Pride in the name of our club

I'm currently sat on a coach. Somewhere in Hertfordshire. It's just coming up to 7:30 and the sun is going down out of the window to my left. The radio is playing some tinny, unrecognisable pop track. My mate Steve is jolting himself awake from his slumbers every so often. Thankfully before his head lands on my right shoulder.

I am slightly hoarse and when I do speak, the odd word comes out with a slight squeak. I have a glow on my cheeks from a few beers in the sun, but more importantly pride in my team. Pride that no bitter and twisted Wednesdayite is going to downgrade or diminish. 

I believed that United would turn up today, when so often they have gone missing at Wembley. I believed that they would play with unity, pride and no shortage of passion. For forty five minutes they more than surpassed that.

They outfought and outplayed a lifeless Hull side and scored their first goals in three visits to new Wembley. 

As Jose Baxter opened the scoring within the first twenty minutes I was in shock. I celebrated like I've never celebrated before but felt kind of shell shocked. When Stefan Scougall added the second, straight after Hull had equalised, I hugged my mates and felt tears welling up.

I thought of my Nan, who passed away last August. I wished she had seen this. United outplaying a Premier League team, two divisions above us. They are performing at Wembley Nan. I pictured her sat in an armchair, holding her scarf, kicking every ball.

I thought of my Dad, back home listening to the radio. This, one Wembley trip too many to contemplate. I wished that he was stood next to me. 

I knew it could all change. It did. But for forty five minutes I felt on top of the world. At half time I saw and hugged a Blade I know from twitter. We stood in queues, wide eyed in wonder. We deserved this. We had lost concentration once and been punished, but that aside we had performed way above any expectations. 

We will tire, got to keep it solid for ten or fifteen minutes, we said. We have a chance then. 

In the end, neither happened. Facing an onslaught after positive half time changes by Steve Bruce we found ourselves 4-2 down and seemingly down and out. Then in the final 90 seconds of normal time we scored. We had a chance and nothing to lose.

Throwing caution to the wind in injury time time, Harry Maguire burst forward. His shot was blocked and Hull broke scoring a fifth goal. 

As one, the 32,000 Blades fans started applauding and cheering their team, with the Hull fans in raptures at the opposite end having sealed victory. It's something I've never seen or experienced before. Pride in the team. Pride in the club. Acknowledgment that we had lost, but by heck we had given it a go. And Hull knew it.

Ultimately the result is tinged with disappointment. When you lead 2-1 and eventually lose there is bound to be that emotion. But the fans lifted their arms, stuck out their chests and applauded the crestfallen players in red and white shirts.

Much has changed at Sheffield United in the last 7 months, most - if not all - of it for the better. We are a couple of players, a striker in particular, away from a successful side. The cup run, allied with the upturn in league form, makes the retention and recruitment of players an easier task.

Off the pitch the club is operating more efficiently and creatively, with communication much improved and a genuine unification of fans, players, staff and board members.

People left Wembley tonight in a positive mood. A seemingly hard concept for some fans of other clubs to consider. We had conceded five they said, what is there to be happy about? How little they know.

As the sun disappears beyond the horizon and the day is ending, it is clear that United are moving in a positive direction. And today is only the beginning.  

Good old Wembley-by-the-Sea

"You got to the seaside for a day out, you go to Wembley to win." 

Nigel Clough's words in a recent interview and well shared amongst Blades fans in recent weeks.

If Nigel has that embedded in the players’ minds and they continue to play to their system and dictated by their roles then we certainly have a chance. But it's rare the bookies lose money and 4-1 in a two horse race reflects the reality of the challenge facing United. So forgive me if I focus on backing the team and enjoying the day. I will be honest with you; a goal would be good, never mind a win. 

For me, any fan can't be blamed for treating the trip to Wembley as a day out. We are the self-preservation society. Looking for a protective shield from yet more hurt on the big day. This cup run has fused club and fan-base together in a way not seen for several years, but the scars still exist and they are still tender to the touch.

