So here I am.
I'm certain once the domestic season starts I'll be pulled back into the constant microscopic discussion on everything involving our club, but at the moment the very thought of it is poisonous. Thanks to the collective that exists on the internet we are, some of us, choosing to experience the game through this medium which at times completely engulfs the actual real life match day experience because that only lasts 90 minutes + social drinking and dodgy chicken burger. The post mortem continues on. Most of it stares back at you for hours and days thanks to the time capsule existence that the likes of Twitter allows for.
So what exactly am I complaining about? Communication? Because that isn't a bad thing is it? Being able to share opinions instantaneously. I'm doing that, more or less, now. I could do the same via 140 characters (x 10) if need be. Communication isn't guilty because the positives out weigh the negatives. Actually, they don't. There's too much of it. We allow ourselves to be accepting of too much of it. It is communication. We're drowning in it.
We're no longer squeezing our post-match ranting into the pub, it extends electronically. Most of us stand with a pint in one hand and a smartphone in the other. The same thing happens at the game. We don't live in the moment any more, we live as part of whatever it is that will find itself frozen in bandwidth on social media forever.
People are also more likely to talk about something that irks them than they are something they enjoyed much like the power of complaint travelling faster than an appreciative nod of approval. The World Cup isn't over yet and people are already bemoaning their existence as Spurs fans and the prolonged agony bestowed on them by Daniel Levy's reluctance to do whatever it is they consider the thing he has to do. So much anger, self-hatred. Very little of ye old self deprecation. And definitely a massive lack of humour MIA.
My complaint might be because I've allowed myself to be so immersed with all of the add-ons that they distract from the actual enjoyment (and the emotional upheaval we love to hate but really love) of the experience. Ego rules.
This is by choice and it's one that has near drained me. I'm obviously doing it all wrong. Perhaps taking it all too seriously. Or maybe not, maybe I'm bored of the constant point-scoring and vanity driven agendas with people wishing to be proved right all the time. At least at games, in the company of friends or in the pub you can ignore or walk away. But if you live your life via flesh and then via avatar then you can't ignore everything. You could control it more if you proceed to block or mute people that are winding you up. The danger if you do so is you'll end up cold and alone. It's 'social' media after-all. Or rather anti-social.
The complaint must be the over-exposure corrupting my perception of the game. Our expectations distorted, the commentary out-weighing the substance of the football, its enjoyment at its purest level. I've seen so many Spurs fans value the result over the style of play. In fact, I've been guilty of this myself, by proxy, when rationalising our recent plodding form.
God damn it, I'm active on Twitter, I write here and I founded a podcast. You don't walk into a gunfight not expecting to be hit by bullets. This isn't even the first time I've bemoaned about all of this. Maybe this is just withdrawal symptoms. Or maybe after almost ten years of living as an avatar I'm finally burning out.
This up and coming season for me isn't about Champions League football. 4th spot. Silverware. It's about a personal epiphany. I need to fall in love with it all again. But I'm going to have to do so with hypocrisy reigning as I can't see myself disconnecting from the on-line collective.
The crux of the complaint (if one even exists) is that I can't let go of all the add-ons, the superfluous chit chat that is the very cause of feeling so detached with the actual football.
Oh Christ. This article is superfluous. I'm feeding the monster.
I'm the complaint.