Football

 

Yesterday's foray into footballing misery found us at Gayfield Stadium in Arbroath. Like a poor pop festival on concrete. Plump security staff preside over our entry, the Pie Hut and six sad portaloos provided for the seven hundred that made up the traveling support. That's the common standard for what you get with an £18 ticket. We saw our team, Dunfermline, beat one nil. On a sunny afternoon and despite enjoying a black pudding and steak pie and some good company the universe was clearly against us. It's the one thing you cannot beat. Footballing fate is always cruel for one of the teams involved. Neither side played particularly well. My team hit the post twice, the bar once and were denied a penalty. In my head we were 1 - 4 up. How a fan sees it versus reality and the universe.

Lower league games maybe lack the quality and panache of the higher leagues but as a "fan" who attends this subtle torture once a month I see it as a better, earthier experience. The top needs the bottom to survive. Where players and coaches learn their trade, hear the praise and abuse and remain unrewarded and unrecognised unless they break through the pie crust and into a top drawer club. You sell your soul on the way there but what were you ever planning to do with your soul anyway? The unsold souls of yesterday's game have their aches and pains this morning and probably don't care much about the scores. They put a shift in, just like a team member at McDonalds or a Russian soldier and now it's all about the next one and a bollocking from the manager. Just you against the universe, that's everyone's fate. 

Coffee, pies and concrete.