There I am, watching fans spill into their seats: Hats and scarves for each team, in full force; children that are too young to know what’s happening, but old enough to be indoctrinated, in tow. Guys in tiny shorts and knee-high socks run around in the biting cold. And I’m asking the all-important question: How long does a football match last? Look, I’ve never been in to sports.
I just don’t really get it. I never saw the appeal. And, until this week, I don’t think I had ever really watched an entire football match.
But one thing that I know to be true is: When the Oliver Callan Show asks you to be a visiting critic on radio, you say ‘yes’. So, when I was contacted by one of his producers, asking me to do something out of my comfort zone, I had no choice. I got myself down to Dalymount Park, to see what this football malarky is all about.
It was Bohs’ versus Pat’s. Baptism by fire, I had been warned. Walking in, the first thing that stood out to me was the fashion.
We girls get made fun of for wearing matching sparkly outfits and cowboy boots to Taylor Swift concerts, while the male equivalent passes under the radar. Tracksuit bottoms, some sort of puffer coat, accessories for the team you support, and some chunky dad runners: That was the dress code. And I wasn’t doing a great job of adhering to it.
Firstly, my leopard-print jeans made it fairly obvious that I don’t frequent a football pitch. Secondly, I was not prepared for just how cold I would get wh.
