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I used not to care for football. About the game, I had no feelings; it was the fans I disliked. I objected to them in general-loutish yobbos with their football scarves and cans of Special Brew; I also objected to them in particular-I am married to one.

In the hall at home there is always a bag of dirty kit and the television is permanently tuned to Sky Sports. My husband sits staring at the screen in tense concentration, and when his team scores he lets out an awful, frightening yell that disturbs the old ladies next door and used…

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