First in a trio of posts welcoming back the football season with open arms and middle fingers.
Here is a brief note on my stance on football.
Up until I met my girlfriend I had very little interest in football at all, I would keep a vague eye on the Middlesbrough scores (because you always, always rep your ends) and Newcastle scores (for my Granddad Jim) and other than the odd England game I never watched it. I thought people who got worked up over ‘just a game’ were stupid. I was wrong.
Since then I’ve been through genuine elation, frustration, and alienation —try being the only Boro fan in a pub minutes from Ashton Gate— all in the name of the beautiful game and I haven’t looked back since. As I’m in a ‘non heteronormative’ relationship, and I don’t plan on taking my girlfriend’s name when I take her down the civil partnership aisle (That, and she also has a really funny surname), I will take her club, Arsenal, instead; To have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. So I have two teams one for the Premiership, and one for the Championship: if ever the twain shall meet, my heart lies with my hometown, always.
Since I took Arsenal for better or worse, it seems things have taken a turn for the worse and our turncoat star striker RVP has left us for Man United. The above football shirt pattern is for him, as is the accompanying schadenfreude: I hope he enjoys playing in a tablecloth as much as I will enjoy it when anyone-but-Man-U wins the league.
No one gives the finger quite as daintily as Molly Ringwald