From the moment I understood the game, I knew United were the one.
You find something that you can identify with, something that resonates in your chest every single time you watch them emerge from the tunnel and walk onto the pitch. Something that is capable of making your heart burst at the seams in an instant for two directly oppositional reasons. When you hear your home stadium erupt into life, when you can feel the atmosphere bringing you to the verge of tears, when your entire body is immersed in goosebumps, when the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention, you know, you just know.
I don’t know how a football club can take over every single emotion possible, but it happens week in, week out. I find myself anchored to this club, attached by my heart strings. It is agonisingly painful in defeat but euphorically beautiful in victory. To remain so staunchly proud of a team that has not rose to the occasion and has let you down. To still have an immense amount of adoration for all the times you have been left bitterly disappointed with a rival defeat. For all the times your team has took you to that cup final and lost on penalties. When they do lift that Premier League / Champions League / F.A Cup, when Van Der Sar does save that critical penalty, when they decimate the rivals, when Ole Gunnar Solskjaer steals that last minute goal to solidify that victory, the colossal amount of elation and exhilaration is absolutely boundless.
Football is the most beautiful, powerful, evocative and emotional thing I have ever loved. People who are worlds apart figuratively and literally, join forces and unite to celebrate their devotion for not only their club but their country. Brought together for that same passion, pride and love that you are so honoured to possess. Enriching every single life that it touches, there is simply nothing else like it in the world.