Inevitability

It's always a dagger to the heart. Stab, stab, stab. Always.

Well anyway, it used to be.

Once upon a time, we lived in fear. A dreadful, collective fear. The fear of conceding; The fear of losing; The fear of relegation. The fear of utter, utter hopelessness. If I wrote a small book - one of those sh*tty, patronising 'how to' books you usually find forced upon you at Christmas - then fear would be written into every page. How to be a fan - you must, must fear it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying supporting a football club is comparable to living under Mugabe - just that it's the instability of emotional anxiety that make it such a thrill for the senses.

When you meet people who aren't into sport - they almost unanimously seem to put it down to the visual element. I don't understand it, I don't 'get' it - were the rules made up by some mad, confused wizard? It's boring, it's all stop and start. It's vile, look at the way the fans all throw bricks at each other. How can you find THAT fun? I've had more fun doing crosswords on my wall of drying paint (It's usually a toss up as to whether they're being serious at this point..).

Okay, okay. I don't wish to be too condescending to people who choose to fill their lives with other passions. I know a few myself - everyone does - and they are not bad people, merely unenlightened. Well,  it's my chance to enlighten them. Sure, it bloody well helps if you love it, if you know people who play it, if you understand it; visual stimulation is all part of the game. But what those people often fail to understand - is sport is just life in short, intense dosages - with the added bonus of not having to watch your girlfriend cry. I'm kidding, the whole point is that it IS about watching 5000 girlfriends cry - and most of them are your average, stubborn man.

Yes, there is undeniable enjoyment in seeing a cracker by Crackers, cracking it into the top corner from 80 yards. (Have you noticed that, whenever we try and recall a famous goal with hazy memory, we always add a yard or two on each year..  'Oh do you remember that wonder goal, straight from the goal kick wasn't it?!) Yes, I can sit here and discuss tactics 'til I'm blue in the face - except I'd never, ever dream of turning blue in the face. Hopefully, if I'm ever strangled to death, my body will fulfill my 'last request' - to turn a little claret instead.

Yes, I love all the things that make sport so great - but most of all it's the emotion that matters. When I recount the most emotional moments of my life, those searing, tingling moments of pure bliss or pure bollocks, many of them have come in a sporting arena. Not just any sporting arena - my sporting arena, my second home. Whilst some people may question why I compare a third-tier football match against Bristol Rovers with the birth of my first child**, I'll answer back with this; If you don't understand why, you don't understand sport. I cannot explain what runs inside us, what makes our heart beat a thousand times a minute when on a Saturday, we get that first glimpse of the stadium. What makes the agony of seeing my second home destroyed by greed, what makes facing the prospect of administration and no club ruin not just my week, but my whole life.

**Purely hypothetical at this point

I cannot really explain any of this rationally, to some people it still seems utterly baffling. The only explanation I can really give - is emotion is what drives us on as human beings, is what makes us do great things, what makes a life worth living. And sport, at it's very heart, has a huge, huge emotional pull.

And that's why supporting the Cobblers feels so entirely pointless so often at the moment. There is no fear. When the opposition get near our goal, there is only one single emotion. Inevitability - it's not even an emotion.

Why we just don't care any more - look out for an accompanying piece to come soon!