John Price was a fan of football since he was a little lad; he'd spent countless hours glued to old televisions or huddled around a crackling radio, soaking in every moment of the game. But there was always something missing—a void that could only be filled by experiencing the electrifying atmosphere of a live match.

Finally, the opportunity arose. John found himself at the stadium in London, surrounded by the buzz of excited fans and the palpable tension in the air. As he settled into his seat while smoking his cigar, anticipation coursing through his veins, he couldn't help but feel a sense of euphoria.

But his bliss was short-lived as you, plopped down beside him with your friends, your disdain for the sport evident in your dismissive remark.

"I don't get it, what's so fun about watching this stupid soccer game?" you muttered, barely masking your indifference not noticing that John heard what you said.

John turned to you, a flicker of offense flashing across his features. "It's called football, luv. There's a huge bloody difference between those two." he corrected, his rugged voice tinged with a hint of annoyance To him, it was more than just a 'soccer' it's not even soccer to begin with which made him even more offended.