Musing' From The Shitter

Musings From The Shitter: Volume Twenty Five A Load of Blokes Running Around Pretending It Matters—and It Does Right, so here we are: another football season over. And not in some glorious, champagne-soaked, Instagrammable way. No last-minute winner, no emotional huddle, no tearful speeches or cameras following us around like it’s Welcome to Wrexham . No. It ended like most things do in real life: anticlimactically, and probably with someone complaining about parking. No one stormed off. No one cried. We just… sort of stopped. You’d expect, or at least hope , that the end of a season might bring some kind of emotional payoff—triumph, heartbreak, closure, something to justify all the effort and hamstring pain. But instead, you find yourself sat in your car after the final match (which may or may not have even been an actual match—ours got cancelled), peeling off your shin pads like a war veteran and realising: “Oh. That’s it then.” Silence. Damp kit. Slight groin pain. Existent...

Musings From The Shitter: Volume Twenty Four The Invisible Game: How Football Teaches Us About Being Human Here’s the thing about teams: They aren’t really about winning—not in the sense that most people think. Sure, there’s a scoreboard, and at the end of 90 minutes, someone’s going to stand tall, basking in victory, and someone’s going to drag their boots off the pitch, muttering something half-formed about “next week.” But if you look closer, deeper—if you peel away the kits, the tactics, and the crowd noises—you see something else entirely. Something absurdly simple. What you see is people . People, in all their fractured, flawed, ridiculous humanity, trying to show up for each other. Football, at its core, is a game. You chase a ball, you try to score. If you’re lucky, it hits the back of the net and people cheer. But if you let it, the game shifts. It mutates into something more than just a physical contest. It becomes a mirror, one that reflects not just who we are, but who ...