I thought I’d escaped the fickle god of football, but the poetry of the Euros pulled me back in

Natasha Pszenicki
WEST END FINAL

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If you’d asked me a few weeks ago how I felt about the Euros, or even about football, I’d’ve sighed and said, “It’s complicated”. In all honesty, for years I’ve been indifferent to the whole damn thing. I couldn’t care less whether football was coming home, bumming round Thailand or opening a vegan café in Cheam.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, the beautiful game was everything. To say my Dad and my brother are “fans” of Spurs would be like saying the Pope is “quite fond” of Catholicism.

Every week, there’d be the intense sick-making tension before each game. Then if we won, euphoria — and if we lost, utter despair.

I guess I resented that something so distant exercised such power over the emotional architecture of my life. Football was a fickle little god, shaped like Ossie Ardiles, who totally controlled our world. So when I left home, I left it behind forever … or so I thought.

Because as the Euros developed, with every match I found myself creeping a little closer to the telly. I began to see the joy it was bringing — and it was magical. I observed people brought together by the skill and poetry of astonishing players and, to my surprise, discovered I was no exception. It’s taken me decades, but I think — finally — I’ve learned football’s central truth: the lows are a cheap price to pay for such incredible highs.

When my husband and I broke up, I got all the friends and he got the money

We’ve all spent several months in very close quarters and it’s been tough on relationships. Even Rocco (my gorgeous bulldog) and I have been arguing more than usual. I’m barely talking to the postman. In fact, as lockdown eases, a handful of my friends have decided to split up for good.

So, as with every breakup, the question arises — who gets to keep what? Not the irrelevant stuff like cars and houses — who gets to keep the friends? Normally the rule of thumb is that each half holds on to the people they met first, then there’ll be a careful divvying up of the “couple” friends (actually, when my husband and I broke up, I got all the friends and he got the money — I still think I got the better deal). I know from bitter experience that the division can feel very unfair to the friends. It’s desperate saying goodbye to one half of a couple just because their partner was lucky enough to win you. Not only that, by forcing people to take sides, you push everyone to be even more at odds. In future, I propose that when relationships end, all parties should keep all joint friends. Not only do you get to retain lots of lovely mates, but they’ll be able to verify that you’re doing so much better than your ex.

When we tell someone their new body looks great, we suggest their old one didn’t

Last week, I saw a friend walking down the street looking much slimmer than usual. I crossed over to shout, “What’s happened? You look amazing!” then patiently waited for the conversation to turn back to myself (as it so often does). But as days passed, I began to feel troubled. I’ve known this wonderful woman for decades and over that time she’s been any number of different shapes and sizes, all of them fabulous. She’d never fallen into that (heartbreaking) category of people whose weight was making them unwell. Yet with one throwaway compliment, I’d implied that by becoming skinnier, she was somehow better.

So long as my friends are healthy and happy, from now on I’ll be steering clear of suggesting they somehow “improved” if their weight changes. Because every time we tell someone their new body looks wonderful, we suggest their old one didn’t.

Have you enjoyed the Euros despite yesterday’s loss? Let us know in the comments below.

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