There are guy things like football and Nick Hornby novels and, you know, all those mass slaughter computer games where it takes three thousand rounds to kill one person. It positively encourages psychotic behaviour in the general population, as if they’re weren’t enough nut jobs running around already, and it seems to me, looking at what passes for men around here, that evolution seems to have stopped, not just stopped, if anything it seems to have gone into reverse and there’s another thing, it’s not just about football with guys is it?
I mean what is that about, all that anally retentive stuff about who scored, who passed it to them, at what point in the game and from what position, what the weather was like and if the goalie was distracted by that slight touch of diarrhoea his cat had that morning, and what should the left back have ordered in the restaurant last weekend when his mother in law came to stay (steak not prawns, since you ask). You know all that kind of stuff that men seem get off on. Yes, I know women like football too, I do myself, but my interest runs to did they win or lose, it’s that simple.
‘How did they do today?’ you ask someone.
‘They won two nil’
‘Great’ you think, ‘they won'. Nothing more to know, but no…men are never satisfied with just knowing the score, it’s all in depth analysis of the game, who did what, who didn’t do what, who should have done this, why wasn’t he taken off at half time, that free kick was a joke, that asshole couldn’t score in a whorehouse, that referee’s a prick…you know all that macho stuff. I mean, what are they trying to prove, what does it all mean, I’ll tell you what it means, it means nothing at all, just a load of empty vacuous claptrap that no-one really gives a damn about and, in the great scheme of things, has about as much significance as a pimple on an ant’s ass in sub-Saharan Africa on a wet Wednesday in April!!