It’s only a game…

Whether you support Gateshead, Newcastle, Liverpool or (god forbid) S*nderland, football has a special place for passionate supporters.  It takes up a vast amount of time for us all, but it’s worth every second. 

As a fan of Newcastle United, England and football in general, I was thinking the other day about Sir Bobby Robson.  He inspired me to this little piece about what football means to me, how it impacts my life.  It’s a long read, but I just thought I’d share my love for the ‘beautiful game’ and hope to convey what it means to me.

During the summer doldrums I get itchy feet.  I find myself refreshing websites, watching Sky Sports News, checking internet forums for new signings on the off chance Newcastle sign the next wonderkid, even when I know I should be doing work or talking to wor lass. 

I sign up to fantasy football leagues (which I know I won’t check after the season starts), prediction leagues, check fixtures, imagine us getting wins, draws or crazy results such as an away win to Westbrom. 

I watch Youtube videos of the previous season, which I then re-watch.  I watch Youtube videos of bygone eras.  I start a new football manager season on the PC.  I play FIFA until my eyes bleed.  I eagerly await Pre Season games.  I hope to God(Shearer) that NUFC finally release a new football strip I actually like, even design a few myself.

All of which happens every year.  Every summer, and has done since I was 8 years old…well most of the above anyhow.

As a Geordie lad this kind of behaviour is considered normal (if a little obsessive).  It’s in our blood™.  Talk to anyone ‘youngin ( or oldie) from the North East, Geordie, Makem or Smoggy…the feeling is the same.  I’m sure it’s similar elsewhere in the country.

From a young age my Mam & Dad bought me Newcastle tops every summer.  I remember my dad buying me countless packs of football stickers.  Match magazine.  Black & White magazine.  He used to come back from the pub on a Saturday night, and fetch me The Football Pink, which I read on a Sunday morning religiously whilst having brekkie.

The first game I ever went too was with my Dad.  He bought tickets in the Gallowgate…I can’t remember much, but I recall being excited for the whole week…never shutting up about it at school and at home.  My Mam and mates must’ve been going potty. The feeling when we finally got the game was amazing…the feeling of being so small in such a big crowd of people going to the match.  Walking up the stairs and seeing the pitch for the first time is something I’ll never forget.  As I walked up the steps, the floodlights almost blinded me, then the pitch and players came into view as I got further up.  I’m not overstating when I say it took my breath away.  The first roar of the crowd almost deafened me.  The first swear words from a Geordie meat head behind us made me shocked, but amused at the same time.  The first chant was incomprehensible, but got easier to follow second and third time round.  As I write this I have a ‘geet big smile on my face as I still feel exactly the same.

When it comes to life, us blokes are always torn between relationships and football.  Unfortunately almost every woman is a widow to football.  Although we’ve only been together a short period, I’m lucky in some respects as wor lass understands.  She flicks the TV to football matches during a lazy Sunday afternoon.  She puts MOTD on a Saturday night.  Understands that football takes priority on a Saturday (or whenever Sky decree we are to play).  Makes me happy when we’ve lost.  She understands why I’m in a fettle when we lose.  It helps that she has been brought up with a sporty family, because of that she understands how much it means to me.  This is how much football impacts my life.

I’ll watch every game of football on TV I can given half a chance.  La Liga, Seria A, Internationals, World Cups, Championship, FA Cup, League Cup, Super Duper Hyper Premier League Sky Bowl Fantastic Sundays.  You name it, I try and cram as much in as possible. When I go to different places, football stadia is always on the check list of places to visit.  Am I sad for this constant obsession?  I don’t think any bloke (who’s a football fan) would argue that they are any different.

I love a Saturday match day.  I wake up early, get some breakfast down my neck and get up to town as soon as I can.  I’m disappointed when I can’t get to Newcastle early. The atmosphere that slowly builds into a crescendo throughout Newcastle on a match day is electric.  It’s a feeling I could never do without.  The craic in the pubs pre-match is class, talking shite with your mates, a few pints, daft songs, daft chants, laughs and then the walk up to the ground is always brilliant.  The actual match is always a riot too, even if we are hopeless to watch.  Random chants, stupid hats, going mental when we score, taunting away fans, daft shouts from randoms in the crowd.  Fucking fantastic.

Away games are often a highlight of the season for me. Busses full of charva’s drinking at 6am is not normally something I’d associate myself with, or would’ve seen myself dead on 10 years ago…but football has a strange way of bridging gaps.  I’m by no means middle/upper class, but I’d have just been too worried about charvas.  However, Football is such a strong force that different people from all kinds of background can mix, chat and follow their teams together as one entity.  Social standing and stereotypes go out of the window as you are there for the same reasons, to support your team and to enjoy yourself whilst doing so.  I always have a class time on ‘ABillySwift’ trips mainly as I’m with my mates.

Friends make football what it is.  You laugh, celebrate, shout and commiserate together as a group.  You make friends through football and you live plenty of your life through football together whilst growing up.  If it’s jumpers for goalposts, games of SPOT against a wall, kick abouts on the beach, 11-a-side, 5-a-side, England BBQ’s, pubs at 6am drinking Guinness, it’s all part of mates and football.  I’m again, lucky to hang round with the same bunch of bastards I’ve known since primary school, so we all have football history together.  It’s in our DNA.

Anyhow, I’ve ranted enough and could go on forever…I just hope people can see some of my ramblings and reminisce on their past, look back and smile…it’s sometimes nice to remember what makes football so important. 

At 26 I should have out-grown these feelings I have towards football, however…I hope I never do.

To quote a legend:

“What is a club in any case? Not the buildings or the directors or the people who are paid to represent it. It’s not the television contracts, get out clauses or the marketing departments or executive boxes. It’s the noise the passion, the feeling of belonging, the pride in your city.”