Crystal Palace v West Ham United (First Division Playoff Final) 29 May 2004

I don't follow West Ham United. I don't follow Crystal Palace. I don't even really follow English 1st Division Football.

Yet, I just paid 20 bucks to watch the 1st Division Playoff Final on PPV.

Why would I do that? I'm not made of money, ya know?

I'll tell you why. First, I'm an addict. I love soccer. Soccer, it has been said, is the most important of life's unimportant things. I live by that saying.

Second, if soccer is an addiction, then this match is like Chinese heroin; expensive, but undeniably high quality stuff.

You see, this match determines which team will advance to the Premier League, the most prestigious league in the world, and therefore will be, by definition, one of the most exciting matches of the year. It's a spectacle, a guaranteed barn burner, a no-holds-barred football donnybrook. I'm watching for the same reason people who don't give horse racing a single thought all year will be watching the Belmont next week, or people who are utterly indifferent to motor sports will be watching the Indy 500 tomorrow.

And, let's face it, I've got nothing better to do today. I'm single, without prospects, and on vacation. I've already cleaned my house and washed dishes today, the lawn doesn't need to be mowed, and I never wash my car anyway; There's no reason not to. 20 bucks? If I went to a movie and got popcorn and a coke, I'd be close to that amount, and this way I don't waste any $1.94/gallon gasoline. I'm actually saving money by watching this match! Yeah, that's it . . .

I've said many times that it's a lonely life being an American soccer fanatic. None of my close friends, save one, will understand what would compel a person to drop a twenty on a soccer match; not even a live soccer match at that. If I called everyone I know in this town and invited them to come over, I'd get nothing but derisive laughter or polite excuses. That's ok, I understand. I'm used to it. I understand that it's slightly pathetic for a man nearly in his 40's to be sitting, alone, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon watching a soccer game taking place in a foreign country being played by players he's never heard of. But what do you want from me? I'm comfortable with it. Well, not comfortable exactly, but at least resigned to the reality.

Don't get me wrong, my life isn't victim to the "tyranny of football" described by Nick Hornby in his seminal soccer-as-obsession book 'Fever Pitch'. If I had anything remotely resembling real-life meaningful human contact on my radar, I'd be doing that instead of this. I made huge brownie points with my last love interest by forgoing the Major League Soccer championship game in order to spend the afternoon with her, so I'd certainly be willing to forego this match for even a lunch with a new acquaintance.

I think.

Perhaps the lonelier I get, the more insulated I'll become, and in twenty years I'll do nothing but sit here watching soccer, moving only to feed my 27 cats and scream "Get off my lawn!" at the neighborhood kids. I don't know.

Whoa. That was a really creepy vision of my future. I'm putting way too much thought into this. I think I'll quit typing and watch the match, not only to stop this increasingly disturbing self reflection, but also so that I don't waste my 20 bucks by missing a goal while blogging.