Confessions of A Football Addict

I have to confess.  I’m coming clean.

I am a mess. I have hit rock bottom.

There...I said it.

I was born with football in my head - my first words were “Goal,” probably after I threw a spoonful of food at my dad.  Football to me was always less of a sport, and more of a battle. A battle to win, a battle for pride and respect. It wasn’t just a few men kicking around a football. Oh, how wrong I was.

When will I begin to see that football is nothing but a few men kicking a ball around? When will I learn? Every time I sit to watch a game, I think “Ok, now remember, it’s just a game. Just a ball being kicked around a field. It's on the television, they can’t hear you.”

Sadly half way through yelling obscenities at Liverpool players I remember my thoughts before the game, but it’s too late to stop myself, I’m already worked up, I’m too into the game now.

I can’t stop watching football altogether. I’ve tried. I end up curled up in a corner, trembling, thinking “Go Liverpool...you can do this.”

I watch an imaginary game in my head and, as soon as the opposition score an imaginary goal, I run to the television in hope that what I saw was just my over inspired brain and not a premonition.

I was going to the kitchen to get a drink and hit my leg on a chair. My exact words were “Foul, you bloody thing, you deserve an effing card!” At that time I was too angry and hurt to care, but looking back, I realise that I sounded like an idiot.

I didn’t cry when my dog died, I didn’t cry at the end of Titanic — maybe it’s because I’m not a normal girl. I’m an addict because the only time I did really cry was when AC Milan beat us in the Champions League final. However, that has to be excusable. I mean, it was the FINALS.

Here I go again, sounding like the addict I truly am. What am I to do though? I’m lost...falling into this bottomless pit, waiting to hit the floor. It might make me seem puny and pitiable but I have a dilemma and I need help. Can anyone contradict this?

You know...at some point...when you’re screaming at the TV, you stop and think, "What am I saying? Do I really think Rafael Benitez can hear me? That he’ll hear me telling him what idiot he was for losing Crouch and he should go back and beg for forgiveness?"  That’s when you’ll realise, you’ve lost it.

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