“It’s just a game” – the four words no football fan ever
wants to hear after being subjected to heartbreak at the hands of their team. Yes,
technically speaking, football is just a game. Similarly, James Cameron’s
Titanic is ‘just a film’, yet the actors and director are so good at what they
do that they are able to evoke strong emotions from the viewer. Why is it ok to
get upset over Titanic, but getting upset over football is deemed as trivial?
Jack Dawson isn’t even real, but Marcus Rashford certainly is.
“You can change your wife, your politics, your religion, but
never, never can you change your favourite football team.” The immortal words
of the great Eric Cantona perfectly summarise why football means so much to so
many people. It is a lifetime commitment; people spend so much time, so much
money, and travel great distances just to see their favourite team – and it’s a
support that they do their best to pass on to their children. Investing that
much of your life into something means that emotional attachment is all but
inevitable.
Personally, I’m not a big crier. Since becoming a teenager,
the only time I can remember crying unnecessarily is when Bradley died in
Eastenders. Watching football is a different story altogether. As a Manchester
United fan, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience many more ups than downs in my
almost 21 years on the planet. I know that I don’t know what real football
heartbreak is (Aguero’s title winning goal came pretty damn close, but that’s
another story). To date, I’ve cried exactly four times as a result of watching
football. Whether it was justified or not, I can’t change the fact that it
happened, and I’m unapologetic about that. I can just do my best to explain why
I felt how I felt. Starting with:
1 ) England 2-2 Macedonia – 15th October
2002, age 6
Now for some context. My Dad hates the England football
team. It makes sense; he was born and raised in Nigeria, and is very proud of
where he comes from. I get it. This was the football match that made me realise
just how much my Dad hated England (he’s here legally for any Brexit/EDL
sympathisers out there). I don’t really remember much of the actual match,
apart from that I was really upset after the final whistle for some reason. I was
young and naïve enough to have faith in the England team, so seeing us unable
to beat a country that I thought was a type of nut really stung me. My mom was
comforting me and reassuring me that they’d do better next time. My Dad on the
other hand? I’ve only seen him happier on a handful of occasions. He began
singing ‘down down England, up up Macedonia’ (a song of his own composition, a
shame he never pursued an EP) very loudly, right in my face. That was enough to
open the floodgates. I’m counting this as football related as the desire to cry
came from the football – the light bullying only exacerbated existing feelings.
2 ) Fulham 1-1 Manchester United – 13th
December 2004, age 8
3 words. Papa. Bouba. Diop. He scored a screamer in the last
5 minutes, denying United 3 points in the process. Come the finally whistle, I burst
into tears. This is my retrospective explanation as to why that game upset me
so much. Being a Man United fan had given me a footballing arrogance of sorts,
whereby I just expected United to win every game against anyone outside of the
then Big Four. We’re Manchester United, so we should win – end of story. The post-Ferguson
era has well and truly eroded away such notions, but 2004 was a different
story. We had a divine right to 3 points, and anything less was unacceptable. I felt cheated somehow, and my tears were those of a spoilt child who
didn’t get his own way. It sounds pathetic that a draw was enough to send me
into hysterics, but as my Mom put it, I was just passionate.
3 ) Fulham 1-2 Manchester United – 24th
February 2007, age 10
I don’t know why matches against Fulham have sparked so much
emotion in me over the years, but here they are again. This was different to
the incident 3 years prior. This was a completely new experience for me
altogether: crying tears of joy. At 1-1, Cristiano Ronaldo picked the ball up
in his own half, took on three players and stuck the ball away in the bottom
corner with just two minutes left on the clock. I couldn’t help myself, and
started crying, shouting and clapping with a huge smile on my face. It’s easy
to see why this game meant so much to me. Firstly, Cristiano Ronaldo was my
hero. I had his posters, I did class projects about him, I idolised the man. When
he eventually left in 2009, my brother had to sit me down when I got back from
school just to break the news to me. Any time Ronaldo scored I went wild, but a
winning goal (quality goal at that) in a tense game when we hadn’t been playing
well? Unreal. Secondly, it was against Fulham. Yes, I most certainly held a
grudge from the match in 2004. Seeing us beat them filled me with a sense of
justice – we’d got our revenge, so my beef with Fulham was quashed. This match
was the first time in my life that I’d ever cried with happiness. But it wouldn’t
be the last…
4 ) Manchester United 4-3 Manchester City – 20th
September 2009, age 13
My reaction to beating Fulham was tame in comparison to
this. Everybody likes to mock and criticise Michael Owen for his commentary
since he retired. And they’re probably right to do so. However, his goal in
this game meant that much to me that I’ll always give him a pass. The actual
game was a rollercoaster; we kept on going in front, but City just wouldn’t
stay down – a Manchester City with a new Sheikh sugar daddy, and a Carlos Tevez
who had made the unforgivable transfer in the previous summer. Craig Bellamy
made it 3-3 just before injury time (Rio, what were you doing?), prompting my
brother to change the channel before he and my mom left the room despondent. Something
in me wouldn’t let me follow suit. I switched the channel back on to the
football, because I somehow knew that the game wasn’t over. Lo and behold, in
what can only be described as super injury time, Ryan Giggs found Michael Owen,
who in turn found the bottom corner.
Before my parents split up, when I watched football with my
Dad and my older brother, goals were always celebrated with a hearty clap. Anything
more garnered dirty looks from the rest of the room, as it was deemed
excessive. When I watched this derby however, I felt a sense of freedom. There was
no Dad to limit me to a clap, and my brother had given up on the game so why
did I care what he thought? I couldn’t hold anything back. I was screaming at
the top of my voice, fists pumping, tears streaming. My mom reminded me that we
had elderly neighbours, but they were the least of my concerns. I showed faith
in my team, and they repaid it tenfold. That feeling made me so happy that I didn’t
care who heard me. A funeral procession could have gone past my house and I probably
wouldn’t have paid it any attention when that goal went in. These days, I celebrate
important goals by shouting loudly with reckless abandon – as my first-year
hall mates discovered all too well (sorry girls). This game was the birth of
that celebration.
I’m unashamed that football can coax such a strong emotional
reaction out of me. It’s a huge part of my life, and I can guarantee that it
will be for the rest of my life. Society tries to teach young men that it’s ok
to cry, so nobody should make me or anybody else feel bad for doing so whilst
watching the beautiful game.
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