Watching with the excitement of the long distance fan

This post was written by exiled Blade Giacomo Squintani a couple of months ago at my request. I wanted something that would tell what it is like to follow the Blades from afar, with only rare live viewings, hanging on the words on social media, fan forums and the briefest of highlights on The Football League Show.

You could say that Giacomo was lucky. He doesn't get dragged down by the week in week out performances and results. You could argue that in terms of the game he attended he was lucky, but going into the second leg at Swindon, maybe we need to approach it with the excitement of a long distance fan and realise that, like at Giacomo's game, a surprise can happen. Anything can happen.

Photo Copyright : Sam Cunliffe

Valentine’s Day. That commercial creation designed at shifting flowers, chocolates, cards… perennial source of teenage embarrassment and adult whinging (it’s always too much or too little, isn’t it?)… A right waste of money!

I solved the problem by proposing to the now Mrs S on February 12 (2005, that is). That way we have our own anniversary and don’t have to faff around with any of that malarkey. It also means that, when the fixtures threw up United at Ashton Gate on February  14, it was never going to be a challenge to secure a pass!

Ian has kindly invited me to jot down some thoughts about the day, from the perspective of an exiled Blade. Because, having made the mistake of leaving Sheffield for a second time in 1998, following my initial extradition (aged six weeks) to Italy in 1976, that’s what I am. When Saturday comes, I follow the rituals via Twitter: the pilgrimage, the hydration, the build-up inside the ground… rituals I remember well. Rituals by which I could once set my watch: whatever the weather, whatever the traffic, they always seemed to take place at the same time. Just like, regardless of the length of the Bible passages and the sermons, handshakes and communion seem to when Sunday comes.

But it’s different when you’re a lapsed stadium-goer. When Bramall Lane is 178 miles away, yet Ashton Gate is just eleven, but still you’re only going to cover that distance to watch Dem Blades. You no longer go through the rituals automatically: you need to think about your order of service and work out those milestones. And, if you’re me, odds are you’ll get them wrong.

I cautiously caught a bus just before 1pm, a time not dissimilar to the one when my late Grandfather would have turned the key and set the car in motion along Sharrow Vale Road. But back then we had to find a parking place, walk over and allow chatting time with the familiar faces. Here, it’s a five-minute walk from the bus stop to Ashton Gate, not being Mourinho I had no bus to park… so I found myself in Bedminster with what felt like an age to spare. Took a lengthy wander around Greville Smyth Park, finding time to sit on a bench for my first instalment of homemade sarnies… and eventually the time felt right to walk through the gates.

Ever the fashion guru, I was sporting my black-and-red 1997 AVEC sweater. It’s a good dozen years younger than the green polo I wore when Ian and I first met up in 2013, after all! But there was never any danger of aggro: like it or not, I could easily have blended in with the locals, most of them seemingly turning to red and white scarves. Having never seen that much white on Bristol City shirts, I did occasionally wonder whether we’d taken over Bristol. But such thoughts were… premature.

As I took my place in the Atyeo stand, I recognised a few people. Don’t ask me for names: but quite a few faces looked familiar. I must have seen them at The Lane, maybe outside the ground or maybe in the proximity of one Michael D. Rooker, or on the road. All I knew is that I’d seen them. And suddenly I felt at home. Because, for one day a year, the accent in BS3 sounds… local.

I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but even infidels will concede that ‘The Greasy Chip Butty Song’ is one of the finest, its blend of pride, passion, history, humour and self-mockery quintessentially Sheffield and quintessentially United. I could be anywhere on this planet singing it out loud with fellow Blades and I’d feel at home. Bedminster was no exception… and then we were off!

For a detailed match report, read here. My abridged version:

1. Down 1-0 at the break: unlucky.

2. Didn’t panic, kept playing football. Done looked quality.

3. Were denied a penalty shortly before Done’s equaliser.

4. Deservedly went 2-1 up as City never really increased the pressure as you’d expect the League leaders to do at home.

5. Jamie Murphy to seal it in the 82’ minute. 3-1. Three points. Job’s a good’un. And Done IS quality.

Not being able to drive and living in the UK’s largest town without a train station, away games are a rarity for me. Which is a shame, given my track record in recent years (with Wembley obviously not counting as ‘Away’):

25/04/2011: back from 2-0 down to end a disastrous away record under Micky Adams by winning 3-2 at Reading. A truly bonkers experience.

