How I Fell in Love with the Beautiful Game

From Curious Observer to Devoted Fan: My Football Journey

There was a time in my life—a simpler time—when I did not watch this sport. I could name exactly four football players: Leo Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo, David Beckham, and Shakira’s husband. So I guess it was really three and a half players.

But when my now-husband and I moved in together, something started happening. I slowly began absorbing the game until one day I woke up and asked him to teach me everything he knew.

It started slowly. At first, I simply enjoyed when he watched games because of the background noise. I found it far more soothing than the intense shouting matches between commentators in American sports. Something about the calm, conversational-style commentary, mixed with the jeering, whistling, and chanting of European football, called to me as I sat beside him—often just scrolling on my phone or reading a book.

Occasionally, he would make me stop what I was doing to watch something insane Messi had done. A pass that, admittedly, I did not understand at the time. Or him dribbling up half the field and finishing with a fantastic goal that left everyone stunned. I understood, conceptually, that these moments were special, but I didn’t really get it until a few years later, when I actually started watching the sport.

Other times, he would go on for what felt like an eternity about Arsenal—his, now our, favorite club. His boyhood club, which at the time was suffering, deep in despair compared to its golden days. Despite not fully understanding what he was saying, I instinctively knew that this sport—and this club in particular—meant more to him than most other things. And simply because of that, I welcomed his passion and obsession.

On our first trip together in 2017, as a young, unmarried couple, we went to London. We planned the entire trip around an Arsenal match. I will never forget the look on his face the first time he saw the Emirates Stadium, or the look on his face surrounded by his people, chanting and singing. The joy he felt watching his team beat Manchester United 2–0.

On my part, I was stunned. It was culture shock in the best possible way. I had known from a young age that football was the sport of the people—the world’s sport. But it wasn’t until that moment, standing in the North Bank at the Emirates Stadium for the first time, that I truly understood what that meant. It’s a feeling I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully describe. Whatever respect I already had for the game quadrupled.

From that moment on, my interest in the sport was there—albeit passively. As a twenty-something, I had other priorities and other interests. I was never really “into sports” growing up, and I didn’t expect that to change.

But passive interest turned into curiosity. Instead of declining when he asked if I wanted to join him and his friends at the bar for a Champions League final, I said yes. Instead of tuning him out when he told me Arsenal were playing that day, I found myself at work checking Arsenal scores.

There were still some funny moments. He’d say to me, “Babe, I’m depressed. No Prem for two weeks.”

Then a couple of days later, he’d be watching a match and I’d say, “I thought you said no games for two weeks?”

“No Premier League for two weeks. This is a Euro qualifier,” he’d reply.

I’d walk away baffled by the sheer number of matches and competitions, unsure how he managed to keep track of everything.

Then the pandemic hit.

I was laid off. He was briefly laid off. Football was suspended, too—briefly. But when it resumed, I was finally, for the first time in our relationship, at home with him every single day instead of at work, out with friends, or dragging him to something.

This is when everything started to change. I began to really pay attention because, frankly, hobbies were limited. What I realized was that I had been absorbing this sport for years without knowing it—especially Arsenal.

So I started watching. Really watching. I remember saying one day, “Holy crap, this is insane. What these players do with their feet, the amount of running—it’s actually insane. Do people realize how intense this sport is?” He just laughed. From that day on, I was hooked. It felt like a switch had flipped, and suddenly I wanted more.

The next morning, I told him, “Teach me everything you know. I want all your knowledge.”

He took me on an educational journey that lasted about a year—though, to be fair, I don’t think it’s actually possible to learn everything he knows, since he’s a living encyclopedia of this sport. Even he will admit, though, that I learned an extraordinary amount for someone who didn’t grow up watching.

What surprised me most was discovering how cultural, social, and political this sport is. I began reading everything I could and watching as many documentaries as possible, and not just about the Premier League.

What started as a way to pass the time during a strange, quiet period of life became something much bigger. Football stopped being just a game playing in the background of my living room and became a lens through which I understood history, identity, class, immigration, power, joy, heartbreak, community—and, of course, glory. It gave me context for cities I had never been to, rivalries I once thought were silly, and emotions that felt outsized until I realized they were shared by millions across the world.

I also realized something else: this sport holds space for many kinds of fans. Those who grew up with it playing on the television every weekend. Those who learned it in stadiums, in bars, in living rooms—passed down like tradition. And those, like me, who found their way to it later through curiosity, proximity, and eventually obsession.

This blog is for all of us.

It’s for the lifelong supporters who instinctively understand what this game means, and for the newcomers still learning the language. For the people who care as much about culture, politics, and history as they do about tactics, transfers, and tables. For anyone who knows that football is never just about what happens on the pitch.

I’m not here to claim expertise or authority. I’m here to explore, to question, and to tell stories—sometimes from the perspective of someone still learning, sometimes alongside those who have always known.

This is my love letter to the game—and an open invitation to anyone who already loves it, or is just beginning to.