Here's the thing. Following football, particularly in the tribal, obsessive, fanatical way that many of us do, is at least on some small level about escapism. It is about leaving behind the 9 to 5 for a couple of hours on the weekend for the hope of distraction by way of a bunch of grown men running around in shorts kicking a ball. To this event, we wear synthetic replica shirts, despair at minor injustices, abuse pantomime villains, and deify these grown men for getting paid to do what we all did for free for hours on end in our own back yards as kids. We are separate from time, living in a moment that does not really exist. It is the ultimate suspension of disbelief. Pretend for a moment that your bills don't exist, that your boss isn't a fucktard, that the government isn't pissing down your back and calling it rain.
We go to the football or to the pub to watch the football and get lost in the moment. We have the ability to completely block out all other considerations and allow ourselves to become absorbed in the game as well as the pageantry and buffoonery surrounding it. With laser focus we observe all things transpiring on the pitch. How did he manage that piece of skill? Wasn't he a step offside? Was that a shirt pull? Hand to ball or ball to hand? His foot was definitely high and his studs were showing. Did you see that drag-back? Oh he's blocked off his run. Referee! I am not the best at compartmentalizing my feelings in general but when watching the Arsenal I can block everything else out so, so easily.
