I HAVE to admit, I'm not a great lover of football.

Well, to be honest, I really can't stand it. My brother loves it, and on a Saturday, not only does he watch it, he plays it.

So when the Horsham v Swansea City match was announced for last Friday, I didn't think too much of it. I had other plans.

However, on Friday it rained, and I had little choice but to stay in and watch what I was recording for my parents and brother – the match.

At first I watched it with something akin to mild indifference.

The only point of interest to me was seeing my brother and mother on TV. That happened fairly early on into the game, but by then I was hooked.

I watched agog as Swansea scored a magnificent goal in the first half, and from then on, every chance Horsham had to put away a goal, I turned into a raving lunatic.

I would wave my hands wildly in the air, and glare at the Swansea defence as if my wrath would somehow seep through the television set and make them quiver in their very expensive football boots.

I had almost given up hope when Lee Farrell (from then on my favourite player of all time) was fouled, leading to Lewis Taylor scoring.

By this time, I was jumping up and down and probably upsetting the neighbours.

It was this that made me sit down and think. Few things in life have led me to acting like a lunatic, and I had never expected football to be one of them.

It was the sense of community spirit, I decided, as I heard the echoes of muffled shouts of joy down my street, that had spurred me, and probably many other reluctant Horsham supporters, to join the 'Lardy Army' in their support for our local side.

In retrospect, I remember the Sky Sports commentator mentioning that Horsham doesn't have much going for it. He was wrong, we have the loudest and proudest football community in West Sussex.