A
weird old game. The two players who've arguably been the class of the side this
year - ("We've got Marlon, we've got Marlon, we've got...") Marlon
King and Ben Foster - both had pretty indifferent outings, and yet the result never
really felt in doubt. I can't remember feeling as little tension during a big game
(okay, other than maybe England's World Cup second-round game against Denmark four
years ago).
Leeds were pretty much outclassed from start to finish, and while you could argue
we got the run of the green from time to time (the possible penalty shout against
Foster and our second goal) the luck was largely of our own making and only the
most blinkered Leeds fan could argue that the better time didn't win.
Fucking hell, people. Watford are back in Division 1.
People talk about having an emotional investment in sport, and they're pretty much
literally correct.
When you make the voluntary or involuntary choice to support a team, what you get
out of it is always entirely in proportion to what you put in. If you're a casual
fan your investment is small, and so your return is also. This isolates you from
too much disappointment of course, however it also puts an upper limit on your joy.
If you sink more time, effort, money, sweat and/or tears into following your team
then triumphs taste far, far sweeter but reverses can be absolutely devastating
- can leave you emotionally bankrupt, if you like.
This works on a small scale as well as a larger one. I vividly remember my mum -
who to the best of my knowledge has never sat down to watch a football game before
or since - getting so wrapped up in the drama of England's World Cup semi-final
against Germany in 1990 that the predictably crushing denouement made her cry.
I've mentioned before what a profoundly weird and illogical thing sport is, how
little rational sense it makes to tie a chunk of your happiness, your fortune to
the fortunes of an ever-changing group of company employees whose commitment is
almost entirely to their next paycheck.
But here's the thing - the ONLY point in watching sport at all is if you HAVE made
that investment. The ONLY meaning it EVER has is what you bring to it. Anyone who's
halfway to being a real fan of sport (and realistically I'd put myself at around
the halfway mark) has subconsciously trained themselves in that area, to the point
that they can tune in to a random game of almost any sport and their mind will obligingly
find a reason to actively support one team over the other, will provide them with
meaning where there really isn't any.
The World Cup is brilliant for observing that particular phenomenon in action. You
find your way up through basic enlightened self-interest justifications ("If
they win, that means we only have to draw against Poland to go through to the next
round"), to general principle justifications (cheering for whoever's playing
against Argentina or Germany), to petty spite justifications (backing, say, anyone
who's playing Portugal because Cristiano Ronaldo is an arrogant chinless little
tosspot), all the way to... well. You know you've reached the pinnacle of the art
when you can say something like "I'm hoping the Cameroon win because their
manager has hair like Michael Bolton" and MEAN it.
I've got no issues with anyone who isn't interested in sport, who thinks it's stupid
and pointless and a waste of time. Because they're largely right.
But show me someone who claims to be "a fan of the sport but not of a team",
who's watching a game who "just hopes the best team wins" or "only
wants to see a good game", and I'll show you a wanker. At best, it says you're
terminally wishy-washy and terrified of commitment. At worst, it says you're a cooler-than-thou
tosspot with delusions of intellectualism. What it always says is that you're lacking
in moral fibre.
The only thing worse than the "Watching It For The Thrill Of Athletic Competition"
fella is the one who changes what team he supports because they're not doing so
well at the moment. But that's so obvious it barely warrants mentioning.
My point? Not terribly sure. I've just spent a couple of days musing on the fact
that Watford Football Club have brought me to tears twice in my life, and wondering
if tomorrow
will make it a third.
Still.
Come ON.
-
Top 5 Favourite Alan Moore Comics:
5. Promethea (I’m not usually a graphics whore, but I LOVE the art in this book.
Plus Grace Branaugh rocks, sweetie) 4. Top 10 (The single most honest-to-goodness
FUN title Moore has ever written. Hill Street Blues, with capes.) 3. V
For Vendetta (“England Prevails.”) 2. Swamp Thing (Sad, romantic,
horrifying, spiritual, funny, trippy, where Neil Gaiman nicked Sandman's best ideas
from) 1. Watchmen (The comic that basically got me into comics)
Thought 2 - What exactly is the difference between a "leading" psychic,
and a garden variety psychic?
Nicer teeth is my best guess.
-
Top 5 A Bit Of Fry And Laurie Sketches
5. Australian Soap-Opera (“You mean all this time you’ve been sleeping with me…
behind my back?”) 4. Recruiting Major Tarrant (“Perhaps we should go
to bed together.” “I just said, I work faster alone.”) 3. Countdown
(“I hope nobody thinks I’m talking sloblock!”) 2. Mystery (“Dead since
nineteen seventy-three! / You’ve been dead now... wait a minute, let me see...") 1.
Berwhale The Avenger (“He lives… in Saffron Walden.”)
