In the late 80s I went to my very first proper football match. I remember it vividly; my Dad dropped me off at my Grandad’s, who then drove us in to town. Arriving at the Ground, I was excited to be seeing a football match for the first time.
As the years have gone by I’ve always envisaged taking my own children to football. It’s something that would be fun to do, to pass on the joy of the game, whatever the team, whatever the league.
As my Dad and Grandad did for me, I want to be able to share my love of football with my child, even if it doesn’t stick forever or it fades away, having that opportunity is something I would really like to be able to do.
I remember taking a flask of tea, a little packed lunch and the obligatory bag of sweets, to a ground that was crumbling, but where we had our special standing spot in the corner. It was a bonding time.
When I was younger I wouldn’t see my Dad that much as he left for work early and then didn’t get back until late. We would have our dinner together, but then he would be out in the evening. Going to the football felt like a time that was just for us.
After 30 years I still go to the odd game with my Dad. Obviously it’s different now I am an adult, but I will always remember those early days with him on the terraces. One day hope it might be me and my offspring cheering on our team! It makes me sad as it’s taking such a long time to come, but I continue to believe that one day it might.