You don't wanna do that!
By Essex Sky Blue
Saturday 19 Apr 2008 08:15:23
Browse all Sky Blue Soap Box articles
You don't wanna do that!



At what point do you tell the ejit next to you to shut the fook up.

We all know that as kids not everyone was good at football, so it amazes me when some 20 odd years later an over weight bespectacled oik has become tactical genius.

What happened, what did I miss?

I profess to standing, or rather playing “stand up, sit down” with the stewards, and to being embarrassed at some of the ridiculous one eyed comments coming from those around me.

There used to be a guy who would always stand in the same place on the kop at Highfield Road. He would turn up on his own, talk to no one before the game and leave on his own. It was his performance in the intervening hundred and five odd minutes that used to shock me. Once the game started the bile that would gush forward was just outstanding. This would continue non-stop for the entire half, half time would be ten minutes of muttering to himself, only to reignite come the second half. His performance would always guarantee that he had plenty of space to himself. What shocked me was not the profanities, but his complete lack of football knowledge.

So the guy was a loner and left the games fully sated having vented his spleen for another week. Roll forward to now and this is where my bewilderment kicks in. This guy would be a kingpin, with his own hoard of bulging eyed acolytes.

Now I’m sure we’re not the only club to suffer these fools, in fact the proof we’re not is that weekly forum for the half -wit 606 Live.

Yes I can understand the sense of injustice when you’ve travelled half way across the country in a nylon replica top to watch your honour given up by a limp wristed display from your hero’s. But what posseses you to phone into a radio station and nationally out yourself as a moron is beyond me.

Why do we have a national obsession with this style of car crash broadcasting? It’s a bit like watching the X Factor auditions. Only here we get to listen to hear Bob from the North East explain the manager hasn’t got a clue. Where Bob although without the same long glorious and internationally recognised playing career knows just what to do. Or the loyal supporter of the team from the red side of Manchester, who’s driving home from a home game to London after a 4 nil win, calls in explaining that their ginger haired midfielder is crap.

Ultimately I suppose I should be grateful that those who I stand alongside aren’t there just chasing the glory, but should there ever be a minimum qualification required to watch football I fear the English game would be devastated.


©2008 The West Terrace

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