Must. Stop...

DISCLAIMER:

The drivel posted here on an irregular basis does not pretend to be a commentary on the state of the world, or an up-to-the-minute current affairs service. Many of the pieces I write are composed in advance of publication, due to pressures of work and other stuff in my life. I would also like to add that I believe comment on the truly burning issues of the day are best left to the professionals. My squeaky voice will hardly add anything of significance to the debate, so I aim to either a) distill a deeper thread of my own perception beneath the prevailing winds of geo-politics or b) deliberately ignore it because I have nothing to contribute or feel so depressed by events that I cannot speak of them. This does not mean that I don't care.

Now that I've made that point, I may as well come clean. Despite my best intentions, I ended up watching quite a bit of the friendly match between City and Milan on Saturday. Yes, it's started again - the pantomime, and I am hooked already. Ched Evans and Valeri Bojinov. Mark Hughes, Thaksin Shinawatra and wife. Stephen Ireland's haircut, FFS!? Not to mention the ludicrous pissing about with the will he/won't he and the Sunderland flavin'.

I do feel ashamed of myself, there's no denying it. A friendly game, with unlimited substitutes, of no significance to anything, except for injuries sustained to key players prior to the start of the season, and yet I still found myself yelling at the TV set whenever we looked like going forward. How, in all conscience, can I continue to participate in this meaningless and over-indulgent crap? How, when I know large sections (snort) of my readership are put off by my writing about it? How? How? How?

I can't help it.