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The FIFA World Cup.

Dear Football, this is awkward. But things have to change. You aren’t giving me what I need, I don’t think you ever were. Take the other night, I’d had a bad day, I needed to unwind, to cheer up, but you failed me. My every deft touch was meant to flood my veins with happiness and a sense of achievement, not frustration and misery. Whether I am watching you or playing you I usually end up underwhelmed, those brief euphoric highs don’t cut it any longer. I need more.

Maybe it’s my fault. You were never meant to carry the weight that I place on you. Our relationship was never meant to be so deep, it was only meant to be shallow. Enjoyment and healthy competition was the purpose but I built you up. I placed you on the altar of my life and worshiped you. You were a gift and I made you a king. I know you weren’t the only one, there are many others, but you were the one I needed the other day. You had your big chance. You blew it.

So I’m going to have to demote you. I can’t give you that prime spot anymore, even if it is just once a week. I can’t put so much into you to be given so little in return. Who knows? This might even be good for us. We might learn to enjoy each other more when I don’t place so much importance on you. When I don’t rely on you to do so much. Football, it can’t go on. It’s time for a change…

Dear Jesus, I guess sorry is a good place to start…

(Matt 6:21: ‘For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’)