Home > blogging for Britain > It’s been emotional

It’s been emotional

A few years back, one of my former colleagues and I branched off to work on a football-related project. He had – and has – absolutely no interest in football; to the extent that he isn’t even familiar with the names of some of our nation’s world-famous clubs.

When I asked why, he said that he had enough ups, downs, happiness and pain in everyday life. Why would he want any more?

If you’re not a football fan, you won’t understand that supporting a team is not necessarily a choice, it’s just part of who you are. I’m Tottenham. I have been since the age of 7, and there’s not a fat lot I can do about it. My great-grandfather played in the victorious 1921 FA Cup winning side, both sides of my family originate from the Tottenham/ Edmonton/ Wood Green area and no one on my mum or dad’s side of the family has ever supported another team. It’s Spurs all the way.

EH_Apr_BB_Banks

Jimmy Banks, my great-grandfather and Tottenham Hotspur footballer

I’m not given to displays of emotion in every day life. I don’t cry. I’m not very tactile – to say the least – and I don’t talk about emotions. I’m English, in other words.

Clearly, I am dealing with some deep-seated issues, and a work-related blog is not the place to get into those. But I don’t think I’m unique amongst a certain strain of my fellow countrymen, and like many of those fellas, the much needed outlet for my repressed feelings is football.

Was the best day of my life when my children were born or when I saw Spurs win the UEFA Cup in 1984? I can’t really answer that, but I only helplessly screamed myself hoarse in happiness on one of those occasions.

Do I still become disproportionately miserable when Spurs lose? I do. Does someone identifying themselves as a fellow fan make me predisposed to think well of them? It does. Have I employed someone on the spot when their football allegiance became clear? I don’t think that decision falls foul of any employment legislation.

Anyway, you get the picture.

This Sunday is Spurs’ final game at the stadium where I have spent a significant proportion of my life. I hadn’t been especially sentimental about this, as the amazing new ground taking shape next door will signal a long overdue step forward. But still…years sitting in the East Stand, next to my dad, watching Glenn Hoddle, Chris Waddle, Ossie Ardiles, Micky Hazard, Steve Archibald, Jurgen Klinsmann, Teddy Sheringham, Gary Mabbutt, Ledley King, Gareth Bale, Luka Modric… I have spent so much of my life there, experiencing every emotion under the sun (and that’s not an exaggeration – I was there on the evening that Fabrice Muamba collapsed and, we thought, died on the pitch at White Hart Lane), that for the stadium to be demolished this coming Monday can’t leave me unmoved.

I’ve mourned Bill Nicholson, seethed at the cynicism of Sam Allardyce’s Bolton side on that same day (the antithesis of “It’s all about glory…”), and, of course, erupted in happiness as crucial goals are scored, important saves are made and vital games are won.

If you don’t get it, fine; football isn’t for everyone. Sport isn’t for everyone. But there are few times or places  in our lives when we can forget the really important stuff and surrender ourselves to something that, while not actually a matter of life and death, certainly feels like it for 90 minutes every weekend.

Goodbye, White Hart Lane. I’ll miss you, but you’ll always be part of me.

Advertisements
Categories: blogging for Britain
  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: