THE A-League is over, the ACL is about to begin, West Ham are coming seventh in the Premier League and (although I try to forget) Australia were beaten by Kuwait.
All in all a quiet week in the football world but there was still something to get excited about. Training for my Master's League Sunday team started and my indoor team came back from 2-0 down to triumph 3-2! It got me thinking...
A lot of us 'love' football. We bleat on and on about our teams and follow the transfers, tactics, rumours, spats - and even the games - with a religious zeal that would make the Pope's interest in the Catholic Church seem a bit wishy-washy. Those of us who play and/or coach continue to go out on freezing, rainy or steamy mornings, nights when we'd be better off at home with a glass of wine and a comfy chair, afternoons when we can't afford the time off work - all to chase, kick, head or watch a round ball make its way around a rectangle of grass, concrete or wood.
This is either insanity - or love.
I am smitten with this wonderful game but I don't know why. I was born in the UK but arrived in Australia as a six year old. I ran out onto the school oval in Victoria trying to catch a strange, oval ball I hadn't the least Idea how to kick. For my trouble I was smashed to the ground. I got up. Same thing happened again. No-one explained the rules. My family hadn't a clue. Somehow I never quite took to it. Can't imagine why.
We moved to North Queensland and it was Rugby League town. Hey, this was easier to understand. Pick up the strange oval shaped ball and run with it. Get smashed into the ground. Get up, do it again. Find someone else with the ball and smash them into the ground. Satisfying - but not too challenging.
Then, for some reason I can't remember, myself and two mates joined a soccer team when we were ten years old. North West United. Red shirts and white shorts. Cool. No hands. No smashing people into the ground (ok, I broke one kid's leg in a game but it was a fair challenge - honest). Endless ways to play the ball around. As a midfielder there was endless running too. I loved it. I was gone. Head over heels.
Thirty-five years later I still love it. Every time I start to kit up for a game the same sense of excitement is still there. Can't run as fast or as far (and I'm still not very good) but the pure pleasure of chasing the ball across the ground, sending a sweet pass directly to a team-mate, making that last-second challenge or (rarely) scoring a goal remains indefinably wonderful.
Equally, I get a real flash of pleasure when I click onto the net on (usually) a Sunday morning to find that West Ham have won again. Thirty-five years of following them (having seen them play 'live' only once) and it still matters.
And, needless to say, there's that thrill of anticipation, elation, joy or despair that is part of the Hindmarsh experience. Having a home-town team to watch and follow is just brilliant and the love has encompassed United in an all-consuming way. They're my team now. Will be for life I imagine.
So, I was wondering if anyone out there could help me understand this strange addiction. Do you know why you love the game? How did it all start for you? Why does it matter so much? Do I need counselling?
And remember, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". Tennyson must have been a football fan.
P.S. Best wishes to General Ashnak, Big Unit and their families for the impending (or recent) arrivals. And good luck to the Jets and the Mariners in the ACL. Half of me wants you to do well while the other half wants you to struggle just to show how well the Reds did last year.
P.P.S. And yeah, I know there are rumours flashing around about Adelaide players, ownership, etc....but this week I chose to ignore them.
