Right now, I’m in my local watching football. Liverpool and Southampton. Liverpool are winning 2:1 coming up to half time. Exciting, isn’t it?

Oh, it’s now 3:1 as I type. But, no, it’s not exciting.

My mate, Ian, is telling me (by text) how good this is, as is my second in command, but I just don’t get it.

My grandmother once bought me a pair of football boots. They were on the list of things I needed when I started secondary school. I’d survived primary school without such footwear, so I couldn’t understand at the time why I would need football boots. After all, I’d successfully avoided football up to the age of eleven.

Anyway, I did appreciate my very expensive boots. I may not have worn them more than twice, but I really felt grateful for my grandmother’s gesture. The boots were the most expensive item on my school list.

But I don’t get football. I never did and still don’t. I know that my team are ‘the reds’, but I don’t really care whether they win or lose. Because I just don’t understand it.

I may have another beer, it might help me understand the game.