Ten reasons I love football:

My Dad: As a native Scot, my father embraced English football when he married an Englishwoman. He stood on the terraces of the Dell, the home of Southampton Football Club, at every home game for many years. When he watched (on TV) the Saints score the winning goal of the FA cup final 7 minutes before the final whistle, Daddy did two things – he sent Mother out of the room because she had a habit of standing in front of the screen at a crucial moment – and he spent the remaining minutes of the match with his head under a cushion – couldn’t bear to watch. So of course I love football.

The legends: From the flawed genius of Georgie Best to the magnificent Bobby Moore.

The quiet dignity of Sir Matt Busby, the surreal quotations of Eric Cantona, and the gentility of Sir Bobby Robson, football history is awash with remarkable characters.

Being part of a huge crowd, mostly wanting the same thing: The atmosphere among a 76,000 strong realm at Old Trafford celebrating as Manchester United score in the 4th minute of extra time is awesome. (I was there to witness the goal scored 36 seconds after kick off against Chelsea this afternoon - the stadium literally rocked)

The agony and the ecstasy: Like any team sport with a limited time frame for each match, the excitement can be breathtaking. Often the result is not guaranteed until that final whistle blows. Penalties?  If you are an England supporter – more agony than ecstasy.

The punditry: Both professional and amateur. Often banal, sometimes amusing, occasionally intelligent, watching the expert and not-so-expert talk football is always a good way to pass the time.

The male totty:  They may be few and far between, but there are some very fit (in the non sporty sense of the word!) footballers on the world stage. Whatever you may think of Christiano Ronaldo – I defy any woman not to admire his torso when he takes his shirt off at the end of a big match. (Even if you don’t like football – tune in for the last few minutes of a big match – the players swap shirts…)

David Beckham: No explanation needed.

A universal language: ‘We woz robbed’ ‘I’m gutted’ and ‘The referee’s a ……’ can be understood across the world.

It’s one of the certainties of life: Like death and taxes – football will always be with us (and a lot more fun than either)

It’s second only to singing for exercising your vocal chords: Screaming at your team, either in disgust or encouragement is so liberating. I tend not to use bad language as I don’t seem to be very good at it but I do have the dubious honour of being cautioned by the stewards at Stamford Bridge (Chelsea’s home ground) for ‘inciting riotous behaviour’

Riotous behaviour? Moi? Gutted……