My intense hatred of all things rag is part of my DNA. It cannot be altered in any way because despising those bastards is a part of me, like my favourite foods, favourite beer (all of 'em), favourite tv programmes, etc.
Hating the dippers is a relatively new experience for me because they are only a transient irritation, been in the footballing wilderness for so long most people outside of their cultish bubble viewed them as an irrelevance: a team that had their day many many years ago and were no longer among England's elite. And I dare say once they go back to being mid-table mediocrity again I won't be giving them a second thought.
But it's a different case with those other plastic çunts who also play in red. My intense dislike and animosity towards that club and its followers was as strong and as vibrant a part of me long before the umbilical cord was severed.
I expect the midwife even said to my mum: "Congratulations Mrs KentBlue, you have given birth to one of the most blinkered, bigoted, prejudiced rag-haters this side of the equator has ever seen. Well done. He's going to grow up infested with dogmatic hatred for any and all things rag."
And my mum would have smiled down at me proudly and said: "That's my boy!"