I’ve been hooked on football since I was five. But when my obsession spiralled out of control with a 24/7 stream of podcasts, matches and WhatsApp chatter, something had to change. Could I leave it all behind?
What would you do with 25 hours of your life back, every single week? I wondered this after England lost in the men’s World Cup quarter-final in December last year. Through the fug of a festive hangover, memories of the previous evening flooded back: namely me, crying in the middle of a Christmas party, after Harry Kane skied an 84th-minute penalty against France.
Prior to this game, my football consumption had been spiralling out of control. Whether I was watching a match, reading about it, listening to podcasts, tinkering with my fantasy league team or endlessly WhatsApp chatting, some fag-packet maths revealed I spent roughly 25 hours a week preoccupied by football.
