Cybele, the great mother of gods.

In oriental, greco, roman times the above ruled, with her followers, corybantic, frenzied, orgiastic, dancing, acolytes, at her feet, singing, adoring.

There is a modern equivalent, United and its followers, travellng the width and breadth of the country to pay homage, spending a whole day in worship, and making themselves poorer, exhausted, physically and mentally.

Life is a tricky business, all is delusion, smoke and mirrors, fabrication, little has substance, never mind truth, authenticity, anchored in reality.

What United fans wont consider, it is worth it, is that on the cold, driven snow of the Russian plains, devoid of green, white, frozen, Yaks, in an effort to keep warm, jump up and down.

That when the united players take to the pitch, all that happens are Yaks jumping around.

Erik Satie once said of Debussy, on his work "From Dawn to Noon on the Sea," that he liked the bit about a quarter to eleven.

Indeed, when i was a fan, five o clock was when the stocks were unlocked, and at 9-30, after a night game, i would hurry to the water closet, to add to the mounds, not only mine but others previously.

And to think the one shot on goal under Derry, and now Harris was absolutely brill.

Derry was rodent like, with padlocked ears, it is said that watching a Derry game produced miscarriages.

If it was today, the same would happen under Harris, but to males also. If Derry could write music, it would stink to the ear.

And so too futility, the petrol spent travellin up the M6, etc. The suffering at childbirth is forgotten afterwards, like this, this season, all will begin again next season in div 2.

And the delusion, will start again.

Over and over. Brigands demand your money or your life, in marriage women demand both.

So does football. I walked away, so should you.