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MIDDLESBROUGH - ADDICTION OR CONSUMERISM? 20-2-06
Supporting our Beloved Boro, week in week out, can be very hard on the body and soul. Especially for you seasoned red-book holders, and more so, you inspirational away travellers, the experience is nothing short of an addiction, an addiction now well and truly beyond your control and something locked indelibly into your subconscious, into your whole Smogrified human make-up.
I've stated these beliefs many times, as I torture the English language in my rant from the Antipodes, and the whole phenomena is beyond your physical and mental control. Looking at it all dispassionately and very coldly, this would be termed as basic brand consumerism by some sharp suited business analyst who sees everything as cut and dried, profit or no profit, sell or buy, sink or swim.
You can't do nothing about it folks and you basically have to grin, go with it and bare it. You're all on Boro auto-pilot. Let me put it another way - it's an addictive drug with no cold turkey.
Analogising it is a bit like habitually turning up at the same strip club twice a week all your life. The one the only, over the border, world famous Riverside Raunchy Ranch!
One amazing club that has twenty drop dead gorgeous stunning women strutting their voluptuous stuff in their own "team" colours, but you only ever go to "blindly" passionately watch the same red and white clad tart, on the same pedestal, gyrating round the same dazzling chrome pole. Week in, week out without fail, and, what's more, you log habitually on to her website when you get home, every bloody waking day and gaze longingly, lustfully only at her.
She's the one, the only one, you squeeze your crumpled fivers into her sequin spangled red G-string while hopelessly trying to make eye contact. She flicks her hair imperiously backwards, flutters her eye lashes and gaze glazes you for a split second giving you yet more false hope.
But you are there, every show, through thick and thin, through her indifferent spells when she dances half-heartedly, lazily, laconically, disinterestedly checking her nails and yawning bored out of her skull into your shining adoring face. You are there, looking through the rose tints even when she has that pimple on her arse, the cellulite shows on her thighs, her arse wobbles too much, she comes on without make-up or doesn't dilapidate too well and there are feathers peaking out of the G-string.
BUT, there you sit mournfully lost in your lustful love, gazing longingly over your beer, adoring, hoping, dreaming, one day if only! She's so erratic in her performance and her exuded sexiness, one week she's totally shite, the next voluptuous perfection making your aroused Tockley strain at the zipper like a junkyard dog over stretching it's tether chain.
You still turn up every week to grab a fleeting vague glimpse of the forbidden pink, even if you rarely see it and she treats you disdainfully without even a glance in your direction.
Sorry, but you have the sickness my friend, and there is no explanation or reasoning to talk you out of your malaise because you are in a situation of hopeless, unremitting, unrequited and costly love. It affects all your moods and movements, and, every single moment of you conscious and unconscious being.
Very sad but true it may be said BUT thank fuck that's how it is or we'd all be supporting that blue and white clad, drop dead gorgeous, leggy, Pammy Anderson in her prime look-alike down at the Stamford Bridge Boilers Bar.
God Forbid brothers and sisters! Value your individuality even if at times that addiction is scarily painful.
The multitude of lovely ladies who follow or mob and our addiction, are very knowledgeable on the finer points of the game but admit to also liking the eye candy effect of watching very fit athletic young men at close quarters. Young attractive men with nice physiques, hot legs, nice tight butt cheeks and even nicer bank accounts.
A few recent threads on the bubbling ComeOnBoro New Holgate message board sponsored by Ms Millet and MsCurly, point to Skippy being a great hunk of Kangaroo spunk and definitely a favourite piece of testosterone steak for the femmes. Frenchy Franck gets a glorified mention, as does professor Gazza Mendieta. I also hear from other quarters that Young Stewie has many gurgling female admirers too, especially among the younger set, and the guy is pasted to thousands of teenage bedroom walls with resplendent lipstick kiss marks splashed on quite a few.
My own youngest sis' Jane, who is a Boro babe season ticket holder and has been since she was a wee sprog, is massively knowledgeable on the game. She can hold her own in any bar-room verbal brawl on the subject of offside, tactics, players or anything remotely to do with the Boro. But in conversation she admits herself that if the game gets a bit boring at least she can check out the eye candy strutting their stuff on the green. Nice arse on that one, looka the pins on that fellah, nice bulge there, he's cute and OooowaaHH looka him he's...... GORGEOUS!!!!!!!!!
I remember one trip back to the green of Blighty and a pilgrim's visit to the holy place at Ayresome Park. That's after showing the Bride where I was born in Ayresome Street and getting some photos by the famous wrought-iron red Ayresome gates. Past strutted big Gordon McQueen, cruising by in his training kit, all tanned after a Summer sojourn and my missus began drooling over his "Sexy long legs and tight arse". I had to physically restrain the girl for God's sake. Bloody calm down woman and stop rubbing yer own breasts in public, get yer hand outa there and wipe that dribble off yer chin!
So the game supports the baser instincts of life and undoubtedly sex sells as in everything. While it could be argued that supporting your favourites is pure consumerism, we all know it's something far, far deeper than that. It's much deeper than an addiction because you can ween yourself off an addictive substance or change some forms of addictive behaviour.
After all, there are various worthy support groups and institutions who would help you wholeheartedly with your problems, witness AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) to help the over-imbibers through their cycle of alcohol abuse. But, we sufferers don't have SA (Supporters Anonymous) to help you over the intense effects of supporterism or is it supporteritis?
The honest truth is thankfully that we are all way beyond help and it's far too late. We really don't need or want help because there are so many of us out there suffering together for the cause that we help each other. We just band together and take solace in our shared common interest of our Beloved Boro.
So amigos, buckle up into the red chair and enjoy the ride, at least we know with Boro that life will never get boring and predictable especially with this present squad of topsy- turvy under achievers. As I said to Steve G recently in an e-mail; the capability in that squad is immense but immensely fragile at the same time.
Let's not predict the future path for the Red and whites anymore, just strap in, sit back and enjoy the amazingly unpredictable roller coaster ride.
You have to folks, because you are all uncontrollably addicted to that legal drug.
Boro!
Enough said!
ErimusRed.
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