After what has seemed like an eternity, with no World Cup or Euro’s to numb the pain, the football season is finally upon us once again. Having survived purely on frenzied transfer speculation and meaningless pre-season friendlies or competitions such as The Emirates Cup or the Hong Kong challenge or whatever the fuck it was called, the real business is thankfully about to commence.

The past two months will have seen fans from all over the country indulge in, depending on the team they support, either outrageously unrealistic expectations or depressingly pessimistic predictions of imminent and embarrassing failure. Indeed, many fans, myself included, will have fluctuated wildly between the two emotions as that star signing who was single-handedly going to transform the teams fortune fell through at the last minute or as defeat against some obscure pre-season opponent shatters the dreams of championships that had seemed so rational only that morning.

This roller coaster of anticipation is what makes pre-season both so exciting and so frustrating, at least when the season starts we quite quickly get a realistic idea of our teams potential. We know where we stand and are relieved from the purgatory of falling prey to the football fans epidemic that is false hope.  While the initial realisation, for most fans, that this season in all reality is not going to live up to pre-season expectations prompts an initial self-loathing for being such a mug to never learn our lesson, this promptly gives way to a satisfying realisation that this is part of being a football fan.

This pre-season must have been particularly trying for a few sets of supporters. Firstly, I feel we should all spare a thought for out long suffering brummie villainous companions. Only the most battle weary and cynical Holte ender must have been able to keep a rationale perspective, the other poor bastards must surely have naively allowed themselves to envisage Marty, backed by Randy’s millions, using his Gaelic charm to persuade Ronaldihno or Kaka to come and be part of a revolution to bring the glory days back to Britain’s second city. Alas, it didn’t quite pan out that way but at least they had the sizeable consolation of signing Homer Simpson AKA Marlon Harewood. With a poor mans Emile Heskey as their star signing surely even villa fans with a penchant for rose-tinted spectacles and eternal optimism must be wallowing in self-pity due to the affliction of being a football fan.

On a similar note, as a Liverpool fan, even I felt a little sympathy for the bluenoses this summer as the clubs own website, indulging in some sick act of masochism, started peddling rumours that the signing of Juan Roman Riquelme was imminent.  Given Carlos Tevez and Javier Mascherano’s ridiculous arrivals at Upton park on the first weekend of last season the bluenoses could be forgiven for thinking that the first truly world class player since Beardsley was about to grace the Goodison turf. (Just to pre-empt any angry postings, I know you love Andy Johnson and I know he scored in the Derby but unfortunately he isn’t world class). Anyway, surprisingly enough the rumours were complete bollocks and the Gwladys Street End faithful will have to spend another season watching lee Carsley and Phill Neville labour to make a forward pass, and will once again be dependent for flair on the fleeting moments of true class shown by McFadden of Arteta.

The final set of supporters who I feel have had to endure a somewhat traumatic summer are perennial strugglers The Mackems. After their humiliating relegation two seasons ago, where they managed to break their own record for the lowest premiership points total after spending a paltry 4.5 million on strengthening a what was clearly a championship team, the summer brought respite as Sunderland legend Big Quinny and his consortium of fellow leprechauns took over the club. However, the nadir was still to be reached as they lost their first five games, were rooted to the bottom of the championship and seemed to be in freefall. Then in came their saviour Mr Keane. In what was true Roy (excuse the pun) of the rovers stuff Keane, displaying a calm charisma unbelievably at odds with his on field persona, totally revamped the side with astute transfer wheeling and dealing and clearly-apparent man management skills, led Sunderland on a remarkable run which culminated with a 5-0 rout at Luton and the championship on the last day of the season. Understandably, the black cats allowed themselves to become convinced that Keane was the heir to his mentors Cloughie and Fergie.

However, a summer of seriously questionable transfer activity must have tempered the unparalleled optimism on Wear-side. As an admittedly biased Geordie mate pointed out, The Toon paid fractionally more for Geremi, Viduka, Barton, and Cacapa than Sunderland did for either Richardson or Chopra. Thus, if Sunderland struggle with the daunting early fixtures and key big money signings fail to settle quickly the passionate love-in between Keane and his followers could become strained quickly.

Having said that keane obviously saw something in Richardson in training that we haven’t and Chopra will probably score a hat-trick against spurs on Saturday and prove I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m on about. Either way roll on the new season so all this pointless anticipation and predicting can give way to action cause who really knows how things are going to work out? There are so many factors at play aside from whose has the best team, such as how the players will gel, how they deal with setbacks of unexpected or embarrassingly heavy defeats etc. And we will only really be able to attempt to answer these questions once the season is a few weeks old.

Indeed, even if my annual renewal of optimism that Liverpool will mount a challenge that last beyond august is dented by defeat at Villa Park I for one will still be glad that the purgatory of pre-season is over. My weekend will once again be dominated by football and any plans will once again be subject to the arbitrary machinations sky sports and now Setanta’s programming. I will once again be subject to the awkward situations and patronisingly sympathetic glances of friends and family as another birthday, Christmas or wedding is disrupted because of my pathological need to watch even the most obscure match (recently a pre-season friendly caused a little embarrassment…you just can’t explain how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing the new signings to somebody who is never going to understand, even rationalising it in ones own head it becomes apparent that it’s slightly strange behaviour). I will also have to put up with being viewed with suspicion in public as some sort of weirdo tourettes sufferer as I listen to matches on the radio. However, all this suffering will be worth it as weekends, aside from the barren wastelands of international weeks, taken on a greater significance, aside from getting hammered and the invariably futile attempt to pull birds. I have matured enough that a Liverpool loss does not precipitate a deep and dark depression, like it once did, so even the weekends when Liverpool lose are worth it for those when they win a tricky away fixture and I can head out on a night out with an extra spring in my step.

And then there was: Chelsea, losing in the Charity Shield and feeling the pressure from the off, Arsenal and how will they cope without Henry? Whether or not Van Persie is the new Bergkamp? Spurs? West Ham and all that Jazz….Mines a Kronenbourg mate!