You don’t have to be a groundhopper to seek out new stadiums. It’s about finding contentment rather than being a completist
By Glen Wilson for When Saturday Comes
It’s half time on a grey Saturday afternoon standing on the open end of Stockport County’s Edgeley Park. I take out my phone and log into the Futbology app, prompting a message: “Congratulations! You have visited ground number 300!” Its generous exclamation marks suggest I ought to feel pride. But if anything what waves over me instead is nearer embarrassment.
Because it’s not cool. While I’m no narcissist I still entertain the hope that others may view me as urbane, as metropolitan. Go to the football a bit and you’re not totally kissing that perception goodbye. No Venn diagram in the world overlaps GQ cover stars and people who’ve been to half the grounds in the Ardal North West. I could have spent all those Saturdays mastering a musical instrument, learning a new language, maybe two. I could’ve travelled; to new countries rather than new leagues. Imagine how interesting I could’ve been. How many of the world’s great raconteurs have anecdotes that hinge on a knowledge of the Southern Counties East Football League Division One?
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