So the excitement, the colours, the history and the romance of last weekend is over. I am, of course, talking about my team’s glorious back to back promotion to the premier league. In fact, to be honest, watching the game live, knowing we only had to win to be promoted was absolute agony for 40 minutes after we went a goal up – just ask my wife.
I was trying to explain to a non-football fan recently (are there really non-football fans?) what this kind of thing meant. This probably followed a comment along the lines of ‘Why don’t you support Man Utd – they’re the best aren’t they? Real football fans don’t actually have a choice when it comes to the team they support. They are simply given a team, very often whether they like it or not, perhaps because it is where they come from, or in my case, as some kind of inheritance from their father.
I don’t know when or why it happened, but at some point in the 1970’s Norwich City became my team (even though I grew up at least 150 miles from Norwich). As bequests from your parents go, I could have done better. For a brief period in the early 1990’s they flirted with success, only then to follow a slow and painful decline, culminating in a 7:1 (yes, seven : one) defeat at home in the first game we played in league 2 in 2009 (that’s division 3 in old money). I still recall the texts from my so-called friends that afternoon.
Well, I will be smiling on the other side of my face from August (for at least 9 months that is) when we play in the top flight again.