In my near 40 years we have had two visits to the old Wembley, two visits to new Wembley, two visits to Old Trafford and one to Cardiff. The net result was one goal scored, four play-off final defeats and three FA Cup semi-final defeats.

For the Play Off final, where more often than not we were the favourites, the team we saw all season, the team we saw in the play-off semi finals just didn't turn up on the big day.

The Cup semi-finals have been much tighter affairs, separated by the odd goal, but the heartbreak of losing to the other lot in 1993, the sight of Shearer peeling away, fist held high above his head, in celebration back in 1998 and Graham Poll's absent minded on pitch shambling alongside Seaman's wonder save in 2003 still rankle, still hurt.

Over the last few weeks Nigel Clough has reinstated belief in players who wandered the pitch vacantly and without purpose in the Autumn. He has instilled pride in the fans, their undimmed passion allied with a belief that things can and will get better. For a change, I don't fear us not turning up. I don't fear us freezing and not competing. I don't think Clough will let it happen.

We are only the ninth third division side to reach the cup semi finals in 94 years. In the six rounds to date we have beaten five teams who sat above us in the league, four from divisions above. This has been a journey of giant killing from round three onwards. 

It has been a catalyst for the club and fan-base. Alongside boardroom change and managerial change the on-pitch overhaul has built momentum through the cup run. The club has re-discovered its identity and it is one that the fans can associate with. For many, the greatest times watching United come from cup matches at Bramall Lane.  

We can dare to dream, we can enjoy the day, the camaraderie, a shared experience with 33,000 like minded men, women and children and we sing and shout until we are hoarse. 

We don't turn our backs if things don't go to plan. We don't berate players for mistakes or look for scapegoats. It isn't a day for that. It is a day to be thankful that we have our club back. We have a team with the right attitude and aptitude. We have an honest and astute management team and a board that matches the ambition of the fans.


We have respect for Hull. They are a Premier League team and should remain so next season. They are up there with good reason and although the absence of Jelavic and Long is welcomed, that should not detract from the quality elsewhere. We are not the favourites, there is no expectation that has hung over us like a dark, sapping cloud before.

No one could have predicted this in September. Nobody would have predicted this on the first weekend of January as the team travelled to Villa Park. Be thankful, enjoy it and urge the team on. They aren't going for the day out. They have a job to do. To win.

Whatever happens on Sunday we should walk back to our planes, trains and automobiles with pride. We feel like a club United at last. And as we have been frequently reminded this season, it is the cup and in the Cup you just never know. 

Cup Matters

 

 

In recent years there have been plenty of reports and comment articles on the death of the FA Cup. In many ways those reports are premature. However there are times that you feel that the guardians of the Cup are determined to find new ways to inflict hurt on it year after year. The FA, in its own way seems to be putting the FA Cup through a long term form of euthanasia.

 

The FA call it "The most famous domestic cup competition in the world", which sounds great until you realise the status afforded to cup competitions in other major footballing powerhouses. With the odd exception, say the Coupe De France which has ten times the number of participants of the FA Cup, cup competitions in Europe are second class, midweek affairs with low crowds and little interest. It seems that the FA is set on a path of downgrading their own competition to that of the Coppa Italia or the Cofidis Cup in Belgium.

 

Yet on Sunday, one match shows just what makes the FA Cup important, why it is such a vital part of the footballing schedule. It was the fourth pick by the television companies, given an awful High Noon Sunday slot. It is probably the least attractive to fans looking in from the outside, obsessed with the Premier League and the big name players. You may not see the pretty football that many crave, you may not see teh most technically gifted players, yet it will probably be the only game where you see two full strength sides playing, where both teams see cup progressions as important, if not more important than what follows in the league. Sheffield United v Charlton should attract a capacity crowd of near 30,000 generating a raucous and vibrant atmosphere. The only empty seats being the result of over stringent segregation demands.

