They say you can't pick your family but you can pick your friends. They don't say anything about the people seated around you at the football. More's the pity.

One of the joys of following a football team is the opportunity it affords to meet new and interesting people that may have nothing in common with yourself except for the colour of their scarves.

It could be that bunch of occasionally funny and always intoxicated lads at the pub before and after the game. Perhaps it's somebody you chat with on the bus or train to and from the venue every week. Or maybe, it's that lovely older couple with season tickets in the row in front of you.

It could even be the loyal and dare I say handsome readers of your FourFourTwo blog.

So it was a shame that last week, during the match against Wellington Phoenix, I had the misfortune of being surrounding by the one type of fan that I cannot stand - namely, the uber-negative, nothing-is-ever-good-enough fan.

You know the type. They tend to hail from that small island chain just off the coast of mainland Europe, the one that purports some kind of footballing manifest destiny that rarely plays out on the world stage.

They maintain that the A-League is crap. That their local team in said A-League is even crappier. And that the referees are simply the crappiest of the lot.

Now, they may have a fairly decent point and I am not about to pretend that the A-League is something it clearly is not. But what I fail to understand is why anyone would pay good money to watch a football game only to criticise every aspect of the experience?

And when I say every aspect, I do mean every aspect.

The overarching derision of these fans did not just extend to the player's skills or the manager's tactics. It addressed all sorts of things that any sane person wouldn't consider criticising at all.

I have chosen three gripes that I actually heard, but I am sure there were more I missed. And hopefully in print, these misanthropic heroes will see the absurdity of their statements.

Complaint the first: "The grass doesn't look all that green to me."

It may be hard to believe, but this was the first trickle of negativity that eventually became a torrent that night. I am not sure how verdant the pitch needs to be to satiate the negative ninnies but it seemed pretty bloody green to me. And that's despite the fact that I have a tendency to look through rose-coloured lenses.

Last season the Suncorp Stadium playing surface was voted best in the league by those whose opinions really matter - the players. And really, as long as it is flat and solid underfoot I'm not sure if the shade of green really matters that much at all.

Second complaint: "I think that the ball sounds flat and it's bouncing too much."

This nonsensical piece of commentary was first delivered sometime in the first half and later again in the second. I am still trying to work out how such a combination could conceivably come about.

Perhaps, the ball was filled three-quarters with helium or a similar lighter-than-air gas.
More than likely it seems that it was just more hot-air from the commentariat that failed to acknowledge that if the ball was truly flat that the players or officials might call attention to it. And if they failed to notice it I'm sure there are still voices more qualified than those in the stand to make such an opinion - like ball boys.

Third order of business: "The plastic cup tastes better than the plastic beer."

If there is one rule of being a bloke in a foreign land it is never criticise the local brew. I admit that XXXX is not the best beer in the world but it is our beer and we are proud of it. On hot summer days you can even smell the hops and barley waft across the concourse from the iconic brewery that sits right beside the stadium.

Now yes I do agree that mid-strength beer from plastic cups is not ideal but there is another option colloquially known as "The Heavy Bar" where full strength beer is served in stubbies. Some of it is even of European descent. And if the whingers would just hold their noise for five seconds perhaps a local would be kind enough to direct them to said bar.

Or then again, maybe not. After all, nobody wants to be stuck beside someone at a bar whinging about the price of their wholly imported and thoroughly wanky green-bottled beer.

As I said, I'm sure there were more complaints that I didn't hear and maybe there is a chance that some of those actually had something to do with the game being played. However, I feel my point has been made.

And to be clear, I don't want to criticise how different people want to watch the game.

If you want to sing then by all means sing. Feel like getting drunk and slurring incoherently? Then go right ahead. And if sitting quietly and appreciating the nuances of one of the world's best sports is your thing then so be it.

But if you want to criticise things that don't really matter like the colour of the grass and the quality of the beer then do me a favour and do it at home.

Thankfully it turns out that just because you can't choose who sits beside you at the football there is still something you can do about it.  When there's less than ten thousand at the game it's easy enough to find another seat.

And that is exactly what I ended up doing.