Understanding an Addiction

The ref blew his whistle, bringing an end to the half. There was a flurry of activity, as fans made their way down the turnstiles for a quick beer, or for a quick piss before the next beer. The Emirates was abuzz with excitement — two goals in the bag, three points on the horizon, first place consolidated. It was going to be a good night.

This was just my 2nd ever game at the stadium; the noise, the adrenaline and the color had been an onslaught on the senses. The color in particular, stuck with me. How once the game kicked off, the fans melted into this sea of red and white, that ebbed and flowed with each touch of the ball. You’re not just a fan watching the game in your seat; you’re intimately embedded to the players on the pitch. Those 45 minutes made up my mind — after climbing down the stairs by our stand, I turned to look up to my father — “ Appa, can I get a jersey?”

Halftime lasts no more than 15 minutes, so to this day I don’t know how we managed to go the club store and back before the second half started. As we approached the counter to pay, my Dad’s friend who’d come with us suggested that I get a player name on the jersey. I looked up with puppy eyes at my father.

Each time Fabregas touched the ball in the 2nd half, I cheered just that extra bit louder.