Divorcing the Mighty U's

In what is a U's Blog first, today we have a guest contributor. In this piece, Simon Evans tells us why he and United could be heading for the divorce courts.

I’m going to support Man Utd from now on. No really, I am. The weekend finally broke me. Why do I waste so much time, money and emotional angst on eleven men I don’t know from Adam. Who the hell is Robbie Willmott to put me through such pain? What is it that makes me so depressed when they lose? I can erase a lifetime of dedication. I’m not related to any of them, I have no professional or personal connection with anyone at the club. Dammit, I’m nearly twice as old as some of them. I haven’t even lived in Cambridge for over 20 years. There is surely nothing, nothing, to stop me from just jumping ship.

So I will. I’ll go down to my local Tesco and buy a Man Utd shirt. There might even be someone else there wearing a Man Utd shirt. I can smile and nod at him in a matey sort of way. I can celebrate winning the title three years in a row. Imagine how good that must feel. Every week a victory, loads of goals, any minor blip erased the following week in a blaze of glory. It would be like Stevenage at home week in week out. I might even actually go to Old Trafford. No one would know that I’m an impostor. I’ll bluster my way through Man U squads of past and present. I can use the first person plural. “We’re looking forward to the Barcelona game” See it’s that easy! If I was really lucky, I might actually get some abuse for being a Man Utd fan. I could get accused of being a “glory hunter” – what a novelty that would be. Anything would be better than the pained sympathy of work colleagues which I am suffering this week. “Never mind” they say “there’s always next year”. “Yes, I know - thanks” I lie. And I’d never have to hear my Mother in Law kindly enquire “and how are Cambridge? Oh it’s such a shame, would you like another piece of cake?”

And my poor son. I could buy him a Man Utd shirt too. Go on son – fill your boots. Breathe in the Glory. Never have your teachers ask you what shirt you’re wearing at PE, never need to know where Gateshead is. Stick a photo of that Portuguese bloke with fancy boots on your wall like every other kid in the street. Never ever ever have to watch a game involving Torquay or Exeter again. And I could sleep safely in my bed at night knowing that the Child Protection Team are not about to prosecute me for willingly and knowingly leading my eight year old into a life of broken dreams and shattered expectations.

No – its got to be non stop triumphs from now on. I think I owe it to myself. I used to think that football was about highs and lows irrespective of the level. It was all relative. Beating Barrow away could feel as good as beating Inter Milan. But I realise now that that’s just bollocks. What’s the use of that comparison if there are never any highs? Supporting Cambridge United is just endless lows punctuated by the occasional false dawn.

So its me and Alex, Giggsy, Best, Charlton. The money, the skill, the passion. The lack of teams from Devon in the Premiership. Me and my mate from Tescos. Me and a million other faceless morons. It’s the bland life of meaningless glory for me. I can divorce the U’s.

I can.

Pause

Deep sigh.

See you at the Abbey in next season.

Simon Evans