I've been waiting and waiting

It's not that long really. The off season, that is. It's certainly shorter in football than it is in lots of sports. The cricket stops for six long winter months, while the British weather cycle turns from warm beige to cold beige and back again. American baseball fans only have to get through five months, but it's a lot colder over there and there are no international Test matches to fill the gap.

Followers of NFL (American football) teams get a grand total of sixteen games a season, unless their team gets to the playoffs. That's eight home games a year, or one every 45 days, fifteen hours and forty five minutes. If you factor in the playoffs the frequency falls to one every 43 days, 18 hours, 36 minutes and twenty four seconds for the average team, but it's a long wait even so. More precisely, it's several fortnightly waits, and one really long one. From the first game of the regular season to the last takes sixteen weeks, three days and a few hours, so for most fans that long wait is 68.48% of the year.

Even the Superbowl teams rest more than half the year. Necessary for the NFL players, who take more pounding than Jose Mourinho's anal sphincter, but hard on the fans. Allegedly, by the way. I said allegedly. No, not alleged by anyone in particular, just allegedly generally. Although now the allegation of Mourinho's anal pounding has been mentioned on the Internet, I think we can raise it to the status of a rumour.

What's that? Can you take the previous paragraphs as some kind of declaration of intent? Oh, I think you can. Apparently some people blog without even having a spreadsheet open, but I can't imagine how. They may regard the Internet as an excuse to wallow in the mudpool of their own vagueness, but to me a blog post should be like Mondrian or the Gang of Four, all choppy riffs and hard edges. And unsubstantiated insinuations of sodomistical shenanigans.

Anyway, at a little under three months the football off season really isn't that long. It just seems like it. Especially in crappy odd numbered years like this one, when there's no big international tournament. Oh, I know there was the Women's World Cup, and what we got to see of it was highly entertaining, but for some reason BBC3 only showed the England games and the final. I know they've got three hundred episodes of Young, Dumb and Given a Comedy Slot for no Reason to get through, but I'm sure they could have fitted a few more highlight packages in somewhere.

And it didn't last long, and most importantly it was weeks ago. Endless balmy weeks, without so much as an expertly executed offside trap to fill the ball shaped hole. No not Jose's, that's been stretched to more of a gash. I mean the metaphorical one. The ball-shaped hole at the centre of our summer lives. We do have feelings, you know. And needs. Just what the hell do they expect us to do?

And don't go telling me the cricket is some kind of alternative. If you're one of those people who thinks pale reflections of the real thing are enough, then all I can say is I hope you enjoy your quorn burger and why don't you have a nice Dr Pepper's to wash it down with. Accept no substitutes, I say. In fact, if they don't get on with it soon I shall thcream and thcream and thcream. I might even hold my breath.

Not for long, though. The Championship comes back with a roar tomorrow (Friday) night, as recently relegated Blackpool voyage across the Pennines to Hull. In a pub near you, unless you've chosen to live in some weird football desert like North Uist or America. Or Wales. I was watching a Premiership game in a pub in Tenby one September Sunday, and at half time they turned over for the rugby. Sorry about all the imperialism and everything, but surely there was no need for that.

The other Championship teams play on Saturday, including City, who entertain Ipswich as mentioned in the first post. I shall be tweeting the game live (@jonecc), as long as I remember to charge my phone.

League One and League Two kick off on Saturday too. Even the Rovers get a game, at newly promoted AFC Wimbledon. They'll be queueing up for the coaches out of Fishponds for that one. Then there's some European qualifiers midweek, and the Charity Shield the week after that. Which is now called the Community Shield. When the hell did that happen?

But I don't really care what the hell they call it, as long as I get to watch it on the telly. I've had about all the rounders and Frisbees I can take. Do you know where you can stick your Frisbee? I know a man called Goatsie, he'll show you.

Nearly there now. It's probably just as well. For a while there I was almost reduced to talking about the weather.