Clarkson Comes Around

When it comes to my entertainment passions – soccer, road racing, prog – my natural cynicism sometimes gives way to the naïve certainty that the only reason those things aren’t more popular is simply because people haven’t given them an honest try. They’re so obviously wonderful, after all, who could resist their charms? Occasionally, some anecdote comes along that bolsters that rare bit of faith I have.

Jeremy Clarkson is best known in the US as the acerbic host of Top Gear. In the UK, he’s also a bit of a pop culture figure, with a regular column in British newspapers. In a recent entry, he chronicled his conversion from football (er, soccer) hater to devoted fan.

He started here:

Over the years I have argued that football is a stupid game in which 22 overpaid nancy boys with idiotic hair run around a field attempting to kick an inflated sheep’s pancreas into some netting while an audience of several thousand van drivers beat one another over the head with bottles and chairs.

And wound up here:

So there we are, then. I am now a football fan. I know this because in one afternoon I learnt I’m not a football fan at all. I’m a fan of Chelsea. Chelsea are the only team that can play. Chelsea players have by far the most impressive reproductive organs. Stamford Bridge is my church. The men who play there are my Gods.

Er, OK, so maybe he's not embraced the totality of the beautiful game yet. But it's a start! So, c’mon, American soccer haters – if a professional curmudgeon like Clarkson can come around, so can you!

UPDATE: Oh, my. I just finished watching Chelsea's Champion's League semifinal from today. Jeremy must be so amazingly pissed!