Aidan Smith: 'I intend to watch the lot, every bloody game'

I HOPE THE rest of you didn't think last week's confusion over which team to support was evidence that I don't really give two hoots about Euro 2008. Unfortunately my wife did, and she's pinned the column to the kitchen wall as irrefutable proof that I won't be watching the tournament.

Women, they don't get it, do they? They claim we can't read the signals they send out, such as when they slightly part their lips, flick their hair and then do both simultaneously. They get frustrated when we can't see these as indicators for a) "I'm available", b) "I'm interested" and c) "When we're married, life will be different: that store for your Hibs programmes you call your 'study' will become my mother's bedroom for her regular visits". Well, why can't they understand that when a man gives off an air of uncertainty, even indifference, about a major international competition not involving his own nation it is just an act, a ruse and some pathetic attempt at self-denial over his junkie-ike
dependence on football? Why can't they understand that he intends to watch the lot, every bloody game, including even Greece vs Russia on June 14?

Admittedly, a few weeks ago, I lulled my wife into a false sense of security by not saying anything when the last Rangers blooter was greeted with her cry of relief: "Thank God that's football over for another season!" I didn't tell her that the Euros were coming up hard and fast and the lack of British involvement meant there was no hype so I could continue with the mild deceit.

Now she's saying: "But I thought you didn't like Greece. You always said they were 'Rangers without the flair'. Why would you want to watch them?" Answer: "Because they're in the tournament, it's a very important tournament, not as important as the World Cup, but highly strategic in that it cuts the four-year wait in half and, for one more crucial summer, stops men having to wear shorts, drink white wine alfresco and throw frisbees around with, er, gay abandon." My wife thinks I'm turning into Gordon Brown and subjecting her to the new 42-day detention laws aimed at terror suspects, although they're insufficiently defined so women who don't like football end up getting trapped as well. Of course, I've pointed out to her that Euro 2008 only lasts for 22 days, that there is no meaningless third-place play-off. Big Brother, on the other hand, is a tyranny lasting 93 days. For some people, the Guantanamo Bay orange jumpsuit may be the garb which is most emblematic of the desolation, if not the injustice, of captivity. For me, it's Davina McCall's little black dress. But do I complain at having to watch BB? Yes, but that's not the point.

I have not yet broken it to my wife that Euro 2008 is now officially part of my job. On the eve of the opening match, the Sports Ed asked: "Would you mind writing about it for the duration?" Would I mind? I'd only mind less if he'd requested a critical re-appraisal of the first three Roxy Music albums – 20,000 words on each. This is all the justification I need for watching not just the evening games but the tea-time ones as well.

Honestly, I don't know what the problem is. Women wish that men were more like them. Well, in this competition we're picking teams to support based on what constitutes a "nice strip" – that's pretty girlie. So's changing them like they're shoes or handbags.

My wife complains that I rarely get excited. My mother-in-law – who is indeed coming to stay; during quarter-final weekend, no less – often asks her: "Does Aidan ever do adjectives?" I come from non-qualifying Scotland, so not often. But I'm thrilled about Euro 2008. The biggest Sex And The City fan who'd waited four years for the movie couldn't be more delighted.