What do you want?
What are you here for? What draws you in, compels you to risk real emotion sitting in the stands or before the screen, hands over your face, only half daring to watch through fingergaps, the visceral gut-drop of a late goal against spreading through your body like sepsis?
And why, why on Earth do you keep watching, still stomach-sick as the rollercoaster ascends and then screams down into three-on-three overtime, the buck and heave of every rush palpable and excruciating? Heart pounding in your ears as you try to shout but fail because you’ve forgotten to breathe for the 30-second eternity you’ve spent on this terrible ride.