I own every episode of Buffy, Angel and Firefly, love Serenity and am hacked off that Goners never came to anything.
I adore Star Wars, knew Boba Fett’s name before I’d discovered that Santa wasn’t real (the rotund, creepy, Pagan pensioner that breaks into your house and gives your sleeping children sweets, not that Monica place in California (and, for the love of fuck, don’t let the kids read that)) and truly believe,
in my very soul, that Han shot first (and well he should have. Fuck Greedo).
I admit all of these things (there’s more, but it all starts to get a bit cosplay weird) with absolutely no shame or embarrassment.
I also love annihilating the shit out of teenage Americans on COD: Modern Warfare, drink more beer than the average Texan, enjoy the hell out of shooting my friends in the face with a paintball gun (I’m working through some stuff) and don’t go wakeboarding as often as I medically need to.
But that doesn’t stop me from being a fully paid up, card carrying Geek.
Which is why I can say what I’m about to say, and say it with pride…..
….I don’t understand football.
See!! I knew you’d react like that. Knew it!
A man, who doesn’t like football? What is he, gay?
Obviously I’m gay. It’s the only answer that makes sense. I mean, I’d rather sit at a computer and watch a couple of nubile young ladies do things to each other that I’m pretty sure are banned outside Nevada, instead of watching a bunch of sweaty blokes, run around, kick a ball and hug and kiss each other when they score. Phew, glad I got that out in the open.
No, I’m not gay.
But you see, that’s my point. I’ve been asked that question almost everytime I tell someone new that I don’t like football (let’s back this up slightly. I don’t ‘not like’ football, I hate football, always have, always will), and I don’t get it. What makes watching men in shorts and t-shirts more masculine than watching teenage girls in their underwear?
That’s why I don’t understand football.
But it gets worse.
I have friends who also hate football, and for most of the time we live a football free existence, happily playing poker, calling in air strikes and ignoring the fuck out of Match of the Day.
Yet, this year, suddenly, my friends are football fans.
"Yeah, but it’s the world cup, innit" (why my friends become Londoners during the world cup, I have no idea). Yes. Yes it is.
So fucking what?
"Well, you’ve got to support your country avun-cha" (seriously, when I rant about this out loud, this is how I portray my friends. Like Shane fucking Richie. Why? I don’t know). But it’s not your country you’re supporting, it’s a bunch of blokes who get paid more in a week than most of you get paid in a year to kick a ball about. We gladly have foreign players holding up every team in England most of the time, but suddenly, come world cup time, we have to get all patriotic and flag hugging.
Flags hanging from cars, flags hanging from windows, from prams and bags and supermarkets. Why?
No-one gives a fuck on St George’s day, no matter how hard Hallmark struggle to get us to buy a Happy St George’s day card. St Patrick gives us an excuse to get pissed, but fuck St George up his dragon filleting arse, apparently.
But it’s the world cup. Suddenly it’s "Quick go get the baby a white pram with a red cross on it, and I’ll go emulsion the car!"
I just don’t understand.
OK, I’m away into the night before the skinheads arrive to fuck me up.
You never saw me right.