And life is itself but a game at football’ – Sir Walter Scott

First, the match dates and times are all marked in my diary and on the kitchen calendar - even though these days they are likely to change to accommodate the TV schedules. This year my wife has retired my ancient woolly scarf, and I now sport a pristine acrylic version - even on warm game days. The time of going for a few pints before heading to the turnstiles is long gone - these days I usually take some sweets to share with the old pals with whom I’ve been watching ‘wor lads’ for some sixty years. We still talk the same old rubbish about the games, the players, the tactics and reminisce about past heroes and precious moments of shared laughter and joy.  

In these first few late summer and autumn fixtures we walk and talk the familiar tightrope between hope and despair. 

We bemoan the rising costs of tickets, subscription channels and tea and share frustrations at the challenges of digital entry. We are increasingly bemused by the unimaginable wealth of the talented young athletes we support, the politics and high finance of club ownership, the continual background noise of a social media we barely know how to use, the corporate and commercial grip on football success and of course VAR. 

Yes, we are quite bemused and uncertain about the changes we have lived through in many aspects of life, including our football support. 

And yet we continue to go to the match, continue to enjoy the frisson of anticipation, the laughter and camaraderie of long friendships, the joy of watching sublime skills, dogged defence, unforgettable goals and the experience of being at one with fifty thousand others. 

Despite all the money, all the controversies, all the media and the whole bloomin’ hoopla - this is my club … this is our club … this is our game. 

                                                                                                Jamie Thompson