The sun is shining; the evenings are long and bright; the greater part of the summer is still ahead to look forward to; however, something is missing.  Football.

It is the same every year: I experience a sensation of strange melancholy and loss almost as soon as the last kick of the Champions League Final has been taken, knowing that stretching ahead lie ten barren weeks, devoid of meaningful matches.

Of course, every other year, a World Cup or a European Championships bobs up to help alleviate this vacuum but, even then, nothing can compare to the regular, heart-beat metronome of league fixtures.  I even get impatient when an international break temporarily interrupts their rhythm mid-season.

This year there is nothing.  Now, I recognise this is being a bit dismissive of the achievements of the Under-20s; of the Under-21s; of women’s football; of the entire Confederations Cup––I’ll concede that there is football available if you really want it badly enough––but I am not such an addict that I am prepared to simply take my fix in whichever grubby backstreet it is offered.

Until it is time for the Saturday afternoon videprinter to resume normal service, my life is not complete.

Football is the friend

Who always lets you down: I

Miss them when they’re gone.

© Donnie Blake

Donnie Blake is marking time until 12 August.