Don’t worry, I don’t really want to know this answer. This is really a part confession, part cry for help. This year I’ve decided, as a 30-year-old parent of three, to stop spending hours of my life playing Football Manager. I’m sure I’ll come back to it someday, but I got to a point where I was spending too much of the limited time I do have staring at my clunky old laptop, getting frustrated at just how long it takes to get through a season, only for me to then screw it up by making bad signings etc.
Boo hoo, poor me, I know. Real #firstworldproblems here.
The thing is, I’ve played it (or Championship Manager in its former guise) for pushing 20 years now. Surprisingly, not playing it hasn’t really been a problem. I have no need to go on my laptop, so the thought isn’t really there. We’re currently devouring Breaking Bad and I’ve got a bookcase full of books I’m looking forward to reading, not to mention a seven-month-old daughter, so I’m certainly busy.
There’s only one real issue – I don’t know what to think about.
I’m sure that sounds terrible, but I don’t know what to fill my idle thoughts with. Don’t get me wrong, I give plenty of thought to my life, my family, what needs to be done at home/work, but when I want to think about nothing, there’s always been who to sign, who to sell, that kind of thing.
Looking at it, that’s possibly the most pathetic thing I’ve ever written, but it’s true.
If I pick a point in my teenage or adult life, it’s consistent. Mind wandering in a lecture? I’m wondering who will replace Mark Kerr in my all-conquering Liverpool side when he eventually calls it a day. Struggling with a Sudoku? I’ll notice I’ve jotted down 22 initials in the margin of the paper. I even got thrown of a GCSE Business Studies lesson for chatting to the person next to me about who’d be best in the number 10 role in a team of mine (stupidly really, it was obviously Tonton Zola Moukoko) . What did I find myself thinking about when I couldn’t sleep last night? What needs to be done at work tomorrow.
Truth is, I think we all need these distractions. What is football itself, if not something remote to attach ourselves to? To provide a moment when the only thing that matters is whether Callum Wilson is going to beat the last man and tuck the ball away? In that instant you’re not thinking about the shed that needs tidying, that spreadsheet Alan in your Norfolk office needs by Wednesday or even the horror the news seems to bring every day. It’s all around us – philatelists place urgency and importance on finding that elusive stamp, millions tune in to find out who killed Lucy Beale, crowds of people queue up because they must have the latest phone. We all do it in one way or another.
.So, what can I fill my head with now? A language? I don’t want a new past time, it’s almost the opposite – I want something meaningless to concern myself with. I’m done with trying to find the next Tommy Svindal Larsen.
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