Up The City! I’m Begging You…

This week, my good mate, Bigus Dickus’ Norwich City Canaries head to Preston North End for yet another critical match in their drive to again survive to fight another year in the Football League Championship.

After Chelsea, there is no football club on the planet that I follow more closely. There is no football club who’s week-to-week fortunes affect my very happiness. Norwich’s relegation scraps have me on the edge of my seat.

Why do I care deeply about some two-bit Anglian club run by a drunk fry-cook and her incompetent boardmates? Because they are my Tortured Friend’s Team. Find out what this means after the jump…

Bigus is my good mate. We’ve shared many a fantastic evening. We wind each other up into a (mostly) friendly rage most every week talking football. And if you are a mate of Bigus’, Norwich City is in your life.

Norwich City are my cross to bear because they are Bigus’ cross to bear. Much like my wife has had to suffer the slings and arrows of being married to a Buffalo Bills fan – the foul moods, the exultation-followed-by-inevitable-heartbreak – I suffer with Norwich because I can’t stand the thought of watching my good mate’s team drop to (shudder) League One. The lad would be devastated. I can’t bear the thought of watching him endure such a thing.

So every week, like a Stockholm-Syndrome victim, I follow the ins and outs of Carrow Road. I check the table. I follow the transfer rumours. I try to figure out how in hell a club in Norwich’s position could possibly hire an utterly inexperienced manager at such a critical time. I do the points math. I try to figure out how many points Watford’s two matches in hand are worth.

I do this because Norwich are in my life as surely as they are in Bigus’ life. Last Spring, there were a group of us dying every Saturday as Norwich stumbled to safety. There were weeks when a critical Chelsea victory somehow mattered less to my state of mind than a Norwich away draw.

Now, you might think that I would hate Norwich for this. Hate them like I hate the demons that have ruined other friends’ lives. Demons like alcohol, depression or cancer. But I worship Demon Chelsea. I have a Blue fever to Bigus’ Yellow. I can’t help but sweat every result in the Canary saga.

England, too. Do you remember watching England with your English mates the last, say, 20 major international tournaments? Have you bought an England shirt in fellowship? Does the thought of PKs haunt your dreams?

Or do you have a Tottenham supporter friend? If so, nothing more need be said.

Who is your Tortured Friend’s Team?

How have you debased yourself cheering them on for your friend?

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