Football, is not a beautiful game as the shaven headed, 35 stone man named Gav will tell you, as he downs pint 47 like a shot of air as he hides a 4-seater bench underneath his heaving mounds, with a full sized tattoo of a Chelsea shirt drawn atop his fine, naked figure of a Buddha-like man. However it is a good game. Just look at how excited everyone is that it’s back on. It’s only a couple of days since the end of the World Cup, and already you can hear... if you listen very carefully at night... A man, somewhere in the country, wake up in a cold sweat screaming “GOLF!!!!? FUCK OFF!” mumbling “bloody golf!” as he falls gently back to sleep. It brings joy to literally (probably) billions, how can that be bad?

No it’s good. Football is good. It’s pointless yes, but so are things that you love. It’s entertainment. Why is it entertaining? Because you want something to happen, you urge it to happen, you pray for it to happen, but you don’t know what will happen. So get off your high fucking horse on stilts, come down to the pub, get me a packet of crisps, and shuttup, the football’s on.

You might hear people on one side of the fence say, quietly and contently (as if they’re right just because they said something first), “It’s only a game.” Well if, as a football fan, you can manage to stop yourself from instantly glassing whichever twat said it, the kind of twat (there are many genres) who thinks he’s an intellectual because he reads poetry (The only thing reading poetry proves is that you can read, why are you trying to lord over me that you can read? What if I can’t read? Does that mean you’re better than me?). If you do manage to stop yourself going all Begbie on his Surrey-bred, boney arse, then you’ll be able to confidently and eloquently tell him that it is a game yes. Like any other game, it’s entertainment. It’s fun because you want to win. Even if you’re not playing, if you take sides, then it’s fun because you want one of them to win. But a game is not all it is.

It’s Friday afternoon, reading Sport’s ‘7 Days’ section, getting excited about the weekend fixtures. It’s Match of the Day just before you go to bed, lolling off to sleep as Gary Linekar himself can’t be arsed with the last game (the most boring one – Bolton or Wolves). It’s spending 6 hours, taking in every word of the 44 page pull-out, and 6 minutes on the rest of the 200 page Sunday paper. It’s friendship, it’s rivalry. And more than anything else, it’s Saturday. If you’re lucky (as were Akin and I for the opening weekend of the 2010-2011 season), there’s an early Premiership game as well as a late one. The Saturday of Gods (the ones who like football) looks like this:

•Get to the pub late because of the tube and miss most of the first half.

•Get a drink and circle the bar at least three laps to find the best possible seating option.

•Finally settle in an uncomfortable corner equidistant from the bins and an open door forcing you to put your coat back on, with a slither of a view of a poor reception TV (what the fuck is the point in HD), but telling yourself it’s a great spot, and patting your mate on the back for the quality procurement.

•See a group of tourists get up to leave, and jump on their seats like a fasting lion.

•Finally get a view of the TV to see that it’s half time.

•Spend 15 minutes watching highlights of literally the MOST exciting game of football ever recorded (even though it’s still 0-0), worrying that those German tourists have just gone to the toilet, and that they’re not German tourists after all, but angry-faced, machete-wielding West Ham fans, looking like they’ve just polished off a handful of wasps.

•Endure a second half of football, so boring that you find yourself wishing you were back watching England v Germany.

•Then fall asleep, twice.

•Finally, some excitement! The game finishes and Soccer Saturday comes on. At exactly 15:00 the pub turns the sound off, and loudly pumps shit pop music into your face like they’ve invited their annoying cousin who has no idea of personal space.

•Find a new spot to sit, in front of TWO big TVs, with good pictures.

•Just before 15:00 they turn over to Aussie Rules. You can’t hear the football so just sit trying to work out the rules of this stupid game.

•Every so often, turn around 90° to try and check the score of the game you care about, which is still 0-0... but someone’s taking about it! What are they saying? What’s happening? You don’t know. You try and lip read, but it doesn’t work, and you realise you can’t lipread.

•Finally... is it....? is it...? It IS! YES...! YEEEESSSSSSSSS! A group of people are moving from a sofa...! Top of the food chain.

•Lying back on the sofa, enjoying the win, you enjoy a little nap as the game you’re watching finishes 0-0.

•Not to worry, the evening game will start in only 40 minutes.

•What shall we do until then? Watch the pre-match commentary? OK says the owner of the bar, but you won’t be able to hear it. Every speaker in the place will pump out top volumed Sky Sports except for the one right next to you, which will scream VIVA’s Top 40, leaving you feeling like a Pensioner at a Slipknot gig.

•VIVA’s not even on TV, anywhere! But it is here, and we’re listening to it, whilst watching John Terry in a pre-match interview, talking about he’s been training really hard, and how he really wants to win this one. Brilliant.

•The game starts, and Chelsea score after 4 minutes (whilst I’m in the toilet), destroying the competition of the thing.

•I fall asleep again, and wake 2 hours later to find Chelsea have one 6-0.

•Maybe football is pretty shit after all. But I love it.