Friday nights were made for certain things. Celebratory drinks to commemorate the end of a hard week’s graft, Big Brother eviction nights, Children in Need… but live football isn’t one of them.

It’s 2.22pm on a Friday afternoon and instead of looking forward to imbibing some well-earned nectar I’m about to get into my car and head to Tranmere Rovers’ Prenton Park to watch my beloved Swindon Town. This, as you can imagine, is not ideal.

Had this game been played at 3.00pm on a Saturday, when it’s supposed to, my journey would have been infinitely more enjoyable. Listening to all the latest team news plus beeping the horn at fans heading to other clubs on the motorway is infinitely better than listening to Peter Tong’s Dance Anthems and getting caught in post-work traffic jams. I’m likely to get home at about 2am, too. Alone. And with no kebab.

It’s not enough that we have to pay increasing amounts for what is often sub-standard football. This idea needs to be given the same treatment as game 39, kicked into touch and never to be seen again.

By Nick Judd

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