I had forgotten just what a bearpit it was to watch a football match in a pub. A cacophony of noise with every emotion from euphoria to the darkest on display. Shrieking hoarse voices (guys, the players can't hear you, the referee definitely can't, you need to rein it in, throttle back here). Heartrending, or more pointedly, heart clutching when your team plays out of their skins and still can't find the back of the net. There are men and women leaving the pub I've just come from, dry-throated, slightly demented, spiritually and mentally exhausted; and all we've done is watch twenty-two men chase a ball up and down a green field. Yes, watch, not play, just watch.