know after putting their mouths in before their legs were shamed out of the tournament, thanks to the German machines. But after disgracefully crashing out, I read in weekend papers that these players had jetted off with their WAGs as they call them to islands and resorts having the most exciting time of their lives. Then I thought back to those shouts, heart ache, head ache, bum ache and sometimes starvation that I and my uncle went through in supporting this overgrown men running around in shorts and sometimes even taking shirts off pursuing some round leather thing like my little 3 year old cousins. I thought of the lavish and pampered treatment giving to these old men by the government including their WAGs. The attention, the hype, the cheering, the arguments, some men beat up their wife because she interrupted their game [WOW!]. It was after all these deep thoughts and debates within myself I stopped been a diehard football fan notwithstanding, I’m a true fan of the red devils [LOL].
But this is not what this post is about; I save that for later so watch out. This post is about us the so-called supporters who supports from the comfort of our cushion at home. Let me burst your bubble, you are no real supporter. Go check out the real hardcore ones in the stadiums under sunshine, rainfall and snow. My heart goes out to them. So if you want to become a real supporter, go inquire how much it cost for a season ticket, buy it and come tell me you’ve upgraded to a real supporter. Back to us cushion supporters, I would like to engage you in a roller coaster of deep thoughts.
I personally sometimes admire soccer because it sort of coincides with Life in itself; The practice, the hard work, the devotion, the commitment, the persistence, the strategy, the planning, the injuries, then the results, the joy, the anger, the frustration, the laughter, the stagnancy and the pride. Imagine your life was like the old Trafford stadium. What role do you think you’ll play now? ; The spectator cheering and spurring others? , The Referee running from box to box without touching the ball? , The defenders stopping opponents from scoring? , The midfielders controlling the tempo of the game and supplying the strikers? , The strikers trying at every chance to score goals? , or The coach who have done he’s/her bit and is now controlling the whole team?.
I once read a quote in a bulletin and that quote has ever remained with me hence this post. It quoted “referees don’t score goals “and “Spectators are in the ministry of cheering and booing”. I definitely don’t want to be a spectator neither a referee. I want to be in the game, precisely to be the striker dribbling, creating and scoring ‘goals’ like the little Argentinean wonder, Lionel Messi then move on to be the ‘Special One’.