Here come the footyballs!

Apparently, there’s some big, global, football tournament thing starting next week.

They should really have tried publicising it so people had a chance to find out in advance.

Starting next Thursday, for a whole month, the footballerists will be in control. This is, of course, the best thing in the world ever. If you like footsieballs.

If you don’t, then there is no state of ambivalence you can adopt. Oh no. If you don’t love football then, in the eyes of those who do, you’re some kind of entirely weird, footy-hating, idiot with no sense of humour, no appreciation of the skill involved, and probably not properly English enough.

Or, to use the over-syllabified word usually employed by fans of the ‘beautiful’ game: “Eng-er-land!” Yup, you’re just not Engerlandish enough.

The normal balance of society will once again enter its four-yearly cycle of group mentality, where large-bellied armchair athletes explain loudly how they would have done it to some massively over-paid stars who can’t hear them anyway, and wouldn’t give a damn even if they could.

Whilst the congregations of fans worship at the altar of gigantic TV sets up and down the length of the land, the remaining population will attempt to continue with their lives, whilst hoping not to catch the eye, or invoke the wrath, of the hyper-sensitive, emotional wrecks that walk amongst them. Assuming they can stand after 6 cans of lager.

Before it’s even started, every other advert seems to have some thin, tenuously-related, reference in an attempt to flog you anything from dental floss to an even bigger TV than the one you’ve already purchased.

Cars will be adorned with cheap, plastic and nylon, ‘flags’ of only marginally poorer quality than the £3.99 shirts being flogged by supermarkets.

Due to the time-difference, games will take place in the evening, meaning it will be compulsory to discuss last night’s match in the office for ages the next morning, whilst lamenting how we was robbed. As if there isn’t already enough bitterness, disappointment, and failure in the average workplace.

On the bright side, there will be moments of joy. Go for a meal out, enjoy the food, and with any luck you’ll spot someone who wanted to watch the footy, but wasn’t allowed to stay at home (or forgot when it started and couldn’t get out of it), having a massive sulk at a nearby table.

Most supermarkets and DIY stores will become vast near-empty playgrounds, populated solely by other, like-minded, souls who skip gleefully along the aisles, unshackled from the need to pretend to be interested in who scored.

Then there is that wonderful feeling that can only be achieved when ‘we’, inevitably, get knocked out on penalties, where you get to witness the unadulterated thrill of seeing grown-up men near to tears over something as silly as 22 blokes kicking a ball about a bit.

Come to think of it, I’m quite looking forward to it now.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 6th of June 2014. You can view the edited version published by the paper on their website here where it was retitled 'Life continues despite football'.

It was the heftiest edit for a long time, too, with 49 words removed. If that doesn't sound much, then look at it like this: 10% of what I submitted didn't survive. You've got the whole lot here. Lucky old you, eh?

(More compilation CDs, with this evening's being "The Essential Bands - Festival Edition" from 2007. Skinny tie alert, people!)

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