05/05/2012: 2-2 at Exeter: not quite the party that a few weeks earlier we thought it might have been.

23/11/2013: Roberto’s first (and, so far, only) game – and we nicked it 1-0 at Ashton Gate

Sincere apologies to the faithful Blades who travel up and down this country in weather far worse than we had in Bristol a few weeks back, for whom the elation of Ashton Gate is a rare feeling… that’s ten points from four for me! And we’d all but won in Exeter, but that would have been the most pointless win ever…

During the second half at Ashton Gate I’d got talking to the Blade next to me. He was a fellow exile, having driven up from Yeovil. Beyond the spoken words, there was a silent appreciation of this rare privilege of watching The Blades, accompanied by the chagrin that it was indeed a rarity. Least that’s how it felt for me: maybe he was just wondering what the traffic home was going to be like. I should have asked.

At the final whistle, having set off at that leisurely, post-match place, I made a run for the bus stop. There was an orderly queue: in fact, there were about three. Not quite sure if I joined the right one to secure one of the four available standing places, with some of the many home fans who’d left ahead of the final whistle having got on earlier to but fill the bus: but I got on there alright. I’d earnt the right to leave a few Robins behind. Well, Dem Blades had won it for me. Lots of red and white on the bus back to Portishead, but I was the only one smiling! And I duly celebrated with my second lot of sarnies. That’s how I roll.

No post-match pint(s) for me: best part of an hour on a bus, two minute walk to my front door and quickly got ready to go to dinner at friends’. I kept on my 125^th shirt, but it was lost on them, neither big on football. Ah well.

So, there you go: some thoughts from an exiled Blade. A Blade who grew up in exile, in Italy, returning to Sheffield in 1994 only to leave a second time in 1998. My first departure was justifiable enough: my parents lived in Italy and clearly thought that I should grow up with them, Mum only having travelled back to God’s Own County to deliver me unto an unsuspecting world. But second time round… that was a mistake, and one that I look back upon every day. A mistake greatly influenced by an uncle’s passing comment that I should leave Sheffield for London upon graduating: I always regret not giving job-hunting in Sheffield a month or two. 

Driving back from Exeter in May 2012, that same uncle suggested I shouldn’t try to run a 10k, that it would be too much for me: and, as some of you may know, that’s one piece of advice I ignored. Had I done so first time round I’d probably have been a season ticket holder for almost two decades by now! As it stands, I have to make do with a couple of games a season. And I don’t just miss The Blades: I miss the whole experience, each and every ritual. Which is why, whisper it quietly…

…I would never begrudge my sons becoming Bristol City supporters. Just like United is my hometown club, City is theirs. So, whilst part of me hopes they keep wearing their Blades kits for the rest of their lives, I won’t deny there’s a part of me that would be happy for them to develop their own matchday rituals with their own friends and to live them out at least once a fortnight. Is that sacrilege? At least the scarves would look right…

So, Valentine’s Day 2015… how was yours?

Mine began with a 5k personal best (where I overtook a Bristol City fan late on to set the tone for the day!), ended with a nice meal with friends and featured a surprising (well I was!) but wholeheartedly convincing win at Ashton Gate. Good football, made the League leaders look like some frustratingly inconsistent side: so yes, true role reversal. If for just one afternoon. As I told my wife, it was the best Valentine’s Day of my life. 

My Favourite Blade (Number 10) - Mick Rooker

I have had this submission in my email inbox for a few weeks. It was always my intention to finish this run of the My Favourite Blade series with it, however holidays and other happenings at Bramall Lane meant that it was delayed.

