Can football really be upon us again? Yes, I know it always arrives, rude and sunburned, roaring into the summer and drowning the sounds of smaller but much harder balls being whacked across green fields. But the first weekend in August? It's like being awoken by a cold sponge in the middle of a warm night.
Indeed, if I settle back and close my eyes, I am once more-a mere handful of weekends ago-on a sunlit M3 driving the family home after a pleasant stay in Hampshire. As we hurtle towards the Surrey borders, the journey becomes tense. This has nothing to do with road conditions, but rather what is coming out of the radio.
The Manchester United versus Spurs match is on. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Les Ferdinand opens the scoring for Spurs. "Yes!" I cry, slapping the dashboard. Mike Ingham, commentating for Radio 5 describes the goal in the manner of a man trying to put a brave face on being burgled. United equalise, then-with a half-time break in between-score another goal, which proves to be the winner. Manchester United are the Premier League champions.
And all that was before the FA Cup final which, in turn, was before the European Champions League final, two further feathers in United's resplendent cap. And, already, here we are again, bracing ourselves-no doubt to the delight of Manchester United fans from Penzance to Pimlico-for acres of television footage of their team manager's jaw in a perpetual chewing motion.
When Andy Cole scored that championship-winning goal some Spurs supporters actually cheered. It meant that Arsenal was denied a second successive league title. In fact, many Spurs fans were pleased that Manchester United and not Arsenal were champions. After all, Arsenal? Again? But I was dismayed. I realised that I loathed Manchester United more than I loathed Arsenal.
But a few weeks later, after finding myself in the strange position of cheering on Bayern Munich in the European Cup final, I began to wonder about this loathing. Where did it come from? A number of reasons suggested themselves. They all had names: Roy Keane, Alex Ferguson, David Beckham.
Keane belongs to that most irritating of all breeds of footballer-the sort blessed with huge talent, who have no need whatsoever to resort to rough play but who none the less constantly do so. Liverpool "legend" Graeme Souness is the archetype.
As for Ferguson, he'll defend the indefensible (Eric Cantona, for example) when it's dressed in red, yet rail bitterly against referees' decisions that don't go his way. This, despite no team this century having enjoyed such largesse from the men in black by way of penalties given (for United) or not given (for their opponents), goals disallowed (for their opponents) and dubiously allowed (for United), notably at home.
My problem with Beckham is not the obvious one about his petulance causing England to be dumped out of the World Cup. It's that he suffers from the Paul Ince (ex-Manchester United) syndrome of tediously contesting every foul awarded against him, however blatant.
Then there is the disappointing statistic that one in five football fans is a United supporter-some of whom even live in Manchester. By this reckoning, a substantial proportion of referees must secretly cheer them on. And radio commentators?
The trouble is, as I analysed these reasons-to-be-hateful, I realised that they didn't really hold water. Otherwise, how could I support a Spurs side containing its own petulant genius in David Ginola, and a midfielder, Steffen Freund, who may lack Keane's ability but whose temperament makes United's Irish captain look like a lamb. And is my new hero and Spurs saviour George Graham so very different from his fellow Scot, Ferguson, when it comes to defending his players and criticising referees?
I fear the problem may be simple jealousy. When I started supporting Spurs as a boy at the end of the 1950s, they and Manchester United were great rivals. When neither of them won the league after their 1960s successes, they were fellow giants, stylishly sleeping together through the decades. They even went down, each of them, to spend a season in the old second division. And then along came Ferguson-and Cantona, Ince, Giggs, Beckham, Keane, Yorke... They even took Teddy Sheringham from us.
Now they are to represent England at the world club championship. Shouldn't I be cheering Ferguson's men in Brazil to beat the world's best? Shouldn't I recognise and overcome my feelings of jealousy and inadequacy?
Yes, of course I should. It's sport. It's about character. So roll on the 1999-2000 season. May the best team win. And if they happen to be a bit lucky, well, that's part of sport-and life. And if they happen to have a huge financial advantage, well, football is big business now. And if they happen to have a support-base way beyond their city, well, kids are exposed to teams on a global scale and can pick and choose (even my nine year old supports Liverpool). And if they happen to be Manchester United again, I shall remain mature and objective, shall I not? Ask me in May.
