I don't like Derby Days. There, I have said it. A massive
game, the biggest crowd of the season, a raucous, sometimes volatile atmosphere
and I don't enjoy it one little bit.
For me Sheffield United v "the team from S6" turns me into an anti-football fan. Derby Day
for me is not necessarily all about winning, although clearly that is what I
really want. The important thing for me is not losing. As long as
"they" don't have the upper hand, the bragging rights, I don't care.
The imperative following the match, is to focus on finishing above them in the
league table.
Don't get me wrong, Sheffield Derby days are special
occasions, something perhaps never properly recognised by the national media;
although Sky Sports seem to be building the hype this time. Maybe as much to do
with the scoreline and ebb and flow of the game at Hillsborough earlier this season as the occasion itself.
The intensity of noise and the atmosphere generated within Bramall Lane (or
even dare I admit, the other place)
could easily be compared with the other derby matches traditionally
viewed as the standard bearers; Merseyside, Manchester, Glasgow. In fact the intensity
is probably up a notch from Manchester and Merseyside.
The build-up leaves you twitchy, distracted, running over scenarios
in your head, imagining the joy of victory, fearing the heartache of defeat. You
look forward with a mix of trepidation and excitement that leaves you nauseous.
You cling to the clips of past successes, reliving the joy and the moment, thinking back to wherever you were watching from at the time. The people you hugged the life out of, the people you fell over, the smell of the beer that went flying through the air and soaked into your top. You hope that recent success and league
position count for something, but then the gnawing doubt kicks in and you
remember that this is more of a cup game and it is all up for grabs on the
night.
You admire how a fellow fan and now manager has channelled that
adrenaline, that excitement, into something positive with your team. You hope
that they respond in the same way again and thrive in a more positive, but no
less hostile atmosphere at home. With these special occasions being of such
rarefied intensity, just what is my problem?
My negative feelings arise for three reasons. My formative
football watching years saw "them" generally have the upper hand in
terms of league standing. I grew up in an era where United and "the other
lot" were in different divisions, derby games were reserved for a
pre-season friendly, the County Cup, a testimonial match or a Zenith Data Systems
Cup game. Rarely did we win, or so it felt.
Most of my friends were not United fans, they knew how to
gloat, they knew how to belittle. Even then delusions of grandeur were visible;
the first signs of the self-belief that have led to the proclamations of how
massive they are today. But bigger, older, better can just as easily be read as
bloated, decrepit and under-performing. In those days I didn't want to play
"them", I just wanted "them" to fail. I wanted them to swap
divisions with us. To fall away into a long decline.
The second reason comes from an earlier stages of my life
and my first real Sheffield Derby memory. I was 4, but I wasn't at a match.
United, ahead in the Division 3 table, lost 4-0 at the other place on Boxing
Day 1979. I remember the anguish of my father and grandfather as they arrived
home to continue a family Christmas marred by events on the football pitch. All
that frustration was kept for posterity on an audio cassette by my mum. The
click of play/and record as the front door clicks open and then bangs to. My
running footsteps out of the lounge into the hallway; "4-0 Grandad!"
I say in surprise and slight indignation. "I know….they were
rubbish…." he mutters forlornly. Voices then tail off as both my father
and grandfather head into the kitchen to vent their frustrations, out of view
and out of earshot of the children.
By the time we looked to gain revenge at Bramall Lane in
April, we had fallen away from the top end of the table, whilst they were
heading for an inevitable promotion. A 1-1 draw was played out, remembered more
for Terry Curran's goal for them, rather than anything the Blades achieved. I
think I was there, I can't say I remember. As a 5 year old, the games I
attended blurred into one a little, even those with 42,000 in the ground.
These initial memories of Sheffield Derby games can scar a
young child; seeing the effect it had on my Grandad, a man not afraid to let
his passions and his hurt show where football was concerned. Defeats like
Boxing Day were taken like a personal affront to his support. The subsequent
relegation to the Fourth Division was something he never really got over, he
passed away a week or so after that game against Walsall.
The next time we were to play a league derby was some 11
years later. For one season prior we had swapped divisions, but they had come
straight back up to the top division. As a 16 year old I understood more about
football then. I was passionate about football then. That first league derby in 11 years was,
thanks to police advice, played on a misty November Sunday at Bramall Lane. The
other lot were flying on their return to the top flight and expecting a
comfortable win.
I remember the early tension vividly and then the
outpouring of sheer joy of watching young Blades midfielder Dane Whitehouse
breaking forward, bearing down on goal and slotting home the first goal. Then
in the second half, Brian Deane squeezed the ball between Chris Woods' legs to
send Blades fans into ecstasy and leave Woods facing months of mocking for his
bow-legged keeping. His situation not
helped by United winning the return match across the city 3-1, although he was
less culpable that night.
Much happier times indeed, although I think I enjoyed post-match
celebrations as much as the day itself.
In the time since we have enjoyed what feels like a slight upper hand in
Steel City encounters. Despite that, I cannot say I have enjoyed the matches
per se.
Even being 3-0 up at half time, as it was in 2009 at
Bramall Lane, you can never sit comfortably and enjoy the rest of the game. On
that occasion the Blades were pegged back to 3-2 and clung on. I was the sole
football fan in a Greek hotel bar that
night, a long standing fortnight of family holiday coinciding with just one
home game being played when the fixtures were announced. Yet those who joined
me found it hard to sit with a man who was on holiday to relax and have fun,
yet appeared to be displaying all the signs of a man on the edge of a nervous
breakdown until he exploded in hysteria at the final whistle.
That really highlights my
final reason; that even when you are in front, the 90 minutes are
defined by a feeling that can only be described as someone grasping hold of
your guts and twisting them into a tight ball. You stand there, in a pose
resembling Edvard Munch's The Scream. Your legs shake violently, banging
against the people in the adjacent seats. You lean forward, twitching, before
launching out of your seat to roar out your support for your team or hurl
spittle laden invective at the opposition players and the their fans, amongst
whom are many of your friends.
By the end, if you have won, something Blades fans have
experienced more than Owls over the years, you celebrate. Well you try to.
Hoarse from exhortations, legs drained of nervous energy you try to jump up and
down and shout, but it doesn't quite happen. No matter what it looks and sounds
like, it is the fact you are attempting to do it that matters.
I don't really enjoy experiencing such extreme behaviour
and emotion. Not because of being a killjoy, not because I have a lack of
passion, nor from any attempt to keep up appearances, but from seeing the effect
of letting a game consume you and your health as it did my Grandad. Not letting
things go, letting results rule your moods and your life.
We have been fortunate that for most of the last 20 years
we have been above our city rivals; for 12 years we held the upper hand in
terms of final league position until that switch 5 years ago. Despite all the
incredible highs and gut wrenching lows of these matches, I am much happier to
define our success over Wednesday based on the league tables. Give me a season
where we are sat in a division above Wednesday, rather than playing them twice
a season.
But if we have to play them, as long as we don't lose that
is all that matters….and then let's set about ensuring we finish above them in
the league, wherever that takes us this season.
Up the Blades!
