How football helped me to live with depression | The Guardian
Good as it sounds in theory to be a Manchester United fan, guaranteed to collect at least one piece of silverware each season, there doesn't seem to be much joy to be found there. One regulation win after another, with no one really needing to break sweat. Least of all the supporters. Where's the fun in that? Indeed, in a moment of weakness, my mate Kevin the Bright – he is very bright, despite being a Chelsea fan – recently confessed he rather missed the old days at Stamford Bridge, when his side was slipping to a home defeat to QPR on a crap pitch in front of a crowd of about 25,000, because then he was at least aware he was alive and watching a contest and not just a cog in a corporate machine bankrolled by a Russian oligarch.