 

Over 5,000 Charlton fans will make the journey North, a tremendous effort for a match scheduled by television at a time, when there isn't a train out of London to get them to Sheffield for kick off. There are difficulties for local fans as well; with those playing or running Sunday league teams, managing junior football clubs or with sons and daughters taking part all affected. With park pitches unplayable for weeks following recent weather, another postponement is hard to justify or consider. But hey, why should the FA care about the grassroots of the game when they have their TV dollar in their pocket? Why should they care about the fans?

 

We already see matches moved to days and kick off times that make it difficult for fans to attend. Or if they do, it is damn near impossible for them to get home again. This does not just apply to the FA Cup, but there are glaring examples such as Coventry City's Third Round tie at Arsenal being played on a Friday night, to suit television schedules. Then there was moving the final to a 5:15 kick off to maximise the domestic/global television audiences. The FA were quick to claim that the 2012 final achieved the highest peak viewing figure The FA Cup Final had achieved under the current TV deal and a higher audience than that of Bayern Munich v Chelsea in the UEFA Champions League Final. Note the emphasis on "Current" i.e. the best for 5 years.

 

The move driven by UEFA rules on stadium usage prior to a Champions League final left the FA Cup as the denouement of a day of Premier League fixtures. So the final became just another TV game and those who had been at matches may have missed the final travelling back from supporting their team. No longer was the cup final a match everyone had the chance to watch, regardless of who they support.The global media market that the FA are striving to maximise actually found it more difficult to watch the game as a result, as matches slipped into the early hours of the morning in Asia and Australia.

 

Then the following year they used this same justification for keeping a 5:15 kick off when Manchester City and Wigan Athletic fans would have to miss the end of the match to be sure of getting the last trains North. The FA statement at the time was widely vilified, stating that " 5.15pm is a regular kick-off time in the football calendar" and that "This time was agreed with major stakeholders and broadcasters and has been used across the game for a number of years for televised matches". So they said that they had consulted with stakeholders, except they hadn't. Yet again the forgotten stakeholders of football - the fans - were ignored.

 

Many pinpoint 2000 as the turning point when the FA's grimly held belief in their ability to win the World Cup bidding process, led to them allowing Manchester United to withdraw from the competition to curry favour with FIFA and their bloated and expendable World Club Cup. Yet it goes back further than that. The move to play Semi Finals at Wembley in 1991 was the first steps on the road of devaluation. Arsenal and Tottenham playing there to cope with demand for tickets.

 

And Sheffield United fans played a part in the long term switch. When the North London Derby was again moved to Wembley in 1993, the people of Sheffield complained en masse that an Elland Road semi final would leave many fans ticketless and the opportunity to host a match in a stadium such as Wembley should be afforded to all. Although it didn't become established for another 12 years, the seeds were sown.

 

Having said that every other game seems to get played at Wembley these days. I have been twice to new Wembley for play off finals that could have easily been hosted at Old Trafford and would have proved more convenient and accessible for fans of both clubs involved. It has reached the stage where many would view the Championship Play Off Final as the biggest match to be played at Wembley each year. A sad state of affairs.

 

Then there is drawing the next round ties, before the current round of matches has been completed; on a Sunday afternoonbetween live games. How long before the draw is all pre-planned and your route to Wembley is shown as a series of if's and or's?

 

Despite all these negatives, the average attendance at this year's FA Cup third round ties was at a 30 year high. Bigger grounds and those red and blue plastic seats highlight the gaps much more clearly than dark coats on grey terrace steps. The fans are coming despite of the FA and their machinations. Sadly this will make them think their meddling is vindicated. I want the FA Cup to survive and succeed, but I also want the FA to realise how their ever desperate actions are killing off people's interest.

 

This is not some romantic paean to muddy pitches, Ronnie Radford, Bacofoil cups, pitch invasions and Cup Final Grandstand. This is more about remembering that once upon a time, not very long ago, the FA Cup mattered to all. Now it seemingly matters to a lot less. Football is all about money not glory - in Sheffield United and Charlton there are two teams that might keep some of those old fashioned football values alive.

 

They aren't fielding weakened sides with one eye on Champions League matches, neither are they battling to save themselves from the "disaster" of losing Premier League status, neither are they playing to make another £750,000 (the current reward for a position higher finish in the Premier League).

