Originally published in the North Norfolk News on 30 August 2007. Lightly edited from my original feature about two very different football crowds.
When I was offered the chance of writing full-length features this summer for the North Norfolk News I was quite excited… but when I opened my big mouth and said that one of my big dislikes was football the bigwigs at the newspaper decided to let me loose with the fans.
As if my weekends weren't traumatic enough with the constant reminders of football on TV and radio I was going to be stuck socialising with a bunch of football fans. How was I going to fit in with them?
I was sent on a busy train from Sheringham to Norwich one Saturday afternoon, armed with loose change, a notepad and a mobile phone. Any more possessions and I was concerned a yob might run off with them.
I had already prepared myself with a number of sporting phrases… My friends told me all I needed was to shout 'Referee!' when something went wrong, to cheer when a goal, and to throw a few expletives around when things looked bad.
I'd no idea how to get to the Carrow Road so I just followed the noise and parade of yellow and green shirts. The pubs surrounding the grounds were busy, and I wasn't quite sure what to expect… I knew if I got a notepad and pen out I’d be spotted by one of the loud fans surrounding the bar.
The Canaries were playing Southampton, and the fans were moaning about the fact football commentator Roy Waller no longer was doing his thing on BBC Radio Norfolk.
As soon as the match began, the adrenaline kicked in. "Who's the daddy?" started shouting one fan from the other side of the pub. Suddenly he got a response from a lady who had just walked in. "You're the daddy!" she shouted. I realised it was going to be a long afternoon. In fact these bizarre incidents carried on for most of the match and I realised they must have been rituals that they performed each week. Along with the guys who continued to use the bar as drums when things started getting exciting. And as the drinks kept a-coming, the noise got louder. It felt like hell!
I was happy to get out alive just before the match ended, and within seconds of the finish a vast parade of yellow and green fans appeared from all corners and everyone was cheering. There was no sign of the Southampton fans other than occasional figures in red and white shirts running away from it all and keeping their heads down low. Even I didn't feel that safe in a red and white chequered shirt!
Forty minutes after the match, enough was enough, and I made a break for the train. But this time I wish I'd stayed at the game. The train operator didn't provide any extra space for these football fans, and I was left standing crammed up against a door, forced to make conversation with those standing next to me. It was worse than the London tube, with every person smelling of alcohol and sweat.
The following weekend the paper sent me to a Cromer v Lowestoft match. What a contrast! A completely different scenario. The club's ground is tucked far away from a chaotic town of traffic and the bustle is in town, well away from the area. The spectators were mostly male and average age around fifty. But I haven't a bad thing to say about them. They were obviously relations of the footballers and were clearly enjoying themselves.
The only discomfort came when a football was kicked my way. That brought back bad memories of high school PE. I'd try to collect the ball and end up kicking it even further in the wrong direction. Meanwhile the reason for the lack of girlfriends watching became apparent, as the language on the pitch was worse than a late night edition of Big Brother.
Once I'd worked out who was playing I could tell that Lowestoft were putting up a good game, but Cromer had played much better. And from that sentence alone you can see why I won't be taking up sports journalism. But throughout the game I felt welcomed by other spectators, although disappointed there wasn't more enthusiasm. I'd been told that Cromer was an ideal place to see local football in action. It seems there's a sense of pride there that keeps it all together.
Clearly for the pensioners in the crowd this was one of the highlights of the week for them, meeting up with their fellow supporters and visiting the clubhouse for a drink or two. There was to be no alcohol here, it was fizzy drinks and sausage rolls all round, and I have to say watching them brought a smile to my face!
From both experiences one thing shone through… football brings families together…whether it's the children on the train to a Norwich City match making paper aeroplanes and following their father's example, or Cromer Football Club where mothers and fathers watch their fully-grown sons playing the game. They were two completely different games, but shared one huge reason why football is still popular today.
I and others may knock it, but for a lot of people in Norfolk it's a lifestyle, and I can see why in the summer months a Saturday afternoon without football for them is hell. As for me, will I be attending football matches in the future? I don't think so. So a warning to my friend who thinks she'll be getting me a pair of football tickets for my 19th birthday this weekend, it's best to give that a rethink during the next few days!