Choose Football. Choose a team. Choose a vocation. Choose a family. Choose a stadium, choose bad catering, no leg room, whingeing glory seekers and cynical die-hards. Choose wing wizardry, midfield dynamos, and twenty a season strikers. Choose fixed interest season ticket repayments. Choose your seat. Choose your friends. Choose over-priced replica kits and matching accessories. Choose a reserve team striker on loan from a range of bigger clubs. Choose going out on the lash after the game and wondering who the hell you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing grand slam Sundays, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose going home and away til the end of it all, pishing your last on a miserable terrace, nothing more than an embarrassment to the cooler, sharper brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose football.
