Do you know Steph? You do? Great!
And if you don’t, well she writes over at She Said What?
She’s guest blogging at The Matticus Kingdom today and, apparently, she said this:
When thematticuskingdom put out the call for guest bloggers I thought ‘what is it that his lordship would like to read?’ and hey presto! He’s into football. He also follows MUFC just like my hubby (I can’t remember where I read that on his blog. Just trust me it’s there somewhere!). Anyway so I thought I would post about football from a wife’s perspective…
Hubby works 6 days a week. Plus we are business owners so the stress and workload is overwhelming, and doesn’t stop when the shop shuts. Basically hubby works a lot. I look after kids and home practically all the time without a break. Life can be hard at times. We rarely spend time together. When he gets time off I have a list of things that need doing, normally in the yard, because it’s impossible for me to get out there and do it while supervising the children. Under these circumstances, with the grass so tall that I can’t see the dog until he emerges from the rustling canopy onto the doorstep, with the pool bright green and completely unswimable, with the roof leaking in the laundry and the vegetable crisper from our fridge strategically placed in the roof space under the drip to stop the laundry flooding, hubby decides that he will spend his only day off in the week at a football game. He has to go and watch his beloved Western Sydney Wanderers play.
I totally cracked it and accused him of choosing football over his family. He said that wasn’t it at all and I just didn’t understand. Yes. He’s totally right. I don’t understand.
Aside from the being out at football games, there are a few more things that shit me about the football. He must watch the games. This sometimes means staying up til crazy hours because time zones dictate the MUFC games are usually on around 3am. It’s not the game watching per se. It’s the yobbo-ness that it inspires. The “yes” *fist pump, every time a goal is scored, the drunken yelling, cheering and abusing the TV (if I had balls to scratch it would inspire ball-scratching). The obsession with football twitter feeds and shows about football. I mean what’s duller than a football game? Listening to dull ex-players who were not chosen for their interpersonal skills discuss the pros and cons of a team or of a game that was on last week. Um… isn’t there grass growing somewhere? I was proud of him for taking to twitter and putting down a few immature men who found the need to make comments about a female presenter looking better in a bikini or something. That was awesome of him *chest swelling with pride.
The next annoying thing is the merchandise. Hubby needs the shirts, my sons need the shirts, we need hats and shorts and socks and posters and all sorts of crap that costs $100 extra because it has a logo on it. A plain red shirt will not do. They get you coming and going really.
Hubby went to England to visit his grandfather who lives there. He spent a whole day at Old Trafford while his grandfather sat in the coffee shop and drank coffee and killed time. Yeah that was a bonding moment.
Really what it all comes down to is the tribalism. That’s what I really can’t stand. The us and them. I would ask why they can’t just share the ball but I’m not completely insane. The Western Sydney Wanderers active supporters (called the Red and Black Bloc or RBB) are notorious. Here’s footage of pre-game antics in a recent game against Sydney FC
All these people are spending all this time and money watching a bunch of guys run around a field and kick a ball back and forth. All these people could be spending their time and money solving global warming, helping children in third world countries, or hell, even mowing grass!
I talk tough but the truth of the matter is that I do get it. It is about escapism. When the world is stressful and work is hard, when the list of jobs at home seems never-ending, when there is war and famine and impending environmental doom it is nice to be able to forget all that shit, put on your team colours, and go and stand with the supporters while you yell and scream and sing at the top of your lungs. When your team scores that goal it’s like your happiness knows no bounds. I get it. I love my hubby, and life is not easy for him at the moment, or ever really. So I rearrange the world so he can go to watch his Western Sydney Wanderers play. Yes occasionally I crack the shits and yell. But I feel bad afterwards. He needs the escape. If only I could get into it. I think I’ll stick to knitting.
I’m not entirely sure how someone could enjoy knitting over cheering on the finest football (soccer) club in the world; but, we never presume to know everything here in the kingdom. Besides I’m just the jester, I don’t have to know the same things a king would have to know (favorite colors, my quest, the average airspeed velocities of both African and European swallows, etc…)
More Steph you should read: