Confessions of a soccer widow and a cry for males to play fair

Today officially marks the start of the British soccer season - last weekend's Charity Shield apparently doesn't really count - a cause for joyful celebration among men everywhere.

It will, no doubt, also be the cause of much strain on many marriages and relationships between now and next May, when the season draws to a close. That's about three weeks before the next soccer-fest, the 2002 World Cup, kicks off in Japan.

Women all over Britain and Ireland will today slink off into hand-wringing soccer widowhood (let's face it, soccer widowers are a rare phenomenon) as their husbands, boyfriends, fathers, brothers and sons settle in for the long haul in front of Sky Sports with a six-pack and a middle-distance stare.

Better get used to hearing incomprehensible guff about the Premiership, the FA Cup, the Champions League, all of them different competitions which will clock up hundreds of televised matches between them before the season is out.

The reason soccer widows should be most upset, however, is not because of the sheer number of matches - all carved up by the various channels in a series of complex deals - but because they are almost certainly paying half the inflated fee demanded by Sky Sports for the privilege of having all-season-long soccer beamed into their homes.

In another complex deal thrashed out prior to any exchange of wedding vows, my husband agreed to take on the Sky bill. For the "bargain" price of £32 a month, the Rupert Murdoch-owned channel provides us with all the Sky Sports channels and kindly throws in most of the movie channels for good measure.

However, for an additional £75 this season, Sky will supply customers with a gold "season ticket" which allows them view 40 extra Premiership matches, 40 more than the 66 they'll already have access to. (Thanks a lot, Rupert.)

Men's soccer obsessions can throw normal life into the most unbelievable disruption.

Take the case of Leeds man Keith Boseley-Yemm, recently the subject of a Channel 4 documentary in the Can You Live Without..? series. The Leeds fan was so absorbed by his passion for the game that he watched 36 hours of soccer on satellite every week.

In fairness, he had broken his neck twice and was no longer able to work. For the purposes of this rather sado-masochistic documentary series, his television, radio and access to football fan friends were all withdrawn. The man was climbing the walls by the end of the week. Mr Boseley Yemm has gone on to become something of a local hero in Leeds.

Still, when I sat down and thought about it, some of my own bloke's Leeds obsessions made me worry.

Wasn't there a hint of something scary when, again long before any wedding vows were exchanged, I spotted his three inch high plastic model of Lucas Radebe in his bathroom?

Even then, I just thought the blue and yellow curtains and tastefully matched couch in his flat were simply a sign of good feng shui. Or was there some clue in the fact that he had, for reasons he still insists were perfectly logical at the time, his phone number listed under the name of a Leeds striker? We truly are mistresses of our own misfortune - I ploughed ahead and married him anyway.

Today, "we" are in proud possession of three Leeds jerseys (one signed), four scarves, a Leeds screen saver and computer wallpaper, a musical Leeds mug, a mobile phone which plays the Leeds United theme tune and one pair of Leeds United pyjamas. A Leeds duvet cover on the marital bed was ruled offside.

But believe me, things didn't even start to get scary until he arrived home about two weeks ago wielding a season ticket which will let him witness Leeds' bid for glory this season firsthand at the team's Elland Road grounds.

So, how will I be marking today's Premiership match between Leeds and Southampton? After I've dropped himself to the airport, I'll come home and crack open a bottle of wine.

Then I'll turn over to see something worth watching on one of the movie channels. After all, my husband should get his money's worth out of Rupert Murdoch.