A Footballing Disaster

“You should get your eyes tested ref” was the oft quoted but rarely heard chant from the terraces. I can honestly say that in all of the years I’ve watched football I never heard that infamous insult shouted once. Sure I’d heard a lot worse, so bad that I won’t repeat it word for word, but let’s just say ithe comments questioned the validity of the person in charge's parental heritage. 

Not that I have seen a football match for some time. Watching European football is just not really practical from this side of the world and I haven't plucked up the resolve to go and see a live game here. I know I should but it just hasn't gotten high enough up my list of things to do - it’s hovering somewhere between going to see an opera and wild camping in the Waitakeres. Sounds great in theory but just not practical.

Maybe it's about time I come clean. You see I don't really care for football all that much. Not in real terms anyway. Whilst I don't mind watching the odd game or two, and can happily sit through every single game of the World Cup without a bother, if it doesn't involve my team then I'm not interested. Not really. And, and here's the kicker, if I haven't seen my team play for over six years are they really still my team? There was a time when I knew the ins and outs of each and every player in the squad, bedroom walls were adorned with team posters and coveted Panini sticker book albums were covered with autographs. Now I couldn't name a single person in the squad and I only know the name of the manager because the previous manager has just been sacked and replaced with a well known 'old-hand'. Being on the other side of the world, and half a day out of sync will do that for you. 

But they are still my team. The Boro result is still the first result I look for on a Sunday morning, even though I know it's going to cloud the rest of the weekend. Thankfully there's not as much of the weekend left as there used to be. Back in the day I had the slow trudge to the station and melancholic silence on the train back to Darlington to endure. No amount of Castle Eden Bitter can take the edge off a defeat on a Saturday afternoon I can tell you.

That isn't to say that it's all been bad. There has been some ups with the downs. Unless of course you are one of those fans that attaches themselves to a top team and declares their undying support, despite the closest they’ve ever been to the ground is a poster on their wall. To everyone else, the downs are only really there to give the ups some perspective. There's nothing quite like being in your home ground and watching your team score a late winning goal against a bitter rival, or witnessing two miraculous hard fought comebacks late at night in a European cup game. I would happily take every single drab defeat and goaless draw for just one of those electrifying games. Just as its great to experience the exhilaration of a 91st minute winning goal, it’s just as exciting and more nerve wracking to cling onto a one goal lead for the last twenty minutes of a game. Parking the proverbial bus as the opposition fires ball after ball in the your battered box. Time does seem to stop as each second slowly ticks away. "Five minutes added time!!! Where did that come from.....for fu....."

So what does all this ball-based reminiscing have to do with life in New Zealand? Well, on Friday I happened to have my eyes tested. Not for a future career path in refereeing but because I was about to change my prescription sunglasses. As I settled into the chair, surrounded by optical paraphernalia, the optician turned to me and asked "So where about in the UK are you from originally?". Even after is years away from the UK, and despite not have that strong an accent, it was still obvious that I wasn't a local. 

Now it is at this point, I am ashamed to say, that I normally say "Newcastle". I know horrific isn't it but I will quickly clarify before I’m ostracised from my home town. I say "Newcastle" not for any particular allegiance to the northern city but it's the nearest place I assume that any Kiwi stand a chance of having heard of. And at the end of the day, what's 30 miles when I'm 12,000 miles away. Plenty I know.

But today was different. I was feeling frisky. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was the though that I was about to spend $900 on a pair of sunglasses or maybe I had a spring in my footballing step because we'd won mid-week. 

"Middlesbrough" I responded with pride..... shortly followed by "just south of Newcastle". Well better to be safe than sorry.

"Oh, I've heard of Middlesbrough!"

"Really?" I said somewhat surprised at the response of the optician before noting he must have family relations in the North East of England then adding, "You've heard of Middlesbrough?"

"Yeah, wasn't there a footballing disaster at Middlesbrough?" said the optician 

"No, I don't think so" I replied, a little surprised at the claim and half wondering if I'd been away so long that I'd forgotten a piece of footballing history. 

"Yeah, I'm sure of it - didn't the stand collapse or something?" he added.

The penny dropped. He was thinking about Hillsborough not Middlesbrough

"No, definitely no footballing disasters in Middlesbrough, unless you count what happens every other Saturday." I replied, chuffed by my sparkling wit and then adding, "You're thinking about Hillsborough!"

"Am I? Well if you say so, but I'm sure I'm right."

There was no deterring him so I left it at that. 

If you will excuse me a sentimental moment, that is the beauty of football. At the end of the day it's not the winning or losing that matters but the fact that it provides an anchor to a place and people, a connection to family and friends. Shared experiences, both good and bad. Excitement and boredom and every single emotion in between. And all usually within the same half.