Cities Til I Die
There is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, more enjoyable than live football. Sure, there's the short-lived thrill-cum-body-jolting terror that you get from riding the latest implausibly high/sheer-dropping rollercoaster, the fuzzy pleasure of chilled out, chatty night with close friends, the shivers down your spine brought on by watching your favourite band at a live gig or a great film at the IMAX. But for the perfect combination of cameraderie, of hopes raised then dashed, of joy, pain and suspense, live football has it all.
I've tried and failed to put this across to an old friend, who is more of a rugby man who has recently developed a mild obession with American football (a sport which another of my friends described as "a truly American sport, where grown men dress up as cars and crash into each other") but for whom the appeal of "soccer" remains a mystery. He thinks it's too slow, that the frequency of goals is too limited to create excitement. I think he probably thinks football fans are all yobs, too, but is too polite (or wise, perhaps) to suggest this to me.
I think he's missing out, but the law of sod would ensure that, were I ever to take him along, it would be to a dour 0-0 draw in some mouth-watering fixture against team from a town he'd never heard of. It would no doubt rain, and they'd probably run out of pies.
In fact, the infrequency of goals is one of the very reasons a match can be so tantalising. A small mistake can make or break a match: just ask Robert Green. 1-0 is a notoriously dangerous position for a team to be in - I've seen many a team lose from being 1-0 up. A single goal can mean 3 points. A single goal against Liverpool kept us in the Premier League all those years ago. And it may seem hard to believe, but one of the best displays of football I've ever seen was watching Bradford City hold Swindon to a goal-less draw - Swindon went up at the end of that season. 0-0 was an achievement.
Yesterday was a little surreal for me. I went to Watford to support City - very much mirroring my last trip there almost a year ago, not least because it was freezing cold. But this time it wasn't Bradford City, but Hull City, in a trip that formed Part 2 of a mate's birthday - a mate who is an avid Hull fan, fellow ale drinker and all round ace bloke. The outing proved something of a headf***. There I was standing amidst a crowd of Northerners swathed in amber singing "I'm City Til I Die" having to remind myself that it was a different City, whilst still dearly willing them to do well. Much like Bradford, Hull's supporters filled the stands and made a heck of a lot more noise than the Watford fans, who for the most part sat sedately looking, at best, non-plussed, rarely rising to their feet and only showing a hint of emotion in the form of mild annoyance in the second half - I can't even remember why now. Even when Watford finally scored - and scored unexpectedly - they exhibited merely satisfaction and - as my companion put it - applauded politely. It was as if they'd intended to go to the theatre for a spot of Beckett, or something equally uneventful, and taken a wrong turning somewhere around Vicarage Road. I remember this from last year, when I thought perhaps they were just being respectful to their flailing League 2 opponents as they scored their fourth goal and kept largely quiet, while a hoard of Bradford fans regaled them with a tuneful rendition of "Four- Oooooone and you still don't sing..." But today was no different. The uninspiring surroundings doing nothing to lift their mood Watford's mascot - a hornet that looked more like an emaciated panda - started banging a drum, presumably to stir up some sort of passion, or at the very least interest. Rather than having the desired effect, this was a gift to the Hull fans, now 1-0 up, who led a rousing chorus of "If you can't bang a woman bang a drum" (the tune has been in my head ever since.)
Concerned at the ease with which I was shouting "Come on City" and meaning it (after all, I've done it all my life) I turned to the BBC website to see that not only were the Other City drawing against ten men, we had had 20 - yes, 20 - shots at goal and not netted a single one. Consequently, I missed Hull's second, brilliant goal as I was too busy ogling in disbelief at my iphone screen. It was therefore a great relief when Bradford finally won, after several more futile attempts, at the eleventh hour, not least because I would have felt pangs of disloyalty had they lost while I cheered on someone else's team with a genuine intensity and desire that they win.
And this, to me, is what live football was all about. For the fairly long period in which Hull were a shaky 1-0 up and victory was by no means certain I found myself clasping my hands every time the ball went anywhere near the vicinity of either goal, saying a sort of reflex-action prayer (Hello, Catholic roots) that it would/wouldn't go in. My friend's unadulterated joy when it did - twice - was worth every penny of the (somewhat overpriced) ticket. In the second half when I was willing on two Cities at once I actually jumped in my seat when I saw we'd finally beaten Torquay (a club about which I have mixed feelings as a result of past experiences.)
