I like football. I like playing the game, and I like watching it on television.

I’ve deliberately stayed away from mentioning the World Cup as I know there are many people who don’t share my passion for the sport, and I don’t want to alienate my female reader. So, I won’t bore you with my opinions on Svens inability to correct the tactical weaknesses in our team, or the cheating-diving Italians, or the jammy-bastard Argies, or the referee-baiting Portugeezers, or the myopic referees, or the ridiculous cotton bud things on the faces of the ITV commentary team, or Gary Linekers ever-deepening tan, or the attention seeking WAG’s.

I won’t even mention them.

What I do like though, is the sense of camaraderie when a game is being shown in the pub. When everyone is cheering and getting into the spirit of the event, and you’re not quite as frightened as usual of the massive shaven-headed Chelsea supporting tattoo-adorned builder.

So why do the walking clichés that are women-who-watch-football always insist on standing near to me?

Last Wednesday Joe Cole scored one of the best England goals in a long long time. Cue rapturous applause and much cheering from all around me (and an awkward smiling moment with the shaven-headed builder), apart from the three women who seem to have mistaken this pub for a Starbucks. (more…)

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