Football brings out the best and worst in people. In my case, it is the latter. The end of this football season has confirmed that to me. For the first time this century, my team has had nothing to play for, neither promotion nor relegation. I was prepared to be bored, uninterested. But my disinterest has led to renewed fascination with the game. Why? Because it turns out that I enjoy watching others suffer.

All over the country, indeed the world, fans of the clubs embroiled in the madness have been in torments of trauma as the end came. Oh, the agonisingly slow ratcheting up of unbearable tension as the hope turned into joy or despair. How I don’t miss it, on my own account. And how I’ve loved seeing all the rest being put through the mill, loved ones and strangers alike.