Choose a successful team
Choose a great year.
Choose a dynasty.
Choose a fucking big stadium
Choose high profile managers,
Fancy foreign players, and media favouritism.
Choose good results, high expectations
And delusions of grandeur
Choose monthly Sky Sports season ticket payments.
Choose never going to games.
Choose your friends and having bragging rights.
Choose twitter and asking players to follow you.
Choose a three piece kit every year
In a range of fucking colours.
Choose Talksport and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch listening to mind-numbing
Sprit-crushing call in shows
Stuffing fucking nonsense into your ears.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all,
Pishing your last in a miserable pub
Nothing more than an embarrassment to the friends,
Who listen to you wax lyrical about the club you have no spiritual connection with.
Choose your future. Choose life.
I chose not to choose life. I chose something else.