 

Charlton Athletic are in a relegation dogfight, but tell Chris Powell, the team and their fans that Sunday isn't important. Momentum and success can lead to more positivity - just look at what the Cup run has done to the Blades' confidence. United and Charlton will be fielding full strength teams, respecting each other, the competition and playing their hearts out for a trip to Wembley (albeit a round too early), because it still matters. If only that view was more widely shared.

Football & The Working Man - An Increasingly Twisted Love

This is something I wrote last Friday (February 14th), but lost (and since recovered) due to technical issues. It is about the most manipulative, tortuous and frustrating love you can have. It was probably more relevant as a Valentine's lament to the game we love, but a few days doesn't change anything.

 

Given weekend events at Bramall Lane it may seem a little incongruous, but this is more about lamenting the modern game in general and not my club on it's own.

 

 

 

It is a relationship that is a long term commitment.

At times you can argue it is a one way relationship. You put so much in to get so little back.

You do not have a monogamous partner. Yet you look at no other.

Despite this one-eyed devotion, your share of its time rises and falls over time.

 

Some say love is a gift, bestowed freely, willingly and without expectation. But this is different; there is always an expectation, and if not expectation there is hope. Hope that grinds you down over time, it might diminish, but always lingers.

 

The moments, when they come are, magical, full of ecstacy and emotion, but they are all too rare. 

You invest time, energy and money, yet it increasingly exploits you. The meals become more expensive, the clothes they insist you buy, to demonstrate your love, increase in cost.

They say you should show your love in new and inventive ways, buying bricks in walls, onesies, assorted over-priced tat. But it brings little reward and leaves you spent out.

You recognise all of its faults - that you blithely accept - but rarely the virtues. But those virtues become harder and harder to see as time moves on.

The number of little things that niggle increase year on year.

It invites you into its arms, yet leaves you unable to see it's wares.

It can ignore what you want and like; changing the way they look, wearing red when you hate it, changing their given name to something they think will further their future development.

It can leave you stranded in another city, with no means of transport home, just because the TV companies asked for an appearance.

It can move away to another town or city without a thought as to how you will cope or keep the relationship alive.

The lure of money and power is often too much and you just cannot compete.

There are times you sense it wouldn’t miss you if you wasn't there, such is the myriad of others courting attention, offering riches that you just cannot match.

Over time you realise that it is something that actually bears little resemblance to what you first started a relationship with in the first place. 

Your devotional manner masks the bloated garish mess it has become.

It's ego has got bigger, interest in it has widened.

 

You share it with others who increasingly argue that they love it more, that they are more special, that they deserve more attention, that they deserve to be treated better.

It is a relationship played out in front of a feverish media, all looking to exploit any minor connection to make up a story, to try and break the relationship or any party involved. Your resolve remains strong.

It is a relationship played out against a backdrop of social media bullying, banter from people you have never met and never will do and a large yellow rolling banner telling you the latest exclusive news about your love.

The physical and emotional blows increase in severity. One kick in the balls follows another. But still you are there, unable to walk away.

It tells you that you are great, that you are important and valued, yet finds increasingly expensive ways to test you.

Drink makes it easier. It makes the day pass quicker, makes the state of play look better. But that isn't the answer.

And still you suffer painful pangs for the things you held dear - most now obliterated, never to return.

That which first attracted you in the first place.

Now just distant memories or at best fleeting moments.

Good as Gold (Stupid as Mud)

Good as gold, but stupid as mud

He'll carry on regardless

They'll bleed his heart 'til there's no more blood

But carry on regardless

(Dave Rotheray/Paul Heaton)

Dusk falling on Saturday night and as our coach wound its steady way back up the M1 I described the day's denouement as devastatingly inevitable. Many fans of other clubs graciously commiserated and said it was the worst way to lose. It is, whether it lasts 4 or 5 penalties or goes all the way through to 11, or beyond.

