Climbing the greasy pol-itics
I must admit it's been nice to see Facebook filled with political chat rather than selfies, food pics and people announcing they are getting engaged.
The latter especially as I see people accomplishing something with their lives while I sit alone in my flat drooling over Jimmy Anderson's seam position and Ian Bell's cover drive and loudly shouting 'Kuuuuuuuuch' every time Matt Kuchar comes on in the golf even though there is absolutely nobody around to hear me.
But anyway, I digress. It's been good to see that people care about what is going on and it's been revealing to see what views my 'friends' actually have. The election has prompted people liking statuses from David Cameron and others pushing a very socialist agenda.
A few points have been raised for me during the past month:
Even before the polls became discredited by the election result I was getting fed up with every newspaper group running a different poll on their front-page every day. From now on, no company should be able to publish more than one a week.
The campaign itself was just full on negative. When we weren't comparing the different kitchens of each leader, all we heard was do not vote Labour because you get the SNP, do not vote UKIP because you get Labour, do not vote Conservative because the NHS will collapse quicker than Derby from the Premier League.
The leaders went on the campaign trail but everything was staged so much that nothing of note ever seemed to happen.
And when questioned which parties they would work with in the result of a hung parliament we didn't seem to get a straight answer - a reason why changing the electoral system might not be a good idea.
And let's not get into the leaders' debates and the notorious spin room where party activists were defiantly trying to claim their man or woman had won.
From now on we should just make the election campaign a maximum of two weeks and get on with voting day which is brilliant. The shock in the room I was stood in when we saw the exit poll last week is something I'll always remember.
Going to bed at 3.30 on Friday afternoon, I had seen probably the rowdiest victory speech across the UK (http://www.peterboroughtoday.co.uk/news/politics/politics-news/re-elected-mp-stewart-jackson-in-controversial-victory-speech-1-6733039) and the controversial leader of the city council unexpectedly defeated. It was exciting, dramatic stuff, although my 'career' has probably already peaked.
Election night is truly the political version of transfer deadline day except on a much grander scale. And if it inspires younger people to become politically active then that's a good thing. And if it means I have to see a lot less selfies then I am very pleased.
Me and football need to talk
It's probably fitting that I'm writing this story on the day Manchester United play Arsenal. A fixture which used to grip me so much that I would ignore Megan Fox gyrating in a bikini right in front of me if it meant potentially missing Keane and Vieira front up or Henry smash one in, it's now become just another game.
And that's not because neither are challenging for the title. My love affair with football I assumed would last forever, even when I am old, alone, still renting, still unable to grow a proper beard, and shouting 'Kuuuuch' at the golf on my TV even though he retired about 40 years ago.
But I can already feel the passion slowly flickering away. The game is a cesspit of greed, cheating, abuse and ridiculous hype.
Stoke v. Sunderland is not a Super Sunday. Referees are not continually biased against your club.
Even a Real Madrid-Barcelona clasico, for so long the closest thing to footballing perfection, has descended into the most pathetic, childish charade ever produced on a professional sporting field.
Refereeing that match is like being sandwiched in the middle of Anthony Joshua and The Rock. The diving, dirty fouling, appealing to get players booked and play-acting has gone to such lengths that you kind of just want to see the referee sarcastically clap and pretend to wipe a tear away before sending half of them off.
You marvel at Lionel Messi, but alongside him is Luis Suarez, a man who tucks into an opposition player like I used to get stuck into a Pizza Hut buffet.
But it's not even at the top level this is going on. Lower league players are now trying to con refs, I hear stories at amateur level of refs being spat on and threatened.
Clubs are now taken over by rich owners who make them a laughing stock. Ticket prices are an absolute farce.
And yet, despite this, that pull towards football is still there. While I don't get as bothered now by Forest's results, I still remember the dread, excitement and stomach-churning before a big play-off match.
I remember the amazing matches which defied all sporting logic, I remember sat in awe watching Andy Reid weave his magic with his wand of a left foot. And even four months ago I was sat watching Forest win in the last minute at Derby. Seeing an under pressure Stuart Pearce celebrate, seeing Reid in the crowd lapping it up. It was a faint reminder that, when stripped bare, football can transcend its relevance and make you genuinely happy, even if for just a few hours.
Unfortunately these moments are too fleeting. And that's not just because I support a team which - like life, death, taxes and having a massive dump after a big drinking session - is guaranteed to let me down year after year.
Forest have been worse in my lifetime than they are now, but the joy was still there. Yet I find myself watching fewer and fewer matches in general, and even then it's mostly by having it on in the background.
The ruling body of football, Fifa, is horrendous. The Premier League winners come from an elite group of money bags which is almost impossible to breach. It's everything that sport should not be.
But despite this I cannot let myself go. I can't forget being a football anorak who used to sign Freddy Adu every season on Football Manager (or Championship Manager as it was then) even though he was 13 and I would have to play eight seasons for him to become properly good.
I took Southampton to the Champions League, Forest to the Europa League, Wrexham to the top of the non-league pyramid in the early hours of the morning after missing a taxi to a club, and achieved promotion with Hapoel Rishon Le Zion from the Israeli second division. A fine achievement I'm sure you will agree.
I used to google FM wonderkids. I would see Eddie Johnson score 30 goals a season for me then wonder why he was so much worse in real life. I would become the manager of every top European club, fine their star player two weeks' wages for no reason, then sell them to the club I was actually managing so I could create an all-star team. And even then I'd still somehow not win the league.
I would play Fifa religiously, getting in a rage when the dirty cheating ref (see, I'm just as bad as the others) rules out a perfectly goal for me before somehow allowing one in at the other end despite someone launching a kung-fu kick on my keeper while he was trying to catch the ball.
I used to play International Superstar Soccer on the N64, play football top trumps, read football magazines, and had a massive thrill when one offered me two weeks worth of work experience (which turned out to be absolutely rubbish).
Maybe I was naive, sad and needed to get out more. All things which are probably still true.
But the excitement is slowly disappearing. It's no longer 50 shades of grey, it's more like 50 shades of a dull ball ache.
And it makes me sad, and sometimes angry, that football is so hard to enjoy. I miss the atmosphere, the away trips, the chanting, the heroes, the local boy-done-good who you want on the back of your shirt.
It's still there occasionally. It will never completely fade away. Despite the engulfing disease which is slowly spreading and destroying everything good inside football, there are flickers of what drew me to it in the first place. And I'm sure I will never turn my back on it properly. Of course not. The hope will always remain that we will be fully reconciled.
Now if you excuse me, the golf is on. Although disappointingly Kuch is not playing.
