Fordyce Maxwell: 'I see myself more as a masochist who tries to support his local team'

TOUGH choice, eh? Watch Inter Milan v Liverpool on television with all home comforts or pay £10 to watch Berwick Rangers v Cowdenbeath from a windswept open stand on a wet night? Truly a no-brainer – which is why I found myself at the Berwick game on Tuesday night when after last Sunday's marathon viewing I should have had a big enough football fix to last a month. Or forever.

That was a day when for various reasons, including stupidity, I watched two sessions of edited highlights, early morning and late night, and two live televised matches. Yes, it was a Sunday and, yes, I slotted in three hours of gardening, but I'm thinking of suing the BBC for feeding my habit.

Even for those interested in football – 95% of the population according to the BBC, nearer 10% according to friends and relatives – one of Sunday's games was moderate, the other pathetic.

That's why in spite of wall to wall televising and the multi-million-pound salaries, publicity and glamour at the top end of football, hardy knots of supporters still turn up to watch their teams thresh about in the lower leagues.

As noted before, basic mathematics are against us. In a league of 20, the odds against success are 19 to 1. Even in the ludicrous 10-team Scottish lower leagues, the odds are nine to one. Even the "magic of the cup" is short-lived for almost all.

I don't count myself as a diehard supporter compared with friends who have missed only a handful of home games in the past 50 years, or the even hardier few who never miss a game home or away.

That's diehard. As one said when his Open University course brought a unit on Greek tragedy: "There's nothing they can teach me about that – I've been a Berwick supporter all my life."

I see myself more as a masochist who tries to support his local team through good and – mainly – bad when I can, and while counting the crowd on Tuesday night I reflected that the Greeks also knew what they were talking about when they used the word hubris.

Or, as we might say, pride before a fall. Could it be less than a year since a crowd of more than 2,000 celebrated here as Berwick won the Third Division? And since I wrote "Hard luck misguided supporters of East Fife, Arbroath, Queen's Park and the other also-rans"? Indeed it could. Now bottom of the Second Division, and certain to stay there, barely 200 watched the Dream Team take on the Blue Brazil on Tuesday night.

Would you believe we got (copyright various) a nine-goal thriller. We were put through that emotional wringer familiar to every supporter as feelings ranged from disbelief to hysteria and, finally, depression.

Bear with me briefly: one down after 15 seconds, two down after four minutes, 3-2 down at half time, ahead 4-3, 4-4 with seconds to go, losing 5-4 to almost the last kick of the game.

We walked into the night discussing fate, the meaning of life and a defence that would struggle against an Under-11 select. I know it's no pastime for a grown man. But until a cure is found I'm stuck with it.