The fact that we finished, over 46 games, 9 points clear in third makes it even harder to bear. The reality is that over 120 minutes at Wembley, when it mattered, we were second best on the pitch and unable to hold our nerve when it really mattered. I could talk about my long-held lack of agreement with the play-off system, but given the timing that would just come across as bitter and I am not. These are the rules, this is the system in place and we knew what finishing third meant.

The inevitability may seem odd, it may seem like a typically pessimistic comment from a football fan managing expectations, but this was United's fourth play-off final and Saturday's result leaves us with a record of Won 0 Goals Scored 0 Goals Against 5. You would struggle to find a club with such a poor play off final record.

Throw in the sequence of events at the culmination of this season, from the jailing of Ched Evans and its impact on morale and team structure, to the injuries to subsequent key players such as Hoskins, Cresswell and McDonald, to the reckless stupidity of James Beattie's sending off in the final league game at Exeter and the relentless and ultimately successful pursuit of second by Wednesday. All have contributed to what has felt like a slow and painful death by a thousand cuts, the final swipe at around 6:35 pm on Saturday was the deepest and finally proved fatal.

Despite playing poorly and riding our luck a little we took it to extra time, somewhere we had never taken a final before. They even had me believing in the shoot-out. After Town had missed their first three penalties, I honestly believed Lowton would score and that would leave us two up with two penalties left.

He missed. I clutched my little boy's hand, more for my emotional support rather than his, and early in the sudden death element of the shoot-out he turned to me and said;

"Daddy, can we go back to the coach now?"

"No, the shootout is still happening, why do you want to leave?"

"Because they (Huddersfield) are going to win"

Very perceptive my boy, he has learned "The Blades Way" of doing things at a tender age. For those of us much older we become hardened by it. We are used to disappointment and despite the positive support and encouragement we give the team, we train our minds to expect the worst. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

The support was more positive and lively than at previous finals, but Wembley has a horribly negative effect on atmosphere, with chants starting within groups of fans cast around the stadium and the sound seemingly travelling with a delay. At one point there were about four versions of the Greasy Chip Butty song drifting around the stadium at various stages of fulfilment. The creation of a single unifying chant seemed difficult unless it was more rudimentary in nature and benefitted from the rhythm of clappers, as used by Huddersfield fans. 

The match was poor. United applying what in effect was a 4-5-1 formation, although the management would claim that Stephen Quinn was to push on from midfield to make it a 4-4-1-1. The aim clearly being to stifle the threat from Huddersfield and try and nick a goal, as we had against Stevenage. It was a similarly gritty match to the Stevenage games, with little skill on show, plenty of mistakes and scrappy play.

What frustrated me was United's contentment in launching the ball forward, instead of playing it from the back in a manner which had brought success all season. Clearly missing our midfield playmaker Kevin McDonald I would have liked to have seen Lee Williamson playing alongside Michael Doyle, giving someone to put a foot on the ball, steady the nerves and dictate possession. United offered little attacking threat. The final ball often letting us down, with two few players attacking the area and for those that did the ball was played behind them or too close to Smithies in the Town goal.

Huddersfield were the better side and provided more attacking threat throughout. On the day I can't argue with the outcome. We didn't play positively enough and lacked the fluency with which we have played all season. Whilst I couldn't say that we didn't turn up - an accusation levelled at the United team at previous finals - we didn't play to our strengths and had the look of a tired side shorn of our most potent threats.

On Sunday, whilst uploading my photos from the day, I named the folder "Wembley 2013". I could blame it on tiredness or a touch of sunstroke, but it wasn't until later in the day I noticed I had done it. When I realised my mistake the first thought in my head was,

"Please God, No!"

If Wembley 2013 does happen, many United fans won't be there; not prepared to endure more potential heartbreak at such a significant mental and financial cost and do you know what? A bit of me doesn't blame them.

Maybe, in this age of bragging over levels of support, where attendances seem more important than on pitch results to some; where measuring fan loyalty and tiresome debates of how big a fan you are become increasingly prevalent; such an attitude seems odd.

