The Purist

You don't really support a team: you support the beautiful game. To you, football is above all an art, a spectacle capable of reaching heights of elegance, and it's that beauty you come looking for every weekend, whatever shirt is on the pitch.

A silky first touch, a pass slipped between the lines, a dribble that defies logic, an inspired backheel: that's what lifts you out of your seat, often to applaud a player from the opposing team. The result matters less to you than the manner; you'd take a defeat full of flair over a laboured win.

Your neutrality is a form of open-mindedness. Freed from tribalism, you can appreciate every style, every nation, every talent. You remember the iconic moments more than the scores, and you talk about football the way others talk about painting or music — with relish and a genuine sense of refinement.

Your challenge is accepting that football isn't always beautiful. It's also made of closed games, tension, wins dragged out of the mud — and that rugged side has a grandeur of its own. By attaching yourself a little more to one side, you might discover another emotion: trembling for your own, not just admiring from afar. But your pure love of the great moment remains a gift: you remind everyone why we fell in love with this sport in the first place.