Football

You must pretend to like football. Because, if you don’t, everyone is going to think you are even more of a middle class snot than you already are.

It’s easy enough to do. Just  profess love for Arsenal because you once lived within sight of the stadium in Finsbury Park (before you finally managed to escape to suburbs with better schools). Or, maybe Manchester Utd, because, erm, everyone else does. Or perhaps Newcastle, as they best express the maverick in your soul.

You would also do well to learn a few phrases about “sustained pressure”,  and “exploiting the defence”. When in discussions about the sport, you should refer to your interlocutor as “mate”, or, if you think he is incorrect, “muppet”. Oh, and never say: “football.” Just make gnomic references to: “The Game.”

What you must not do, is admit that football is not fun. Never ask what it says about the national sport that  the most interesting men that we can find to talk about it are Gary Lineker and Adrian Chiles. Never suggest that there’s a certain irony in the fact that this game dedicated to goals is entirely pointless. Never mention how dull you find the bloodless battle between all those overpaid hairgels. Especially don’t suggest that their upbringing in special soccer academies has ensured they are as far removed from your world as monks. Okay, monks who drive Bentleys and monks who have page-three-girl girlfriends – but still pretty fricking weird.

Finally, don’t ever bring up the uncomfortable truth that the sport is corrupt from top to bottom – dominated by mafiosi, paid for with blood and little more than a money-laundering operation for Russian criminals. That would render you an unpatriotic cynic. And that’s the last thing you want to appear during World Cup season. Instead,  you must shoulder the middle-class man’s burden. Get down the pub, pretend to enjoy drinking lager more than wine and shout inanities at Sky Sports as loud and long as everyone else.  Ideally, you should shed tears when England are dumped out in the first round. If the sight of Wayne Rooney’s upset little angel face doesn’t do it for you, think of your mortgage.

But don’t worry about putting a St George’s cross flag on your car. That’s just taking it too far…