Passion for football, enjoyment of the act of doing it, hope that it is enjoyed by some people, fueling of day dreams, inability to stop after doing it for so long. Those are some of the answers to the question I am asked as to why I have been writing, mostly, about football for 816 consecutive days. I tell you what, though: that World Cup had better hurry and come. Argentina-iceland, Senegal-Japan, where are you?
Yesterday, I watched the team that is supposedly one of the best ever, Manchester City, destroy Tottenham. Best ever because they are not even half way through a season and they are miles ahead of the competition? But they haven't won anything yet. Are they good, or is the competition weak? We will see, come May.
Right now, City may be the the best performing team in Europe because of their results. But they are nowhere near as pleasing on the eye, nowhere near as awe impairing to watch as probably the best club team of recent years, Pep Guardiola's Barcelona. While they thrashed a terrible Spurs yesterday, I was drawn to looking up prices of new windows for my house. When Barcelona played I would never, could never, be that distracted.
I'll give City a season to see how many records they break in England, but more importantly if they can conquer Europe.
Oh, and can Kevin de Bruyne not be so damn grumpy all the time? I want to ask him one day what's wrong with him. He's like the guy you work with, but wish you didn't, who always walks around like the worst thing in the world has happened to him and you just want to say: what the hell is wrong with you? If there's something you want to share, let it out. Otherwise stop being such a miserable sod and dragging us all into your misery. Or go work somewhere else.
And those are the ramblings of a football fan on day 816, late on Sunday night.
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