But for everyone there is a breaking point. For my dad that was the last final versus Burnley three years ago. This time, at 70 years old, the cost, the long journey, the "buggering about" before the match and past disappointment all caught up with him. I missed him not being there. He will still be there at Bramall Lane next season though and still supports the team with a passion, but for him the big days out are finished through choice. I still have an appetite for it, slightly dimmed, but it's still there.

I still believe our day in the sun, with a result to match, will come and I want to be there for it. It might be a League One play off it may be a JP Trophy final, but if and when Wembley comes round again I'll be there and, despite the mental damage limitation, I'll still believe.

On leaving The Green Man pub pre-match I saw a large flag attached to a garden fence backing on to the beer garden. Sheffield United - Carry On Regardless. Three words which sum up the life of a football fan and a song whose lyrics can be used to demonstrate the vain hope of football fans who place their faith in the universal liar.

I want my love, my joy, my laugh, my smile, my needs

Not in the star signs

Or the palm that she reads

I want my sun-drenched, wind-swept Ingrid Bergman kiss

Not in the next life

I want it in this

I want it in this

(Rotheray/Heaton)

Postscript:

For those who read my last blog post; "Me, My Son and Wembley" I am pleased to say that despite the result we had a fun day out. We ate sweets and crisps, til we were full, I drank beer in the sun whilst we played football, we walked down Wembley Way to mingle with the crowds, he waved his flag and blew his horn and, thanks to some tweeting I did for the Football League, we were able to go pitch-side for photos as the players warmed up.

We held hands tightly as the penalties were taken and grasped them even tighter as we navigated the crowds back to the coach. Eventually, despite his protests about not being tired, he fell asleep on me as the coach neared Sheffield. His painted Blades badge, a sweat-smeared red and white smudge across his cheek. It was a day that filled up our senses and that at times he struggled to take in, but we have some great photos and some great memories to remind us in future years. We will just choose to forget about the match.

Me, My Son and Wembley

Given the recent history of both Sheffield United and Huddersfield Town in the play offs you might be forgiven for expecting Wembley to be filled with 60,000 grim faced, negative Yorkshiremen on Saturday. Their demeanour forming one big grey cloud over the game; muttering, moaning and fearing the worst.

Watching United regularly over the last 24 years I have witnessed three promotions, four relegations, three FA Cup semi-final defeats (one of which was at Old Wembley versus the other lot), a League Cup semi-final defeat and all three play-off finals united have reached have ended in defeat. The last of those came against Burnley, three years ago, when Unitedites arrived in a state of mind that seemed to be anticipating inevitable defeat. Whilst Burnley fans seemed to be there for the day out, positive, upbeat and cheery, the Blades fans struck a more muted tone that only deteriorated over the course of the match.

We know that what has happened before is history, different teams, different players and different managers, but it doesn't mean that the expectation is any different this time around. Given the novelty of a visit to new Wembley wore off three years ago,  considering the way United's push for promotion fell away in the dying embers of the season and reviewing the paucity of fit and available strikers, Blades fans could be forgiven for thinking another expensive day out at rip-off Wembley was a luxury and not a necessity. More so in these austere economic times. I suspect the ticket sales will confirm that many see an afternoon in the pub or armchair as a better use of time and money.

However, the lounge room at home or public house is not for me and the main reason I am looking forward to this trip is the fact I am taking my 6 year old son to Wembley; a father and son rite of passage. Yet, to do this, middle-band tickets and coach travel have set me back £157 for the pair of us and that is before drinks, food, programme, souvenirs. The cost, the hassle, the journey have all contributed to my Dad and Brother - both season ticket holders - not joining us. It's wholly understandable why many fans and families will not be there.

Now it is not like my son has not been to Wembley before; he went last year with his Mum to watch her team, Bolton Wanderers, lose to Stoke City in the FA Cup semi-final. Yet, as many readers of this blog will already know, it wasn't the crushing defeat that sticks in their memories from that day. It will be having their car attacked half a mile from the Wembley car parks.  It will be the snarling Stoke fan getting in their faces and hurling abuse as they walked from car park to stadium. It will be the missiles and threats flying back and forth between Bolton fans and Stoke fans in the Club Wembley seats above them. I wrote about their experience here, if you haven't read it please do.

