When I was a student, I was forced to be a Derby County FC supporter. It happened like this: I ran out of clean t-shirts, and my roommate, a perpetually disappointed Derby supporter, lent me a team shirt to wear while my washing was on. I watched a match with him in the common room. And Derby won, for the first time in several weeks.
Thereafter he forced me to put on the shirt whenever there was a Derby match. I had to watch on TV, listen on the radio or sit through live Ceefax updates. I was required to display enthusiasm and interest, have a favourite player, and know the name of the manager and all the many and ever-changing reasons he was a moron.
