The picture of my mate’s late mum Betty on the terraces with five other women, wearing their scarves, reminded me of why we stay loyal to a football club
I don’t think a picture is always worth a thousand words, but this week I saw one worth twice as many. The photograph was taken 70 years ago and features six women in their 20s who I have never met and almost certainly never will. Yet the connection I have with them is real. You see, they support the same football team as I do: West Bromwich Albion. And I can’t help but use the present tense, even though they’re almost certainly no longer with us. I use that f-word, football, advisedly too, because I know the very sight of it is enough for some readers to read no further. Please stick with me, those of you who just don’t get it, because this is especially for you.
It’s incredibly difficult to explain loyalty to – indeed love for – a particular football club to someone who has no club of their own demanding their devotion. To be honest, I’ve lately been struggling to explain it to myself. My team’s been in freefall for a good five years, on and off the pitch. The club is owned by someone a long way away who wants to sell it but can’t find anyone to pay the price he wants. And if he can’t get his money back by selling, there’s no knowing what he could and might do. Don’t get me wrong, I still cared – a lot – but I had never cared less.
