From sofa to seat 114
Jamie Taylor, Writer.
Twitter: @hellojamie_t
It’s something I’ve been talking about doing for a couple of years now but it’s never quite happened. There’s always an excuse, always something else that needs doing. Looking back, if I’m being honest, I think I’ve always been a little bit embarrassed. So it was with much trepidation that I, on the second hottest day of the year, finally plucked up the courage to ask my partner of 22 years the big question. ‘Can I have £350 to buy a season ticket for Huddersfield Town?’.
So why the big deal? Well, first things first, I’m not actually a Town supporter. I’ve never been to the ground and I’d struggle to name last season's starting eleven let alone the league winning teams of 1924 – 26. I know Captain Picard is a big fan and that Bill Shankly managed them in the 1950s and that’s about it. Truth be told, I’m really a Liverpool fan, born and bred. Well, actually, not quite ‘born and bred’ and I guess here lies the problem. I was born nowhere near Liverpool. I have no family connection there and as far as I know I’m the only red in my family. Growing up in Durham in the late 80s, my two options were Sunderland (who were shit) or Liverpool (who were not). Not quite having a grasp of the geography, I went for the latter and it just sort of stuck.
Don’t get me wrong. It is fun being a Liverpool fan. We’re playing football the likes of which I could only dream of in my teens. We’ve got a great manager, great players and we win lots of stuff but I can’t help but feel something is missing. I don’t go to any of the matches. It’s nigh on impossible to get a ticket anyway and besides that, I’m quite comfy in my armchair. This means that for me, everything is mediated. The match, the atmosphere, the community – all of it I experience through a screen of one type or another. Surely that’s not what football is about? Where’s the shared sense of purpose, the songs, the shit weather? I don’t really get any of that where I sit. I think it’s that that I’m really looking for. You can keep your Champions League, I just want to be part of a crowd. I want to turn up to watch Town get beat 0-4 on a wet Wednesday and for it to be ok, because my misery will be shared by the bloke who always turns up late two rows down and the two kids who won’t shut up two rows back. Because I know that when Huddersfield eventually go up, it’ll also be those same people who I’ll be dancing with in St. George’s Square as the open-top bus passes by.
Maybe I’m getting just a little ahead of myself here. After all, I’ve still not been to my first match. I am still very much, first and foremost, a Liverpool fan. But I’m hoping that might just change. As I press the button confirming the order for my season ticket, my partner looks up from her book and asks ‘does this mean you’ll be out every weekend?’ I check my phone to authorise my payment. ‘Maybe’ I say. ‘Let’s wait and see’.
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