Agony Aunt: “HELP! My husband is a football hooligan!”

A football crowd at a match one beautiful evening
“What a lovely evening. Let’s kill the rival fans for no reason!”

In England, we have this thing called football (“soccer” to North America). Believe it or not, but it’s a way of life for many geezers here.

Some of whom love to get their knuckles out and indulge in a spot of sporting anarchy. And for their poor, beleagured wives it can be a tad annoying.


Hello. My husband, Fred, is a nice man. At 55 he's been contributing to society by paying his taxes on time and working as a shelf stacker at the local supermarket. He has 35 years' experience stacking shelves and there's none better than him. 

He's also fathered four strapping sons who he loves. And he only ever thrashed them mercilessly with his belt on four times (each) when they was younger. What other father can claim such a record? Not many!

But my husband also loves his footie. And he's a football hooligan. Him and his mates love nothing more than a few pints before the match, a pasty or pie, the game and then after they go on a drunken rampage smashing stuff and people up.

Why, just this weekend Fred was telling me about how he'd grabbed a West Ham Utd. fan's head and smashed it through a parked car's windscreen. Then he "grabbed this ugly fat bloke" and "piledrived him into the kerb!" And he was roaring with laughter telling me that, then belched really loudly and scratched his backside. 

Now I love my husband, me. But Fred is an "ugly fat bloke" with a big beer belly bigger than Bolton Town Hall. 

He's getting arrested a lot and also got his nose smashed in last week when he fell over after, "chasing some scared shitless lefty snowflake Arsenal fans down road." He tripped when drunk and smacked head first into the concrete floor. 

It were a good ten minutes before an ambulance turned up to cart him off to hospital and he need 37 stiches. He calls it his "war wound" and he's "dead proud" of it. His mates visited in the hospital, they got drunk and his mates were kicked out for bellowing "the referee's a wanker!" at the top of their lungs.

Fred said to me it's proof that "libtards" and "PC" society is ruining the world. And I agree with him on that, he's a very clever man, my Fred. 

But I can't say I like him going around beating people up. He's 56 soon, how can I get him to stop this? Ta, Freda

Hi, Freda. For some men, tribal instincts take over and it’s difficult for them to not exert their masculinity (such as giant beer bellies) by beating other men up.

That and bellowing stuff at the top of their lungs. Such as, “You Preston FC supporters are a bunch of bastards!” etc.

You see, in the name of petty differences, supporting one team or another ensures healthy competition. The world can’t function without that.

Especially as being polite and considerate towards other supporters would mean you don’t get to beat them to death. It’s important to uphold such noble traditions.

Football Hologramism

Whilst we were tempted to say you should hobble your husband (i.e. whack his ankles with a sledgehammer like in that film Misery—problem solved), we then thought of something better.

And, no, that’s not to whack him around the head with a baseball bat. Responding to Fred’s violence with further violence is to lower yourself to his barbaric standards.

Thusly, you must remove his brain from his skull. After which you can keep his brain in a jar.

After this, you can purchase a £10,000 Sony VPL-VW570ES hologram projector. This means he’ll still be able to attend his precious football matches.

It’s just he’ll be in hologram form. And that means he can’t physically beat anyone up, as he’s merely a projection of light.

Of course, he can still throw punches and whatnot. But he’ll not do anyone any harm. We’ve dubbed this “football hologramism” and we think it’s the cure for football hooliganism.

Hope this helps. Oh, and if you can’t afford the £10,000 Sony device then, before your husband is incapacitated, get him to rob a shop where there is one so you’ve got it ready for his brain transplant. All the best, Freda!


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