Inverting the Christmas tree.

I’m told there is a vast tradition in these online confessionals for admitting things. You might admit to owning one of Ace of Base’s early-nineties masterpieces; or to thinking less than modest things about Iker Casillas; or to disliking Khaled Hosseini’s highly praised oeuvre. I will, for example, happily admit to being able to check two out of three of the above. So many embarrassments, you know, and so little time.

Well, this edition of the daily confession concerns Tottenham Hotspur. I’m just not that into them. In spite of my most earnest attempts at not scoffing whenever I watch them play, I find myself doing just that most of the time. And while scoffing is a perfectly reasonable reaction for the true fan – for true fans vent frustration better than anyone else – it is not, I have realised, the best reaction when you’re schooling yourself to appreciate a team to which you feel a certain geographical connection.

The great Molby[*].

An acquaintance of mine is a Liverpool fan. This is, in and of itself, not particularly unusual; I have had many acquaintances who were Liverpool fans in my time. I even believe that I might be related to a few Liverpool fans. However, I was slightly astonished when I was first confronted with this particular young man and his love of Liverpool Football Club. The reason for my utter confusion was the fact that, as far as I am aware, he grew up in Crouch End. Now, far be it from me to claim that a couple of circumstaces beyond your control – such as where your parents happened to choose to live – should determine your life as a football fan for all time, and this young man has certainly not taken to either Arsenal or Spurs as one would have expected. No, the ways of the heart are mysterious indeed, and he is a Liverpool fan.

The drawn game.

Some time after Friday’s third G&T, my housemates’ American guest reflected that she really didn’t understand football – or, as she put it, “soccer”. Accustomed to hearing such nonsense from Americans, I failed to inquire about the reasons for her dislike of soccer; if I were to be entirely honest, I probably wouldn’t get it anyways. However, she volunteered an explanation – after I’d stopped talking about football of my own accord: very foolish of her – and her explanation actually took me rather by suprise. A game of football can end in a tie.