“One thing I know for sure about being a fan is this: it is not a vicarious pleasure, despite all appearances to the contrary, and those who say they would rather do than watch are missing the point.”
Nick Hornby’s “Fever Pitch” is not an esoteric book of unknown proportions. It is considered to be one of the best sports books around, an ode to the sports fan, the obsessive whose life is dictated by the weekend scores and whose life revolves around the events and the happenings that encapsulate their sports team.
Sports, it can be argued, is the purest form of entertainment. There is drama and intrigue and passion, and there are communities to be found within the fan culture; sport, thus, becomes much more about the environment that it brings with it rather than just the mere spectacle whose shine dwindles as time goes on.
Hornby’s obsession with Arsenal borders on mania; his life schedule, as he writes, revolves around the happenings of Arsenal Football Club. As a fan of a football club myself, there are instances within the book that I recognise, and some others that I fail to associate myself with. However, it cannot be denied that the hook of supporting a team that grapples your mind, body and heart is, for better or for worse, one that cannot be untethered very easily.
While my support and love or Manchester United has maintained a steady intensity, I would like to think that my overall love for the game has slightly dwindled. No longer am I watching every move of every club across Europe like I used to do 2-3 years ago; and while I still have adequate knowledge about the happenings in the game, I often find myself surprised by certain events that I had no idea were taking place.
However, Manchester United continue to take up part of my life and energy. I am not as entranced by them as Hornby is by Arsenal, and that might lead questions as to what truly defines a true fan. I suspect that I occupy an uncomfortable middle ground of true fandom; I am more into football compared to friends and family, but not as much as those who have let the game swallow them. Which, inevitably, means that I have no one within my close quarters to talk the game with.
There was a brief point a few years ago where my entire life was consumed by the game, but to me, it has always felt like a luxury rather than a necessity to watch Manchester United play. Not to say that I have not done my very best to make sure I catch all the games, and that their performances (more poor than good in recent times) have not affected my mood for the next few days. The 7-0 thrashing at the hands of Liverpool last season saw me stay away from social media for a week; I have been trying on my own to reduce my social media usage, but nothing repelled me better from my phone than the thought of having to read cocky Liverpool fans be smug about the result. I have not done any serious research on this, but I am pretty sure my social media usage after Manchester United lose a game would be comparatively lesser than when we win. I hate Liverpool, and I hate the fact that the two most dominant teams in the last 5 years have been Manchester City and Liverpool, and I hate the fact that we could have gotten both Pep Guardiola and Erling Harland but we let them go to that side of Manchester. I hate that we have become a mockery of the club we were, and that every ray of positivity is followed by a spurt of negativity, whether it be a player transfer or an abysmal effort or a subpar result.
But I continue to rely on the game and Manchester United to provide a semblance of routine to my life. I know that no matter how good or bad a week it might have been for me, there will be, on most weekends, football being played, and Manchester United playing a game. That knowledge has often provided a source of comfort. There will be something to talk about, something to watch, and something to read, about the game and Manchester United.
But Hornby’s obsession is something I struggle to relate with. He writes about an instance where his girlfriend fainted at the stadium in the middle of a game, and talks about the shame he feels with regards to his “inability” and “unwillingness” to help. While I love Manchester United, I struggle to think that I would be rooted to the game and not to someone who had just fainted beside me.
However, some emotions I can understand and relate to. The feeling that the results of the club you support are inextricably linked with the results of your own life is a feeling that I have unfortunately found myself leaning towards more often than I am willing to admit. The success and struggles of Manchester United might not be tied to my own, but it often does seem that way.
“There is sourness that is central to the experience of supporting a big team, and you can’t do anything about it apart from live with it and accept that professional sport has to be sour if it is to mean anything at all.” Manchester United play on Monday again, and there has been some positivity around the club in recent weeks. Having said that, it is the Manchester United in the era of Manchester City, which means that it is the Manchester United that are unfortunately nowhere near greatness. Ultimately though, none of that really matters, for as Hornby wrote, “I have begun to relish the misery that football provides.”
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