 

Sadly that delay means that this post has taken on additional resonance. To those of you who are not Blades fans, the name Mick Rooker might not mean too much to you. However, to Unitedites, he is just one of many people behind the scenes who are the glue which keep the fabric of our club together. Sadly that is no longer the case. Following a series of redundancies, Mick is no longer working for United.

 

Whether that was voluntary or imposed we don't know; it is none of our business. What is has led to is an outpouring of anger and frustration (towards the club) and thanks (for Mick) on internet forums. Forums that Mick was one of the few Blades employees to visit, often with advice on away travel, helping someone out with a ticket issue, a raffle prize or just general everyday advice.

 

Former players such as Brian Deane and Alan Kelly have taken to twitter to comment on how sad it is that Mick has left United. To them he was not just a colleague, but a friend. For many it was a friendship formed as Mick took on a role best described as an unofficial concierge as they adjusted to life in Sheffield.

 

These are dark times at Bramall Lane and having been affected by redundancy myself, my thoughts go out to all those who have lost their jobs at Bramall Lane, through no fault of their own.   

 

Below is Giacomo Squintani's thoughts on Mick, unedited for recent events. Reading back the last paragraph, you can only wish that the executives at Bramall Lane had heeded his advice. Bramall Lane will be a lesser place in Mick's absence. I will add my favourite memory of Mick in the comments below. Feel free to add yours, it will only highlight what the club has lost - a little bit of heart and soul and a great deal of goodwill and personality. 

POSTSCRIPT: Shortly after this was posted, Mick took to the S24SU forum to announce that following a lengthy telephone conversation with Kevin McCabe he was to continue at the club "being Mick Rooker". A little bit of me would like to think that the fan reaction on twitter and forums played a little part in the club's about turn.

 

When Ian put out the call for Favourite Blade memories, my mind immediately went into overdrive. Edwards, surely? Or Colin Morris? Or Alan Kelly? Hmmm… somebody will beat me to them. Maybe Glen Cockerill, who showed me what it meant to make the ball do the running and the talking months before I saw Brazilian legend Zico take that art to the highest level? Not many Unitedites mention him, but Cockerill left his mark on me. Or maybe John Burridge, whose antics amused me as a kid in the Bramall Lane stand just about as much as his saves impressed me?

 

Within minutes, I’d decided not to bother. All bar Kelly were amongst the first footballers whom I’d ever seen and who deserve credit for me falling in love with football. But I only ever saw those guys in August, as between September and June I lived in Italy. I could not sit down and type away of special seasons or even of special matches, as those rarely take place early on in the season. As for Kelly, it was a given that someone would sing his praises, the top performer and gentleman that he was/is. So I’d just sit back and let the likes of @unitedite, @8LAD35 and @ThomasCarter83 sing the praises of Edwards, Morris and Kelly respectively – and I’m glad I did, given the top job they all did.

 

I asked my Mum to put pen to paper, if only for selfish reasons: I wanted to glean her view of who first got her heart pumping at The Lane back in the 1950s. Apologies for the assumption, by the way, that one’s “favourite Blade” is a childhood hero, but I think the evidence of this series supports it… Anyway, she said she found it hard enough to muster the willpower to write the shopping list, let alone a blog entry, so that plan went out of the window. In the meantime, Ian joked whether I’d asked my own Mum to write about me, given my stint in shirt and suit at Bramall Lane. And that got me thinking…

 

…you know what; my Favourite Blade is not Glenn Cockerill. Or Keith Edwards. Or John Burridge, enjoyable though his “Budgie” autobiography is (not much mention of his time at The Lane, mind!). My all-time Favourite Blade is not a player: it’s a shirt and suit chap. My Favourite Blade is…

 

Mick Rooker

 

 

 

Now, that is likely to prompt one of two reactions:

1. Who? Was he before the War?

2. Top lad is Mick!

 

Michael D. Rooker has never played for Sheffield United. He has the passion, but not quite the physique or technique. No doubt you’ve walked past the Pools Office at Bramall Lane, or Promotions Office as it’s now known (for a while Mick resisted the change, purely because he couldn’t see the point in spending money on a new sign!). Well, Mick is the Promotions Office Manager. “Blades Revival”, “Blades Superdraw”, “50/50”… all that stuff is Mick’s. He’s been drawing money out of your bank accounts for years! Most importantly, though, Mick is a true, lifelong Blade, fortunate enough to work for the Club he loves.

