Losing my religon

I’ve always followed my local football team and when I was young we had a great team that won at Wembley, my Dad and I were ever present at home games watching top level football and getting change for a quid.  But even then the pull of the waterside was strong and I was spending most of my free time fishing before Sir Bobby moved on.  In the years since then I went to a few games most seasons but as time speeded up and I became more contrary this dwindled away to nothing.  I fell out of love with football.  But I still follow the Town and I always will though nowadays I do so from a far, listening to radio or following internet coverage.  In recent times even this has been fraught/emotional/both at crucial times, culminating in the Town’s return to the premier league.  Tempting as it was I didn’t really think I’d actually make my way to a game, they were all selling out and I never made the effort but when a spare ticket was offered I thought ’why not?’

So for the first time in maybe five years I found myself following the ritual that thousands do as a matter of course for ten months of the year.  I was in a carload of friends as we made a slow snaking chain of tail lights into town, the journey was barely walking pace and seemed to take hours.  Eventually we squeezed our way into a space outside another friend’s house, this was a short walk from the ground.  Half an hour before kick off, I was way outside my comfort zone, in with a dozen or more people squashed into a kitchen, drinking tea and talking football.  Most of these people were proper football junkies, they talk the talk, buzzwords and cliches, I felt that any utterance from this outsider would have fallen flat.

We walked down the hill and managed to step into the throng of people poring towards the ground, everyone heading in the same direction, we got in line and march along.  I’d infiltrated the ranks of the believers and was carried by the throng towards the cathedral.  At the bottom of the hill our group split into two, most head south but we go west.  Since I first joined the cult in the seventies this ground has changed dramatically; three of the four stands have been rebuilt in that time and all the structures have been spruced up inside and out.  Nowadays the drab concrete is screened by lots of blue and white, decorated with images of great players and great days.  To do what this team has managed to do will be added to that history in the future, for a club of this size the premier league is massive.

We queued at the turnstiles, the lines moved slowly and I was surrounded by voices belching more football chat, the devout were exalted.  Thousands of people, we all wanted the same result, we had a common goal yet I didn’t feel part of it.  Once I belonged here completely, now I felt like an imposter.  Eventually we made it through and there were just a few minutes to go before kick off.  My prolonged absences mean the ground is now unfamiliar and this was the stand I’d spent the least time in so it took a while to find the right entrance, before even that we needed to piss.  Eventually after several flights of stairs and an apologetic shuffle we found our seats which were bang on the half way line, with seconds to spare.  There was a minute’s silence for someone whose name I didn’t catch then the game started with a roar.

Ten minutes later things had quietened down considerably, the visitors – Brighton had all the play and the Town couldn’t touch the ball.  Thankfully we were not made to pay and as the half went on our team grew into the game and actually looked the more likely side to score, testing the goal keeper twice; the volume rose, the chants resounded.  Once I would have known all the words to all the songs and would have been bellowing along.  Nowadays I don’t know half the players let along the words to the jingles.  This old ground has changed on the inside too, nowadays everything is so much bigger though maybe higher would be a better word.  To my left what was always called the North stand. The rough and ready terrace that always lead the chants and carried the mood.  To my right the old stand was called ‘Churchmans’ after the tobacco factory behind it.  This was our stand when I was a kid, always a good atmosphere but less volatile than the North stand.  Nowadays the old firm sit at this end where they can keep an eye on the away fans.  A half chance! But Omari took the wrong option when Burns would have been through on goal…

Half time came too soon, the scores were level and the mood was optimistic.  But that was as good as it got, the second half saw Town miss another chance early on but Brighton mostly dominated and it was no surprise when they took the lead after an hour.  Until this point I’d barely noticed the away fans opposite, I’d never have known they were there but as the game went on they just grew louder.  After going behind Town seemed to lose belief and never looked like equalising, likewise the home crowd couldn’t get any vocal momentum in fact where we sat it was totally flat and not the kind of faces I used to stand shoulder to shoulder with.  The game drifted away and the visitors ended up comfortable 2-0 winners.

We joined the throng of people, the tide now going in the opposite direction, this time the stream had more pace and carried us back up the hill.  We landed back in the crowded kitchen for tea and a debrief, there few good points for the Town tonight but even the proper football fans were happy just to see their team playing at this level once again.

So the cult of football, I’d sneaked in for an evening and although I felt like an imposter who’d jumped on a bandwagon I think I manged to escape without giving the game away or leaving too many bad smells.  But this isn’t me anymore, I’m not part of it and have no desire to be.  I don’t want to parrot the cliches, I can’t buy into the one eyed optimism, fucking football banter bores the bollocks off me!  I watch sport objectively these days though I’m not sure I like this development.  The world of football has been warped by the pull of money, it’s been yanked in one direction while I’ve tried to tip toe in the other.  Capitalism ruins everything.