I’m down in the bar underneath the stand at half time and everyone’s exceedingly jolly. The team isn’t playing badly for a change. At least we’re trying. Plus, we’ve got a new bloke who can actually pitch over an accurate corner kick. And the sun’s shining.
The police run a tight ship at football matches these days. We aren’t allowed to stand up during the game, or smoke, or consume alcohol. And we have to watch what we say or sing because certain subjects are strictly off-limits. Shirt-sleeved policemen sitting in a control room closely monitor our behaviour on CCTV screens. They are assisted in this task by hundreds of match-day stewards who crouch in front of the wall separating us from the pitch, watching and listening.
I once knew a man who served a prison sentence in Albania for throwing a photograph of Enver Hoxha in the bin. This puts into perspective the small losses to our personal liberty that we submit to at football matches. Going without a pint of lager or a cigarette for 45 minutes can be done. Watching a football match sitting down is ridiculous, but the kind of person that can afford to pay £63 to see a game probably prefers it. So we don’t grumble or get upset. We make the best of it. It’s bad enough watching a rubbish football team every week, without worrying about your civil liberties as well. Still, it’s a pleasant relief when the referee blows his whistle for half time and we can troop downstairs to the bar and top up our alcohol levels (and maybe sneak a crafty fag) away from prying eyes and ears.
I’m down in the bar with my nose in my pint, then, along with a couple of hundred other punters gratefully doing the same, when I notice that the chaps next to me have fired up a joint of marijuana.
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