 

He is one of the unsung heroes of the “Family Club” – ‘unsung’ by those who haven’t met him, anyway! If you’ve ever needed something and have asked Mick, odds are he did the best he could for you. He understands what it means to be a Blade and treats fellow Blades as fans first, customers second. I’m sure @thecase1907 won’t mind me sharing that Mick helped him out with getting hold of a signed United shirt to promote sponsorship when he ran the Edinburgh Half Marathon earlier this year. Plus Mick does sing his own praises. Not a modest lad, our Mick. Nor should he be: for all his love for the club and his empathy towards fellow Blades, he’s good at what he does and delivers off the pitch. I know he does, because he’s told me. That’s why I sometimes use the hashtag #mickrookerismyguru on Twitter – one that Brian Deane, Alan Kelly and Tony Agana have all endorsed!

 

“But… didn’t he go to Hull and back?” I hear someone at the back object. Indeed. It was a time of turbulence at The Lane (not that that narrows it down!) and both Mick and Andy Daykin headed East to Hull City. Was that because his love for the Blades had declined? Not at all, it’s because he loved United so much that the only way to save that relationship was to step away for a while. I don’t know whether he expected to return as quickly as he did, but I’m sure he was delighted at the opportunity to do so and to find his relationship with his lifelong footballing love all the better and stronger for it. Ignore that little fling in Humberside and Mick’s been at Bramall Lane for twenty-five years. Think about what our club has gone through since 1987 (“Fit and Proper?” being a good place to start if you need reminding) and you soon realise that that takes something special… and Mick’s special alright!

 

By nominating Mick, I’m also nominating a torchbearer for all professionals behind the scenes. When clubs go up or down (and United is one example of a club that doesn’t generally hang around in any one division for too long!), we instinctively think of the players whose CVs have glory or disappointment added to them. As the EPPP takes hold, holding on to players on high wages becomes increasingly tough for relegated clubs, and our hearts often go out to those released. But if they’re good enough, someone will come in for them. What about what goes on behind the scenes, in the clubs’ offices? Budgets are often driven by what takes place on the pitch, yet they are not confined to those who take to the field.

 

In April 2011 at the Madjeski I bumped into a former Promotions Department employee, at one of the season’s strangest games: on the back of one point in thirteen away from home under Adams, we came back from 2-0 down to win 3-2 against one of the Championship’s high flyers. I have since felt guilty that I didn’t make a game or two earlier on, as clearly I was the key to our success that day… Anyway, that former employee of Mick’s had left following our failure to climb back into the Premiership. Those were the days!

 

It hit me then, albeit not for the first time, that similar tales affect hundreds of office staff at football clubs up and down the country whose clubs go down and up. Professionals for whom there is no public transfer window, who will only stay in the game if there is an opening within driving distance. It reminded me, once again, how critical the guys and gals behind the stage are in enabling on-pitch success, yet how dependent they are upon whose goal that football ends up in.

 

And that’s why my Favourite Blade is Michael D. Rooker, Esq. Because we’ve shared great times and because, once the adrenaline-rush of match day has calmed down, he’s a sensitive lad with whom you can have a reight good chat. But, beyond all my own personal reasons, rooted in the specific context of my personal relationship with him, because Mick exemplifies all that is good about working for your club; because he goes into the office every morning (well, most mornings) with the same fire in his belly as the likes of Vinnie Jones, Brian Gayle and Paul Stancliffe took to the field – only he’s been doing it for twenty-five years. Could you have put up with the shenanigans at S2 for twenty-five years? Trust me: if you could bottle Mick’s passion, his commitment and sell it to players who’ve just arrived at your club, you’d make a fortune.

 

There you go McCabe, there’s a plan… you could roll it out across the entire United family, from Hungary to China to… wherever. Any club, anywhere, needs a Mick Rooker. We’re just lucky enough to have The Original.