Often I write my posts the night before publication. Doing so saves me ample time in the morning for pressing the snooze button 345 times before emerging from the bedroom, having several cups of tea and walking around like a peripheral cast member of The Walking Dead. I had no intention of offering you up anything this morning, mainly because I’ve not had much time to watch the glories of Euro 2016 and, to be quite frank, I couldn’t be bothered.
Then I heard a commotion outside.
Two cats, for reasons unknown, decided 11:50pm was the opportune time to tear lumps out of one another an omit the kind of howls and yelps I’d imagine wouldn’t be out of place in the innermost dwelling of Hell. I have no idea of the circumstances that lead to their fight to the death. Perhaps one cat directly insulted the other on cat Twitter. Maybe it was a disagreement regarding urination areas. There may have been cat adultery involved.
I thought about it for 10 minutes or so before reaching the conclusion they are cats and probably too f*cking stupid to know what drove them towards violence, only that violence was the means at their disposal to express themselves. And that notion, my friends, put me in mind of what horrors have been on show during Euro 2016. What should be a festival of cultures and football is in danger of being overshadowed by violence. Violence perpetrated by human beings who are probably too f*cking stupid to know why they’re engaging in violence.
It’s pretty sad, really. There are people out there whose central pre-occupation is to hurt others, simply because of what they may be deemed to represent. I love going to the football. Nothing beats the match day experience and no measure of HD broadcasts and fancy graphics on television can substitute the thrill of being there yourself and seeing the action unfold live. It is a truly wonderful experience, but one for which I have found the desire to engage in flag considerably over recent years.
And that is because of idiots. Men, presumably, born with tiny genitalia who are angry at the world, angry at themselves and angry with just about anything. And they feel an uncontrollable desire to fight with other men with tiny genitalia in the hope that overly exerting masculinity will somehow compensate. It really is f*king pathetic. I should point out that remark is directed only at hooligans with small penises. Any attempt to come to my home, shout “Eng-er-land!” and set me on fire will only be a confirmation of this. And none of you will be willing to check my penis size as I’ll be far too busy sh*tting myself.
Families go to football. Men and their children. Wives, Girlfriends. Mothers. Fathers. We’ve seen violence break out between supporters at Arsenal over things as trite and petty as a disagreement over the manager. Maybe it’s a touch overly dramatic, but I often feel unsafe and uncomfortable at games these days. I recall leaving a fixture at Arsenal against Man United in 2014 with Daniel Cowan when the foreboding air of violence was palpable. Those of you who’ve seen some of the footage that shows Arsenal fans’ treatment at White Hart Lane will know attest to just how bad things can get.
And for what? A game? A difference of opinion?
I guess it’s just people at the end of the day. A person can be rational, smart, forward-thinking, But people are f*cking stupid. And certain people are doing their level best to spoil something wonderful for those of us that just want to enjoy it without resorting to violence. I don’t think I’d ever stop going to games because of the joy, the experience of sharing something with friends and the euphoria it provides when it is at its best. But I pick my fixtures. I feel I have to. I feel it is safer. And because of that, people are spoiling it because people just can’t stop being f*cking stupid.
And it’ll never go away as long as people go to football.
Those are just a few of my late night thoughts, boys and girls. You’ll be reading this in the morning, but it is bed time for me the night before. Today will undoubtedly bring significant fallout from the events of the night before. At this stage, I’m reading an England fan has died in Marseille having been pushing under a tube train. I sincerely hope this is untrue.
If you’re reading this and you’re over in France, be sure to take care of yourself.
I’ll be back soon with more. Until that time, and as always; thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards