Never Say Never!

A father and son attending a football match isn't a particularly rare sight.  Look around any ground and this familial partnership is the bedrock of football supporting.  A club is handed down from father to son, to son.  By the time the offspring has a chance to decide whether to support a football club it's too late, and they are well on their way to indoctrinating the next generation.  All perfectly normal.

Unless, of course, you are talking about me and my father.  We've done father and son things over the years, including playing cricket together for a few, cherished seasons.  But, before last Saturday's FA Cup tie with Southend Manor, the entirety of our shared footballing experiences was the 1979 Trophy final!  I am certain I have written of this before on this blog, but cannot for the life of me remember when.  And as I'm in no particular mood to wade through the near 500 posts which make up this blog, I'll quickly run through the particulars of this solitary, less-than-cherished father and son footballing memory.

"Take a bloody good look!"

Briefly, my father decided we should go to the final on the coach departing the Alex, so, at the age of 12 I was enclosed and surrounded by noisy, aggressive drunks and pathetic tobacco addicts.  A bit like visiting the sponsor's lounge.  As we took our seats at Wembley I mentioned that we didn't pick up a programme on the way in. My father announced that he would find one for me, and off he went.

Well, he missed almost the entire game, but couldn't track down a programme for me.  It always made me feel bad that he missed the match.  Almost 30 years later I tracked down a copy of the match programme from that day on Ebay.  When telling my father of this purchase we reminisced about the Stafford game, and I explained my guilt at him missing the match itself because of my desire for a programme.  He seemed surprised at this confession, as he recalls that he deliberately repaired to the bar shortly after kick-off, with no intention of finding a programme, or watching the game!  Thirty years of guilt, all for nothing!  Bastard!

After a gap of just 32 years we decided to attend the Poppies FA Cup game together, obviously sandwiched between having a few lunchtime drinks, followed by a post match bevy and meal.  It's always quite an education when you take a certified armchair football viewer through a real, live game.  Explaining which of our players to look out for.  Which ones to boo.  Who have had previous contracts cancelled due to criminal convictions.  Why we can't sit in the VP's area.  Why there are no action replays!  Why we can't score a hatful against a pub team?

What I couldn't get over however was the fact my bloody father knew more people at the game than I did!  "There's old so-and-so, we used to play football together."  "That's thingie, we used to open the batting together for E.N. Wrights".  "Him and me played skittles...." etc. etc.  Given the large number of years I have devoted to the Poppies without ever being on more than a nodding acquaintance with more than a handful of people, I found this f**king annoying!

I think he enjoyed the experience, albeit probably more the pre and post match bits.  Doubtful whether he enjoyed it enough to attend another game in the next 32 years, but you never know!