It is hard to remove those kinds of images from a young boy's mind. My moans and groans, my fear of the potential for another Blades' failure on the big stage, pale by comparison. He went to watch a big match, at a world famous stadium, in front of a big crowd and his experience was horrific.

Thankfully his football watching experience has been more positive since. He has continued with his season ticket at Bramall Lane and watched better performances this season, with more wins and goals to keep him interested. Bolton chairman Phil Gartside, on reading this blog, invited my wife and George to hospitality in his suite at the Bolton v Everton game earlier this season. They had a great day, being well looked after by Phil and his guests, of course Bolton lost and again the result passed him by, but for the right reasons this time.

Yet, when the potential for United playing at Wembley was realised, there was still a reticence about going back. You could see the worry behind his eyes as he tentatively agreed to join me. His mind working over-time computing everything that happened last time, alongside thoughts of being with his Dad and cheering on the Blades.

Saturday's trip to Wembley is a must win game for the  Blades, failure to get promotion leaves the club in a difficult position next season, with wholesale changes likely as the club struggles to comply with FFP rules. If we lose, then realistically it could be a while before we bounce back. A Blades victory is something I want so much, yet at the same time and on a personal level, this is about giving my son the day-out at a big football match that he deserves to remember and for all the right reasons.

When I bought our tickets online, I sent a brief email to my wife. It was the excitable football fan in me; delighted to have got my tickets, despite the likelihood of it not selling out, nor my chosen price band selling out in the first afternoon! Her reply brought a little lump to my throat and dampness to my eye that, for a Yorkshireman who shows little emotion, took me back a little. 

 

"Don't go down there with the view that you are going to see a must-win match and it will be really disappointing if you don't win - instead look at it as a big adventure with your little boy and try to have as much fun as you can - buy stupid hats and expensive sweets/drinks/food, sing loud silly songs, put him on your shoulders to walk up Wembley Way, wave your flags - let the match/result be a sideshow rather than the main event."

"Try to imagine being a 6 year old again and forget all the years of disappointment…. that way, no matter what the result, you and George will have some great memories of a shared 'Father and Son Big Day Out'"

She is right (but don't tell her I said that) and that is exactly what I am going to try and do. I can't promise to follow it to the letter - I might draw the line at one of those red and white jester hats - but I am going with a positive attitude and I hope all other Blades fans are too.

If we all go with a bit of the wonderment and excitement of a 6 year old and less of the world-weary bitterness of repetitive failure, then maybe we might enjoy ourselves. If we enjoy ourselves, we might just back the team in a positive way. And if we back the team in a positive way, United could get the result to match the day-out.

Up the Blades!

Not a Grand Day Out

There is a five year old boy from Sheffield. He doesn't share the natural enthusiasm for football that his Dad had at the same age. Then again, some children get into football later in life, some don't at all. Onlookers might say that his Dad has spent his time since August in a season long attempt to put him off football by taking him  to Bramall Lane, but a ten pound season ticket makes it a low cost investment of time and money. Slotted in have been sporadic visits with his Mum, a season ticket holder at the Reebok Stadium, a much happier place to be.

Although his enthusiasm was a slow burner, he had, for the last few weeks, a big day out to look forward to. The FA Cup semi-final at Wembley. The wonderment of a trip to a huge stadium, the sense of occasion, a positive riot of colour and noise. Something to live long in the memory. It may well do, but for all the wrong reasons and not for what happened between 4pm and 6pm.

Thanks to the M1 being closed, it was a hot an arduous journey to the capital, although early encounters with opposition support at Oxford Services witnessed over exuberance and daftness as opposed to any menace. A train of cars of red and white and blue snaking down the M40 and A40 until, nearly two hours later and close to five hours after setting off, the car bedecked with scarves and flags entered the final mile or so to the stadium. A mother and son's road trip, as much a part of the day's experience as the match itself. Wide eyed wonderment at a trip to "London", not realising that it is the northern suburbs and not the tourist London of schoolbooks and television.

