This is one of those random books I pick up in order to try reading new things and all that. I did not expect to be as riveted as I was. I don't read many sports books, and I have less than no interest in soccer, so you understand I wasn't going into this with high hopes, but it was fascinating. Buford wanted to learn about the phenomenon of English soccer thugs, the fans that use sport as an excuse for violence, theft, and general mayhem (including, at one point, actual cannibalism - that story about the eye? Disgusting). All the people profiled in this are pretty wretched, actually, but the interesting thing is how years spent in their company begins to alter the author himself. There's a lot here about the psychology of crowds, of how being part of a mob encourages people to act in ways they may not normally, and Buford describes how he too gets caught up in the emotion of the riots, although admittedly he has the self-control to mostly keep hold of himself and act more as observer than participant.

I have to say, as the reporting of these dismal losers goes on and on, I feel even less interest in soccer than before... but I did feel a sustained interest in why these vicious, awful people weren't just plain shot. By the end, when they were rioting in Sardinia, I was actively hoping for them to be mown down by the Italian army. Which is tribalism of another kind, I realise - the desire to inflict suffering on deserving targets - and believe me, I see the parallels. Which is not exactly comfortable reading, but then it shouldn't be.