@Potter Log: Fair enough. It is a luxury I never have. VAR has never given me anything. Even if teams I hate suffer, I just think „why not fiddle them in the tried and trusted old-style way?“
We were in the Prem in its first season. The Lundstram goal at Spurs introduced and pretty much finished the concept for me.
VAR killed that goal after what felt like 10 minutes. It also killed Baldock‘s equalizer ten minutes later. Neither Baldock nor our fans celebrated much. He was visibly angry still about the earlier call and despite scoring (obviously Angry George was angry rather charmingly a lot…).


It kills so much joy in a constant stream of shite. I call it the belated revenge of the unsporty kids who hated football in school but who still somehow held a grudge against all the sexy boys who played the beautiful game.
After thirty years of pent up hate, they found a way in where their kind have the last laugh. Let’s wreck their fun with rulers, lines, picture frame repeat rates and word salad rules that can justify free-styling interpretation but we call it clear and obvious or factual black and white. They will take years to twig that everything in life is black and white if black is interchangeably white. And they weren’t too bright, anyway, those togger lads…

Since Spurs, I have never celebrated a Prem goal without a hint of fear. Even thirty yarders aren’t safe. Hell, even an Olimpico might be ruled off for some remote block on the penalty spot…
On Saturday I celebrate the 2-0 with my Championship mindset. I am really disappointed with myself. Really disappointed.
99% of this post is happily tongue in cheek. 100% of my non-football life is happily tongue in cheek.
But my disappointment with myself for (1) not mentally preparing for VAR and (2) not treating the goal with the horrible Prem mindset is genuine and no joke. I care too much, and should have prepared better. I invited excess hurt that as a modern fan you cannot avoid if you allow yourself your childlike Championship mindset.
Celebrating like that now feels like leaving my I-phone in a Venetian pizzeria when going to the loo. Better take no chances. I know I shouldn’t victim blame myself, but I could have known better. Maybe following United is the proverbial provocative skirt that is a few inches too short?
And to ever feel like that is WRONG. Plain wrong. In all other walks of life this feeling is weeded out as gaslighting or grooming or manipulation. But we accept VAR which is the footballing equivalent of gaslighting (or worse).
Before Saturday, I thought my chill ways would allow me to rationalize VAR the English way with humour if ever United are subjected to it again. Now I know better. I hate it as a system now. Forever. It’s once too often.
And I know for a fact that I am correct. It won’t stop. It will keep destroying magic moments. Ours and those of others. Including one-off life-changing ones.
And it will never ever create a single moment where the world will say “magic VAR. Beautiful!! How did football ever thrive before you.”
If you gave me a deal now: two successive relegations, five years League 2 and back in the Prem by 2035 - provided that there is no VAR outside of goal lines by then - I’d sign it. For myself, my team, the game I love.
I’d take that hit knowing that I take one for humanity. Even if humanity includes Liverpool FC, Leeds, Piggy Bastards and a great number of other shit clubs who the deal gives 10 undeserved comparatively more successful years to.
