These words from the sometime reclusive and oft eclectic Jim and William Reid in their incarnation as The Jesus and Mary Chain.
Sometimes being a sports fan stops being a fun thing to do and plunges you headlong into one of Dante's circles of hell. Mostly, I'm glad to say, this is because your favoured team has endured a pig of a match, lost heavily. You curse and blind, swearing that the referee was an idiot. Sometimes you get a whole weekend where in every single sport you follow, your teams lose the plot.
Sadly, there are occasions when tears of frustration at the loss of a game turn to real tears of grief at the loss of a life.
In the sports I follow, this has happened too many times in my life for it to be fun. I probably have as many dead sporting heroes as living ones, and not all have died in pursuit of their sporting ambition. Some have fallen foul of the grim reaper because their love of the thrill and the chasing of adrenaline, has taken them into non-sporting but still dangerous activities. Some have been the victims of the vagaries of the weather, pure bad luck, or just the hand of fate.
When I was very young I remember the shock felt by the nation at the death of Graham Hill in an aeroplane crash. Others died with him, but Hill is the one always referenced in that accident. Years on and I, through the television coverage witnessed the death of Ayrton Senna: my own Formula One hero. In between these 2 terrible events, countless motor-racing aces had lost their lives. It never stopped me watching and enjoying the sport, and mostly, I didn't consider the risk to life and limb these men took. Then I began following motor-cycle racing in a big way. Here the risks were far higher. Every week, in whatever series you followed, there were horrendous crashes, men carried off on stretchers with broken, twisted limbs. Yet, across all levels, many of these competitors would be back a week later, riding. No matter that they had busted legs, hands, collar-bones. They would still get on their bikes and ride, and ride to win.
One of the great heroes was Steve Hislop. A rider for whom the words man-of-steel could have been coined. I followed his career with awe and fascination. He did what no current track rider can even dream of. He ruled the TT races on the Isle of Man and he ruled the world of British Superbikes. After suffering a poor season start in 2003, defending his '02 title, he was turning it around. We all knew that he had the talent and the hunger to triumph again. But fate had another card to play, and in an accident eerily similar to that which took Graham Hill, in the skies above Hawick, with poor visibility, something happened and his helicopter crashed. Hizzie died and everyone who had ever sat on a bike or watched bike racing mourned.