Losing my football virginity
So when you watch football on the telly, or listen to the commentary on the radio, in the background, there is always singing. And accompanying that singing, keeping the lads on time and in high spirits, is usually a drummer. You hear the drum – it is meant to be loud, after all. But what you don’t realise, until you are standing right beside that drum, is that the sound carries to your very core. It is loud. It goes through you. And it is exciting.
I hadn’t experienced that before, but on Saturday I felt it. I had been challenged, live on Radio Scotland, to attend my very first football match, and the next available one was Saturday’s Highland Derby at Ross County. Instead of whatever else I might have planned for my day off I found myself heading north across the Kessock Bridge with recording equipment and a very cross Mr Marr in tow. He had been planning to watch the rugby…
There was a party atmosphere in Dingwall. The fans were in celebratory mood as we followed them up and over the railway bridge and I caught my first glimpse of the stadium; it was smaller than I had imagined. There were pipers and kids and flags and scarves, and we made our way through the turnstile to our seats in the Jail End. It was a mixed crowd; there was a wee boy sitting next to us with his mum, a family group of eight in front of us, and another family, travelled from Fife for the occasion, in fine voice behind us.
Losing my football virginity – AND a macaroni pie before kick off!
And then the drumming started, just six seats to our right. And the stag antlers came out. The lads were in raucous form. Then the pop-up tunnel appeared and we were off. And the ball went up the park, and it came back down again, and occasionally it was kicked out the side lines, and once it hit the cross bar. But mostly it just went up and down. And the chap behind us summed it all up ‘we’ve not seen much football yet today’. And the chants and the songs and the high spirits continued – until Caley scored their first goal. Then there was silence, and the heads went down for a few minutes as the Caley fans took over the song sheet. Then the Staggies’ drum started again, and we were singing and chanting once more.
Until the second Inverness goal came, just a few minutes later, and the players’ heads really went down. The shouts of encouragement we had been hearing from the Jail End turned to shouts of abuse. And then there was a third goal. And the Ross County fans around us started to drift away. Caley were the better team on the day – they seemed fresher and more in control of the ball. Bear in mind as you read this that I’m a complete rookie – it was my first match, remember…
Football is a passion; a way of life for some, a religion, almost. I get that. These fans around us were supporting their team; they knew all the players by name, by reputation and by form. The Staggies were flying high from the euphoria of Sunday’s League Cup win and looking forward to the parade, until their team started losing. When the sun came out, it shone, literally, on the celebrating Caley fans.
With just 10 minutes to go, we headed for the turnstiles, and were far from alone in leaving early. We didn’t stick around for the parade; Mr Marr was keen to salvage what was left of the day watching Scotland be beaten at rugby. Saturday was a poor day for players in dark blue.
Thank you to Ross County for your hospitality – and for the experience of losing my football virginity. I can no longer say I’ve never been to a football match, but I suspect in future I should leave it to the real fans.
*If you’d like to listen to my ‘post-match analysis’ (such as it is) – whizz to 1h37 on this link – it’s a mere 8 minutes long :)
Boaty McBoatface – a very British Response
Boaty McBoatface? I hope so!
My absolute favourite story this week was a salutary lesson as to what can go wrong when power is handed over to the Great British public. In an effort to stir some interest in their new £200 million research vessel, The Natural Environment Research Council asked the public to vote to name the ship. But instead of the noble sounding ‘Endeavour’ or ‘Attenbourgh’ the NERC had been expecting, the front runner, by at least a nautical mile, is the brilliantly comic ‘Boaty McBoatface’.
This is not the first time the public have gone mad when given free reign with names – in zoos up and down the country there are owls called ‘Hooty McOwl Face’, and only last week we learned some Scots have named their children Corryvreakan, Awesome and Bowie.
But the sad news is that the NERC have said the online poll was only looking for suggestions – the final decision will rest with them. Bah Humbug. It’s like the Blue Peter kitten naming scandal all over again…
This column first appeared in six SPP Group newspapers week ended 25th March 2016.
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