"It's no different to Sheffield Mummy!".

Passing pubs, the first overspilling with raucous Bolton fans and then another populated by Stoke fans. Approaching traffic lights, although the lights were green, the car is stopped to allow some Stoke fans to cross the road.

At that point several drunken Potters fans preceded to start thumping on the windows of the car, hurling abuse at the passengers within. Irrelevant to them that it is a young woman and her small son. They then proceed to do what 70mph driving couldn't achieve and rip the car flags from the windows of the car taunting their victims with their trophies. A bit of a verbal set to ensues as the driver points out her young son is in the back of the car, which does nothing to stop the idiots' taunts. Eventually a female Stoke supporter grabs hold of one of the flags from her fellow fan and returned the remains apologetically as the idiots continued to taunt and bait and the car moves on.

Shortly after, on arriving at the stadium, the young boy incredibly upset continues to shake and quiver. This should have been the time to soak up that atmosphere on Wembley Way, the colour, the feeling of being at a special event, but that wasn't to be. The young boy didn't want to be outside the stadium as "those Stoke fans might get us Mummy".

He knew that it wasn't until he got into the ground that he would feel happier, surrounded by fellow Bolton supporters. They took some photos to remember the day, but all show a boy whose eyes are looking anywhere but the camera, darting around, clearly worrying about what might happen next. 

What happened next was a football match, but the day had been tarnished long before the Wanderers' capitulation. His team were soundly thrashed, some said they never turned up, yet events off the pitch left the little boy upset, scared and wishing he hadn't turned up either.

During the match the views of those who oppose the F.A.'s avaricious decision to hold semi-finals at Wembley were further vindicated as supporter segregation went out of the window in the country's showpiece stadium. The inability to restrict Stoke fans from the Club Wembley seats around the Bolton end leading to exchanges of "pleasantries" and missiles with the Bolton fans below. Stewards looking on impassively. Young fans looking on, wondering why?

"They smell of pubs, of Wormwood Scrubs and too many right wing meetings"

Society is cursed by a number of drink fuelled, emotionally crippled men who get their kicks in -perverse ways, Sadly football just seems to exacerbate the worse aspects of their behaviour. We have all seen it at football, instances of threatening behaviour from sinewy pit bulls, veins bulging from neck and forehead, more often than not directed at their own breed from the other side of the club divide. Their kids, the next generation, giving it the big one at the opposition pups. Then there are those, a minority I know, who take it to another level. Revelling in threatening their fellow supporters who don't share their opinion, with few qualms about threatening women and young children.

In taking your children to football you know that you are potentially exposing them to unsavoury behaviour. If you are sensible you can shield them from a lot of what happens. You know where to go pre-match, where to sit, avoiding the potential pressure points. You set their moral code, so they know right from wrong.

The swearing passes them by for a while, although you know you will have to cross that bridge in time and then it will most probably be as much to do with what they hear at school as at football. You can explain why the police are arresting people and dragging them out of the ground. You can explain that the reason the Millwall fans are marching across the seats arms outstretched offering out the home support is because they are naughty and a bit sad that they aren't winning.

But how do you explain what happened on Sunday afternoon? Before the match, before the emotions run high, before the real anger and frustration potentially manifests itself.

You would think that a Bolton v Stoke semi-final, a massive game for both fans, with little inter-club rivalry, would be a safe environment for a young boy - not least for the fact he was with his Mum. Even when a friend, the day before, reported a nasty and at times violent atmosphere at the City - United derby it did little to change opinion.

It is a sad indictment on society that some people consider the behaviour that 5 year old boy witnessed and suffered as acceptable, with no retraction or embarrassment. Even in sober post-match reflection you cannot imagine their opinion changing.


Come Saturday the opportunity will be there to join his Dad at Bramall Lane. If he doesn't want to go, I'll understand why. He may choose not to follow football. After Sunday you wouldn't blame him. He may change his mind several times as is the want of young boys. Whatever happens que sera, sera.