A Love/Hate Relationship

I love football. I love it when I see my team (Manchester United) win a great match, when a player produces a sublime piece of skill (hello Jack Grealish) and when the drama and emotion of a game spills over and players run into the crowd, pulling their tops off when a last-minute winner bursts the net. I love it.

I love it when players take the knee, when a crowd claps for a minute for Ukraine, when Marcus Rashford humiliates the government, when a player hugs a kid who wants an autograph. I love it.

I love it when I play my regular 5 a side game and I play well, I love it when I see the focus and seriousness with which my teammates take the game and yet how much laughter and mickey taking there is afterwards. I love the high fives and the back slaps; I love putting my boots on and doing that first sprint to warm up. I love it.

I love thinking about how much my dad loved Denis Law, I love thinking about the games we went to together and I love to remember the look on his face when a new young United player would suddenly burst on to the scene, I love that he loved Ole Gunnar Solsjkaer (Little Ole as he called him)

There is so much I love about football.

But I also hate it. I hate the money in the game and how it turns young, immature men into gods. I hate the twisted rage on the face of fans in the crowd as an opposing player walks over to pick up the ball for a throw in. I hate the sight of children copying their dads and giving players the finger and screaming obscenities. I hate the posturing of grown men, bellies straining their replica club tops as they taunt opposition fans. I hate it.

I hate the drinking and the hooliganism that accompanies away fixtures in Europe, I hate the racism and xenophobia and hatred fuelled by Stella and weed. I hate it.

I hate the corruption and greed that permeates the sport, I hate the talk of European Super Leagues, I hate the way clubs can be bought and sold by billionaires and be run by men (usually men) who know nothing about football.

I hate the prices of season tickets and the home, away and third strip replica shirts that poorer families shell out money on each new season for expectant children.

I love the game of football, I just hate the sport.

Mark’s Dad meeting his heroes!