SforzA

So, thats the end of the World Cup. Well, to be fair, the Final tonight was the first game i've watched since England went out. Mostly because i can not be bothered with it. I said a month ago that the World Cup provides a good marker for me every four years, something that shows me where i am, where i've been...where i'm going?

Nicola has posted about her feelings on the end of the world cup, and the thing is, i *kind of* agree with her. I mean, i love seeing people achieve their dream in life, but, what're they going to say before the LORD. It's all so sad. Those who love live will lose it. But anyway...where am i? Where will i be in four years?

I'm not even sure i'll like football in four years time to be honest. For a couple of reasons. First of all, the way that my interest has slowed, the way that the shine has slipped from it, the way that. thank God Jesus' light has shone brighter and brighter and brighter, and the adrenaline and the joy that Wycombe scoring has given me...well, sunday morning is better. The way the Holy Spirit smacked me in the stomach on the way home, that was better! Being a Christian...that is better. This seasons been hard, especially with Mark dying...after which i would probably happily have not watched a game of football for a long time. A long time. Seeing half a team kick off a game in tears is something that will continue to live with me for a long time. Anyway. Its just. All a bit dull. Nothing, nothing is as good as knowing Christ. He really is the all surpassing gain. He really really is.

Second. Football is eating itself, at least at the top level. Where Wycombe play is at least far enough away from all the tedious nonsense that goes with football at the highest level. I love playing football, i love messing around on the astro with my mates, i love pretending that i can play like Zidane (hey, maybe after tonight i can eh?), but there is just something so so so mcuh better. And football makes it so easy to be blind to that...to Him.

I remember thinking shortly after i got saved, that God probably didn't care how many away games i went to. That he wasn't really bothered if i skipped school to go to Crewe on a tuesday night in March, and that now i had something better to do. This only vaguely troubled me at the time. I used to try and work out how i could have a decent future in the Lord, and yet still see every Wycombe game...this shames me, and i thnk God for setting me free from this. And now, as i leave for Guidlford, i have niether the time, nor the money, nor, i think the inclination to go and see them every week. And this is good. I hate what watching football does to me. I hate the passion and the partizanship it induces in me. I hate it, and it must die. It must die.

It must die, because Christ came to kill it. Not that Christ wants me to become a automaton, He wants me to love Him, and be all He's made me to be, and to worship Him in all i do. Do i worship Him when i watch football. I try. Trust me i try. But too often i'm consumed with hoping that Kevin Betsy can dance past his marker, and land the ball perfectly on Tommy Mooney's head, and he can go running into the Valley End, arms aloft.

I used to think that if i could score a goal for Wycombe, and run, arms aloft into the Valley End, i could leave all things behind. That i could get on with my life. Then i met Jesus. And i must go. I want to go. He tells me to go. So i need to go. Whether its Guildford, or Paris, or Reading or wherever. And this is exciting. Much more exciting that becoming a terrace lizard.

'Look Lord, see my season tickets...'