Football gets its way- let them eat cheesecake.

Football gets its way- let them eat cheesecake.

So football has finally got its own way and not before time. Nobody deserves it more than football. Well done and hats off to you all. This is the result you've all been waiting for and you've now been rewarded for all of those months of perseverance and sheer force of character. How can we ever thank you? Go to the top of the class, accept all of those bouquets of praise and let's get back to the hurly and burly, cut and thrust of top- flight Premier League season because you've now been given the all clear.

After weeks and months of agonising, soul searching, tormenting itself, procrastinating, dragging its heels, swabbing, testing, steam cleaning and spraying goal posts, cross bars and footballs themselves, football will find its voice again - or not as seems the case- on June 17 live from a free to air, BBC or Sky TV channel near you. You should be adequately warned that you are not to come anywhere near a football ground because if you do you'll be severely prosecuted, arrested, thrown into a medieval dungeon, questioned by the police and then sent to jail for a considerable period of time.

You see the problem we have here is that football, essentially and most delightfully, is very much a spectator sport. It has been for as long as any of us can remember. Since the early days of the 20th century when players wore laced up shirts and boots the size of the average pair of Doc Martens, football has always embraced the weekly joys of massed crowds on its heaving terraces.

It has revelled in those stirring chants, the collective tribalism of the football experience, those special moments before, during and after a game when the fans sing at the top of their voices and cheer themselves hoarse. Football loves its captive audience, the hundreds and thousands of the mellifluous multitudes who shamelessly belt out those lovely old folk songs and the salty obscenities that have always followed every club throughout the 92 club pyramid.

But yesterday football parted company with its sanity, lost its collective mind and finally discovered that none would object to finishing the remainder of the Premier League season behind closed doors. As long as football can rely on the remarkably substantial barrowloads of cash to see it through to the end of the season then this is the way it has to be. Nobody cares least of all TV or its faithful ally the Premier League because it's all about money, money being the root of all evil and the road to ruination.

Now in the general scheme of things there would be none of the objections that we might have come to expect from some quarters because football is still the Beautiful Game and the fans are the least of its problems. Or have football fans just been completely forgotten about, totally marginalised in the whole of this fierce debate. The truth is perhaps staring us in the face and maybe some of us have lost this one in the translation. Football, certainly for the time being, is no longer a spectator sport and the fans are just surplus to requirements.

Never mind that these same hardy, devoted, loyal supporters regularly shell out vast sums of hard earned money for both a large stash of increasingly expensive season tickets before the season. Who cares whether you've paid shedloads of money for the much coveted merchandise, shirts, key rings, books, programmes, players photographs and such like? Never mind that those passionate supporters think nothing of paying for refreshments before the game, those precious seats next to family and friends. Are these, above all, just minor considerations?

In the days before Covid 19 football used to take great pride in its traditional pre-match routines. You would walk into your favourite team's ground, armed with a bountiful cargo of meat pies, hot dogs dripping with tomato ketchup, Bovril, cups of tea or coffee and perhaps a packet of crisps for good measure. Then you would carefully drop down onto your well paid seat for the season, look around your magnificent ground, wave to Uncle Pete or Auntie Barbara in the stand opposite you and then chuckle at the funny messages on the electronic scoreboard opposite you.

Sadly, this has now gone, stolen from football because of the deadliest and yet most unknown global pandemic disease since whenever. Now football has do without the very people who make the game tick. without whom the game will resume on June 17 amid the kind of atmosphere you'd expect to find in a local church throughout the week. The parishioners won't be there because they no longer matter and we simply take them for granted anyway. Football is no longer sacred or sacrosanct because the idolatry and adoration that used to be part of the football going ritual no longer needs its gloriously raucous supporters.

So how does this leave us now? Do we try to close our eyes and pretend that the game will no longer feel like either a game or sport or do we just snigger and laugh at the outrageous absurdity of it all.
Do we now wait in eager anticipation of a sport whose apparently sole reason for its existence is its stunning audience participation or do we just allow football to quickly disappear down a long, dark tunnel where rows of empty seats will greet every goal scored and every goal scoring celebration. This is not a dilemma because decisions have been made and this is football's new normal.

We now stand poised on the verge of a new footballing dawn, an age of silence, deafening silence, lifelessness, hollowness, nothing but peace and quiet. Oh and incidentally you must not disturb any of their players in case their concentration is disturbed and we wouldn't want that. Are we to assume that when the players come out of the tunnel for those first few matches that the players will have to be ready for the greatest show of indifference and apathy since goodness knows when? Perhaps the players will simply wave at thin air or stare blankly at a huge concrete bowl.

Lest we forget the mascots and the complete lack of any of their families in the crowds, the gaping spaces in the ground, football impersonating mime, totally dehumanised, drained of all colour, completely sanitised, stripped off its soul, a humiliating vaccum of nothingness. The thought occurs to you that all of the matches may just as well be played out in a local park or recreation ground so futile and pointless will this exercise become.

But money talks folks and let's just bring onto the stage our million pound footballers with stars in their eyes and wallets bursting at the seams. We can hardly wait for the referee's first blast of the whistle when Manchester City play Arsenal and the Etihad Stadium will begin to sound like the reference book section in one of Manchester City's many libraries or that distant, but beautiful field in Middle England where only the cows come out for a leisurely stroll. Then we'll see all of the Etihad's lush green pastures and may be tempted to pick a punnet of strawberries for the half time cup of tea.

There is a dawning realisation here that football may be on a collision course with the summer solstice where the cricket season should have been up and running but also finds itself a casualty of Covid 19 until the beginning of August. How we may rejoice to watch football's fittest athletes slogging their way through 90 minutes of football and sweating buckets in 80 degrees of heat should that be the case.

Then there's the small matter of cramming in as many matches as possible within a couple of days in a frantic race for the finishing line of the Premier League season. Football is about to race into the fairground, jump into the dodgems, climb onto the ferris wheel, shoot a rifle at a target that might reward them with a goldfish and then nip onto that carousel again just for another quick adrenaline thrill. It'll be fun, fun, fun all the way regardless of the consequences.

And once again there is the football showpiece, the big day, the FA Cup Final which this year could coincide with the Harvest Festival when the conkers are on the ground and an autumnal chill can be felt for miles around us. Apparently, the FA Cup Final will be held on August 1 which could mean that the opening day of next season may have to be put back to Christmas Day when we'll all be opening up our presents and scoffing large quantities of turkey. The date of course for the opening fixtures of next year's FA Cup third round could be pencilled in for next Easter Sunday or maybe Whitsun. Who knows?

Whichever way you look at it football's immediate future has now assumed some radically different complexion, the like of which none of us could ever hope to guess at. The perception of the Beautiful Game has now radically changed, the mentality of the game now in the most unusual of places and the game that used to start at roughly the end of summer is now any random choice of month or season for the Premier League or the FA to take their pick from.

Today though is also of course the Jewish festival of Shavuot which means the FA and Premier League may also have their cheesecake and eat it. It is a day for consuming dairy products, gorging ourselves happily on cheesecake and then washing it all down with healthy supplies of any beverage of your choosing.  It is a time for cheesecake parties, sharing end of week tales of lockdown achievements and looking forward to re-uniting with family and friends as long as there are only five in the same room. You really couldn't make this one up. Stay safe and stay alert everybody.