Football is a shared experience. It brings people together. I regret that I don't go more often (though a trip to watch Scunthorpe at Leighton Orient is on the cards for next week - I know how to live.) I had an awesome day on Saturday, and my friend's constant thanks for my accompanying him were unnecessary. Well done, Hull, and thank you for a lovely day. And Bradford... Tuesday is looming...
Watford's uninspiring stadium
I've tried and failed to put this across to an old friend, who is more of a rugby man who has recently developed a mild obession with American football (a sport which another of my friends described as "a truly American sport, where grown men dress up as cars and crash into each other") but for whom the appeal of "soccer" remains a mystery. He thinks it's too slow, that the frequency of goals is too limited to create excitement. I think he probably thinks football fans are all yobs, too, but is too polite (or wise, perhaps) to suggest this to me.
I think he's missing out, but the law of sod would ensure that, were I ever to take him along, it would be to a dour 0-0 draw in some mouth-watering fixture against team from a town he'd never heard of. It would no doubt rain, and they'd probably run out of pies.
In fact, the infrequency of goals is one of the very reasons a match can be so tantalising. A small mistake can make or break a match: just ask Robert Green. 1-0 is a notoriously dangerous position for a team to be in - I've seen many a team lose from being 1-0 up. A single goal can mean 3 points. A single goal against Liverpool kept us in the Premier League all those years ago. And it may seem hard to believe, but one of the best displays of football I've ever seen was watching Bradford City hold Swindon to a goal-less draw - Swindon went up at the end of that season. 0-0 was an achievement.
Yesterday was a little surreal for me. I went to Watford to support City - very much mirroring my last trip there almost a year ago, not least because it was freezing cold. But this time it wasn't Bradford City, but Hull City, in a trip that formed Part 2 of a mate's birthday - a mate who is an avid Hull fan, fellow ale drinker and all round ace bloke. The outing proved something of a headf***. There I was standing amidst a crowd of Northerners swathed in amber singing "I'm City Til I Die" having to remind myself that it was a different City, whilst still dearly willing them to do well. Much like Bradford, Hull's supporters filled the stands and made a heck of a lot more noise than the Watford fans, who for the most part sat sedately looking, at best, non-plussed, rarely rising to their feet and only showing a hint of emotion in the form of mild annoyance in the second half - I can't even remember why now. Even when Watford finally scored - and scored unexpectedly - they exhibited merely satisfaction and - as my companion put it - applauded politely. It was as if they'd intended to go to the theatre for a spot of Beckett, or something equally uneventful, and taken a wrong turning somewhere around Vicarage Road. I remember this from last year, when I thought perhaps they were just being respectful to their flailing League 2 opponents as they scored their fourth goal and kept largely quiet, while a hoard of Bradford fans regaled them with a tuneful rendition of "Four- Oooooone and you still don't sing..." But today was no different. The uninspiring surroundings doing nothing to lift their mood Watford's mascot - a hornet that looked more like an emaciated panda - started banging a drum, presumably to stir up some sort of passion, or at the very least interest. Rather than having the desired effect, this was a gift to the Hull fans, now 1-0 up, who led a rousing chorus of "If you can't bang a woman bang a drum" (the tune has been in my head ever since.)
Concerned at the ease with which I was shouting "Come on City" and meaning it (after all, I've done it all my life) I turned to the BBC website to see that not only were the Other City drawing against ten men, we had had 20 - yes, 20 - shots at goal and not netted a single one. Consequently, I missed Hull's second, brilliant goal as I was too busy ogling in disbelief at my iphone screen. It was therefore a great relief when Bradford finally won, after several more futile attempts, at the eleventh hour, not least because I would have felt pangs of disloyalty had they lost while I cheered on someone else's team with a genuine intensity and desire that they win.
And this, to me, is what live football was all about. For the fairly long period in which Hull were a shaky 1-0 up and victory was by no means certain I found myself clasping my hands every time the ball went anywhere near the vicinity of either goal, saying a sort of reflex-action prayer (Hello, Catholic roots) that it would/wouldn't go in. My friend's unadulterated joy when it did - twice - was worth every penny of the (somewhat overpriced) ticket. In the second half when I was willing on two Cities at once I actually jumped in my seat when I saw we'd finally beaten Torquay (a club about which I have mixed feelings as a result of past experiences.)
Football is a shared experience. It brings people together. I regret that I don't go more often (though a trip to watch Scunthorpe at Leighton Orient is on the cards for next week - I know how to live.) I had an awesome day on Saturday, and my friend's constant thanks for my accompanying him were unnecessary. Well done, Hull, and thank you for a lovely day. And Bradford... Tuesday is looming...
Labels: Bradford City, football
posted by RLS at 5:02 pm
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