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I had a friend, well, a Sunday football club teammate, who was, and probably still is a Manchester United fan. He had a tattoo that said something about United on his calf muscle. I forget what it said because, in truth, I never looked at it for too long lest my eyes began to bleed and my lips pursed. 

He loved United. And he loved England. He didn’t love Liverpool. He detested them, hated them as much as he loved United. His love and hate were equidistant from the middle, where the neutral fan, if there is such a thing, hovers in a vacuum of disinterest. ..

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