Organized football dates back to the 16th century. As a boy, in the 1940s and 50s, I remember every town had it's own team. The best players from the local factories, shops and businesses turned out on a Saturday afternoon to play a team of similar part-time lads from another area. All their pals, workmates, neighbours and families came along to cheer them on.
The players got paid about twenty quid per appearance and the spectators paid about sixpence to get into the ground.
Every game was a great community occasion which brought with it a spirit of local pride and belonging. A young schoolboy's most cherished ambition was to play for his local team amongst friends and people of his own kind. Players for the town team worked and lived within a stone's throw and could often be seen in the pubs or walking down the street. Passers by would call out greetings like, "Great game last week, Billy!", and be acknowledged with a friendly wave and a smile.
The team was managed by a local businessman or other well respected person, who had probably played a bit himself in a younger day.
Football continues in the same tradition to this very day. NOT!!
Now for the TRUTH about FOOTBALL!
Todays footballers wouldn't be seen dead anywhere near the town they supposedly represent. They certainly wouldn't mix with the local riff-raff who pay good money every week to worship them.
Teams are no longer made up of guys who were even born or brought up in this COUNTRY let alone in the same locality.
Football has ceased to be a community activity. Football is just another form of show-business. Players are brought in from all over the world to ponce around on the pitch and act as though they are "really hurt" after a half-hearted tackle. This is to wind up all the mugs in the stand who have blown their wages or their benefit money to get a ridiculously expensive seat. There is never any blood. Occasionally a player is stretchered off after falling over the ball and twisting his ankle. Never mind, he will still get paid tens of thousands of pounds a week while he is "off sick".
And still the mugs (supporters!?) turn up every week. Who are they supporting? A bunch of over-paid fairy foreigners without an ounce of loyalty or interest towards the "local team". As soon as a better offer comes along they will be off playing for someone else!
As you trudge home in the rain after the usual lack-lustre performance, the flash limo that whizzes past deliberately splashing you with water from a puddle, probably contains some drunken git footballer with his WAG, dashing home to their country mansion to bathe in champagne.
So on you go wondering where you can get the money to go to next week's fiasco when "YOUR" team, managed by some other "johnny foreigner" who can barely utter a word of English, will pansy about in a stadium owned by some obscenely rich Russian or suchlike.
But you'll be there next week, along with thousands of other suckers, watching "YOUR" team get thrashed again.
"Awa the lads!!"
