My first football experience (From Watford Observer)

My first football experience

5:00pm Saturday 11th September 2010

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I know nothing about football, bar the fact that it involves a ball roughly the size of my head and a team of men (also known as ‘the scum of the earth’). I don’t understand the emotional involvement football fans claim to have, and can only imagine winning a ‘big’ game feels something like when Shayne Ward won the X Factor in 2005.

As I am far from a fan of the sport I had never been to a match and although I had some idea of the insanity that is a football game, I did not, and could never have, gleaned the extent of it.

Two weeks ago I was staying with my boyfriend in Bournemouth. He’s an AFC Bournemouth fan.

He is what can only be described as mental.

Bournemouth were playing on the Saturday and until 10 minutes before the game began I was under the illusion that I would be remaining in the safety of his house, possibly watching MTV, for the duration of it. However, it became apparent that a season ticket was available due to an absentee, and who was I to refuse?

So I went to the game.

I spent the first 15 minutes laughing to myself, as when I am a little bit uncomfortable and a little bit shocked by those around me this is all I can think to do. Most people were wearing the same t-shirt (or strip, as I’m told they are also known), and this in itself struck me as odd. Everyone around me were taking it upon themselves to shout instructions to the members of their preferred team, and abuse at the opposing ones. I cant help but think the players may have slightly more knowledge and skill when it comes to playing football than the could-do-with-losing-a-few-pounds man in the crowd with burger in one hand and middle finger erect on the other.

The chanting was also something to behold. A man sitting in front of us came up with the genius lines of “w*nker, w*nker, w*nker, ohhh, you’re a w*nker” at one point. I’m almost certain Gary Barlow is eating his heart out as we speak.

The same man also shouted at a particular player wearing blue boots: “you better be f*cking good if you’re wearing blue boots!” And at this point I made a mental note never to buy blue boots, as I am not very good at football.

All in all it was an experience. And I wouldn’t say I have been put off from attending another match, I’m sure the more I go the closer I will be to creating my own derogatory chants to the dismay of those around me.

Oh, and the final score was 3-3, but who’s counting?

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