Tonight, I had one of those fatherly responsibilities: taking a child to a big sporting fixture. My team, Chelsea, were playing Queen’s Park Rangers. The latter team are bottom of the League. My team had just thrashed a better side. My guest, W, had his eyes full of stars in anticipation.
What followed was a display of gross footballing ineptitude. W sat silently as bitter waves of profanity broke over his head and grown men, myself included, gnawed at our programmes and cursed. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shout:
“This is life, boy, this is LIFE. A man’s Life: Expectations crushed; cruel twists of fate; having those you’ve idolised let you down and leave you weeping acid tears of rage and humiliation. LEARN THIS TRUTH!”
Of course I could not do that to a 9 year old. His tiny shoulders are too fragile for such incalculable weight. So I just told him he was a bloody jinx and I was never taking him again.
You have my sympathies. I have a 10 year old son and I have to admit to a certain amount of agonising about taking him to his first Chelsea game as it is (potentially) key to his future footballing allegiances. My first game was Chelsea v Sheffiled United in the early 70s and I have been a fan ever since (I hope not because of Chelsea’s 2:1 victory although I suspect that it might very well have helped). The closest so far that my Son and I have managed to get to watching a live Chelsea game is the Stamford Bridge Stadium tour last Summer (surprisingly good actually) which we did with his 6 year old cousin. I am sure that if I had been in London (we live outside the UK so match opportunities are limited to visits home) I would have earmarked the QPR game as a home banker – pretty much guaranteed a win with all the feel good factor that would cement Chelsea into his heart in the same way as it is in mine. Oh footbal,l how fickle you can be!
Just back from watching us go down 2-0 to Swansea. I think moving abroad might be my best option 🙂