when you know they could play all night
and they still wouldn’t score.
when the only entertainment is in the banter of the terrace
and not on the pitch.
when the wind changes direction
and seems to blow the rain directly into your face only.
when the loss of form is measured
in months not matches.
when the drive home involves
passing coaches of two-fingered gloating opposition fans.
when ironic cheers ring round the ground
at the winning of a corner, a free-kick… a tackle.
when the quality of the subs bench is indistinguishable
from the quality available on the front row of the terraces.
when defenders leave spaces for buses to drive through
and strikers would be lucky to hit Row Z.
when your mates decide they’ve had enough
and you have to go up the match all alone.
But, worst of all by far, can there be anything worse
than not being able to get a ticket
and having to listen to it on the radio at home?