Now don’t get us wrong, we love a game of foopball and we love our local team (a fact proved by our incessant ranting of a Saturday evening). But, y’see, it’s our local team and local teams still play foopball like in the old days by kicking seven bells out of the opposition wingers and, to some extent, we still have a say. Without Rochdale or Sheffield Bank Holiday Monday or Mansfield or Wolverhampton Wandering or Scunthorpe United, the soul would be wrenched from foopball. These ‘also-rans’ are what make communities, they are place for local foopball fans to have their rant and for young ‘uns to get grounded in the formerly beautiful game.
But then there’s the BIG teams, teams for who the local community is, it would seem, meaningless. Their community is global and they have greater interest in Kuwait, Japan, China or some banking executive in down-town airline someplace. And because they’re schmoozing with the rich and rich, some of whom may be famous, they get into a similar mindset. Money equals no object. Players of the game switch at the drop of a worn out WAG for money greater than the combined GDPs of Sub-Saharan States and their lackeys rub their hands in glee at the rake off.
And the shitty little teams? Well they struggle from week to miserable week, hoping for the next big star to be among their ranks and for some fading has-been to join their ranks in the forlorn hope that extra arses will stick themselves on corporate buffet seats and buy a few extra pints of Old Scrotum No 6. Or whatever the local ale of choice is. But like Capitalism’s other favoured sons: the banks; the oil industry and weapons manufacturers, foopball has given up on people and exists merely to procreate its own favoured ones, not ours.
So while your having a squint at the big name transfers just have a thought for us foopball supporters. Because we don’t really care for them Capitalist types, we prefer Anti-Capitalist Foopball. In all its shittiness.