The Misery of the International Break: A Brief Goodbye To The Premier League

With three games of the new season now gone, several compelling narratives are starting to take shape. There's the three-pronged assault on the top of the table from the two Manchester clubs and a revitalised Chelsea. There's the struggle of established sides like Stoke, Crystal Palace and Southampton. There's the eternal angst fest that is life under Arsene Wenger and, in the shape of Everton, Hull and Middlesbrough, a chasing pack of early overachievers who are defying the odds (and, in Hull's case, all human logic). Off the pitch, there has been almost a billion pounds spent in the transfer market, and some huge names have arrived on these shores. Pep Guardiola, Antonio Conte, Paul Pogba, Zlatan Ibrahimovic; these are the formidable new protagonists in the never-ending tale of the Premier League.

Unfortunately, we don't get to see them again for a couple of weeks, because of the god-awful interlude of near-total tedium otherwise known as the international break.

Of all the many disappointments in this life, the international break is surely the worst of them. Having just got into the swing of domestic football, we suspend it for an interminably long fortnight and watch England labour their way to a 1-0 World Cup qualifying win over Slovakia instead. While international matches can be some of the most exciting fixtures in football, that only really applies to major tournaments. Watching qualifying matches is like watching someone filling out their VAT registration. It's admin, basically. It's bureaucracy. It's the hoop the England team has to jump through so they can go to the World Cup and almost inevitably disappoint us.

With the international break now staring us square in the face, the country is bound to find itself in an existential slump. Gone is the endless bounty of the Premier League, and in its place stands a barren desert across which we, the nation's football fans, must now wander. In that sense, the international break can be seen as a metaphor for human struggle, and the intense personal suffering of all mankind. In a world full of slog, grind and endless drudgery, we must grit our teeth and soldier on. In an existence dogged by misery, toil and profound unfulfillment, we must resign ourselves to the dispiriting reality of watching the Slovakian national team instead of, say, Manchester United.