Before last night, football had only brought a tear to my eye a grand total of four times in my thirty three years on this earth. Twice it involved my club side, the first occasion was when I was either ten or eleven years old and looking forward to a trip to Wembley for a play off final that never materialised despite a what seemed like a healthy first leg lead. The second time was after a last minute winner secured promotion on the final day of the season. The other two times involved Gareth Southgate.
Yesterday, without a ball being kicked, football brought a tear to my eye once again. Somewhere between scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch and checking social media, I stumbled across a video from a club team I didn't even support. The video was of their home stadium, almost filled to capacity on what looked like a nice sunny day, in the final minutes before the teams came out to kick off. It seemed like every man woman and child in the stadium was belting out what I assume was the clubs anthem.
I started to think my own memories following my club and the England team. Memories of all the groups of friends and families together in the stands, of the pre match pints and banter in the pub hours before kick off. Memories of that nutter who stands in the corner yelling bizarre, often incomprehensible "encouragement" at the players. Memories of things that all genuine football fans can relate to, but have probably taken for granted until now.
Then my phone vibrated. It was my girlfriend, who I've not seen for a few days just sending me a WhatsApp message to see how I was doing, and I had to make two confessions. The first was that I was feeling low after watching a bloody video of some signing in a football ground, and the second was that I missed something more than her, although I was quite careful about how I worded the second confession!
In the early days of the pandemic, I honestly didn't find the lack of live football to go to a massive issue. Frankly, the media made it sound like the apocalypse and the daily briefings from Downing Street, adapting to working from home and wondering whether Asda would still have the things I needed seemed like the priority at the time. Besides, my teams form had slumped considerably so it was probably a blessing that the season ended early for Leagues One and Two. But now we've all settled in to this "new normal" and the great leap into the unknown is out of the way, it's perhaps given me time to reflect on the "old normal" and start dreaming about returning to the things we used to enjoy sooner rather than later.
My girlfriend isn't a football fan, so I was anticipating the response of "it's just a game" from her when I told her I was getting a bit emotional. So before she could make my mood worse with that kind of flippant response I told her that it was everything to do with football, not the football itself, that I was missing, which she seemed to understand. Whether she continues to understand once we return to normal and it's every Saturday remains to be seen, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it! The first time that we're allowed back into stadiums I won't care if I attend a game and watch my side get thrashed 10-0. I'll start caring if it becomes a repeat occurrence, but that first game back is going to be about so much more than what is essentially the outcome of a bag of wind being kicked around by twenty-two highly paid athletes.
If you support one of the Premier League's big boys from in front of the television screen, please, when football resumes, go and pay your local club a visit if you are able to do so. You might not be a fan of that club at the moment because you're honest enough to admit that you don't want pay money to watch crap football, or maybe you have an imaginary uncle who used to live in Manchester and he got you a shirt for your seventh birthday. Whatever the reason, get a couple of mates together and go along to a game. Treat it as a day on the beer. If the football is crap, laugh at it. Lower league clubs are going to need all the help they can get coming out of this and the community work they do isn't going to be replaced by the government or the FA. Who knows, maybe you'll even enjoy yourself and go again in the future.
What I probably realise now is that I too have been guilty of taking football for granted. Previously, a game in the Checkatrade/Auto Windscreen/Johnstone's Paint Trophy or whatever it's called next season felt like something to be endured rather than enjoyed, but i'm almost at the point where i'd donate body parts to see one live now. We'll start with a toe or something though, after all it is only the Mickey Mouse Cup. Normally, in the off season, i'm dreaming about whether we might have an outside chance of the play offs and whether that new striker will be better than the last idiot and what we'll get up to on away trips. Now the perspective has shifted and i'm just dreaming about attending a game.
I realise I'm rambling like an idiot when I should probably be writing some sort of insightful article about points deductions, managerial appointments, new signings or pre season friendlies, and we'll get back to that later, but right now it just feels right to put this out there first. It's been cathartic to write, and now I think about it, I should probably mention that if you're struggling with anything, or feeling down, that talking to someone does help.
Whilst I couldn't help but get emotional yesterday evening as I thought about what we were all missing, I've now turned my attention to the future and am looking forward to getting back in a stadium. It's far from ideal to have reduced capacities to begin with, but hopefully it will go some way towards scratching an itch for the die hard fans. Once we move past that stage, the first weekend of fixtures back at full capacity is going to be very special indeed, and I doubt i'll be the only one who gets a bit emotional.
In the words of the recently departed Vera Lynn, "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day".
Yes we will, Vera. And it'll be fucking glorious.
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