Bring it on! The English Premier League is simply—the most high pressure pro-sports league in the world.
One reason for this is the chance of relegation.
Unlike major leagues in the U.S., each season the bottom three clubs get demoted to the lesser universe of the Championship.
The drop is the worst thing that can happen to a club and their supporter’s pride.
Financially it costs each of the unfortunates around £50 million in lost revenue every year until, and if, they win promotion back to the elite.
So the pressure on the bottom feeders is possibly greater than the pressure on the title contenders.
It’s a high stakes game, and Christmas ups the ante big time as the spectre of relegation looms like a rancid ghost of Christmas Future.
Only once in 21 years has the bottom club at Christmas avoided the ignominy of relegation.
And the coming of Santa heralds a footy bonanza, with clubs playing 4 matches crammed into 10 days.
That’s 10.5% of a 38 game season with 12 points at stake.
It’s the tipping point, and by the time New Year's Day arrives over half the season will have been played out.
Fortunes can change dramatically over this period, especially for clubs with less depth in their squads or carrying injuries.
This intensity is great for fans because every game is played at breakneck speed and demands physical toughness and mental sharps.
On top of this pressure at both ends, the Prem is the league where professional athletes also face the most public personal abuse.
It goes way beyond opponents trash talking each other, although that happens too.
This is abuse that comes in the form of chants sung by thousands of the opposing clubs fans.
Unless you’re playing badly, in which case it could come from thousands of your own club’s supporters.
And nothing is off limit in these bawdy sporting folk songs.
A player’s weight, mental health, sexual proclivities, are all considered fair game.
Hell, a player’s wife’s weight, mental health and sexual proclivities, are all considered fair game.
Here’s a chant they used to sing about Mrs. Beckham:
Oh Posh Spice is a s*apper,
She digs another fella,
And when she's s*agging Beckham,
She thinks of Mike Grella!
Posh Spice is a s*apper,
She likes to suck a d*ck,
And when she's s*agging Beckham,
She thinks of Michalik!
I don’t think Peyton Manning has to put up with that kind of vulgarity about his missus.
Here’s another classic fans sing when their team plays Liverpool:
In your Liverpool slums
In your Liverpool slums
You speak in an accent exceedingly rare
You wear a pink tracksuit and have curly hair
In your Liverpool slums
In your Liverpool slums
In your Liverpool slums
Your mum’s on the game and your dad’s in the nick
You can’t get a job ‘cos you’re too f**king thick
In your Liverpool slums
And these are among the less abusive examples of a terrible poetry and savage wit.
Football’s working class roots are still the foundations below the shiny surfaces of the multi-million pound stadiums.
Wages are always quoted in pounds per week, as in Luis Suarez just signed a new contract for $200,000 per week.
This is a hangover from the days when a workers wages were paid weekly as opposed to management who got a monthly salary.
But the international oligarchs, who increasingly like buying Premier League franchises, don’t always appreciate the nuances of the game’s social history.
When you've got the private jet, the supermodel and the superyacht, you're not dropping half a billion to buy a bunch of losers.
And it’s not just players who can feel an owner’s wrath.
Managers get fired after the shortest string of bad results and even after decent results that don’t meet expectations.
So far in 2013, 5 out of 20 Premier League managers have been given the boot.
Only 2 out of 38, have held the same job since 2011, as opposed to 14 NFL head coaches.
There’s no such job security in the Prem, but there's loads of gut churning excitement.
So turn on the TV, pull up a chair, enjoy the pleasure that comes from pressure and good luck, unless you’re playing Spurs.
A very merry Christmas to one and all!
