The Choice – Mr Routledge
Last week’s article in The Bubble exposed the secret anguish with which I have been living for the past few weeks. Bury FC (founded 1885) have, following a period of serious financial mismanagement, been expelled from the football league (in which they had been an ever-present since 1894). A team I went to watch as a boy, have been mascot for twice, are still the team with the biggest ever margin of victory in an FA cup final (6-0) and a team which beat Manchester City away as recently as 1998, is no more. A team which is still the only team to have scored 1,000 goals in each of the four tiers of English football and has featured, at one time or another, such players as Bruce Grobbelaar, Kasper Schmeichel, Lee Dixon, Peter Reid, Colin Bell, Jermaine Pennant, Neville Southall, Rob Holding and Luther Blissett…is no more. All that history, all those memories… lost like tears in the rain.
Never mind, though, because last week RHS’ best and brightest put together their pitches for why I should transfer my support to another team, because changing your support is like switching a mobile phone contract or a changing an outfit. Easy. Everyone does it. So with that in mind, allow me to take you through the proposals in front of me and to explain why I am, in fact, now a Norwich fan.
I start with the easy decisions. Apologies, Mr Battman, but I just couldn’t transfer my support to a local rival in the same league. Bury v Rochdale has seen some corkers over the years and it is the rivalry that gives these fixtures such occasion. So whilst Rochdale will definitely have a special place for me, it will not be as a fan. Hopefully I will see you at Spotland soon, though.
Mr Cohen, your passion for Chelsea and the ever-youthful Frank Lampard (who has a GCSE in Latin to his name, too) is admirable, but your comment that Chelsea have never been relegated beyond the second tier of English football is ultimately the reason for sadly eliminating your team. For a Lancashire lad used to seeing scruffy, long-ball, goalless draws on terrible turf (you’d call the council if the local park was in such bad condition), the silky success machine of Chelsea just feels a little too far removed from my usual Saturday afternoon. The trophies will doubtless continue to roll in and the youth policy will pay dividends, but now with me at The Bridge.
Mr Brightwell, the promise of a warm welcome at St Mary’s is a tempting one. After years of frozen Northern mediocrity, the prospect of a snuggly, warm embrace from mid-table mediocrity is very much a Siren song to this weary Odysseus. However, despite basing my own football technique on “Le God’s” languid (static) style, Southampton just doesn’t possess the “Je ne sais quoi” that I would need from my new club. I will, however, take up your offer of the ugly kit.
And so, to Leeds. Beautiful, flawed, northern, thuggish Leeds. Mr Gould: a well-written case with many high points. Bonus points for the Icarus analogy and also the superb Dead-alus pun. I will confess to having a soft spot for Bielsa and his eccentricity, and the fact that Leeds succeeded as much as they did whilst also flogging their best players (seriously, there was some ridiculous talent in the late 90s and early 00s) resonates with this Bury fan who wept salt tears at the sale of Colin Kazim-Richards. However, Leeds’ history of financial mismanagement and flirtation with a winding up petition picks at a still-forming scab, and I just don’t think that I can allow myself to be hurt again so soon. So soon.
And so, the final two. Ipswich and Norwich. It had to be them, didn’t it? Compelling cases on both sides, but ultimately I will be committing my allegiance (until a Bury-based phoenix club is formed) to Norwich. Bury v Ipswich this season would have been one of the best 0-0 draws that no-one would watch. After my move south in 2014, I kept abreast of Ipswich’s exploits and found… not a huge amount to get excited about to be honest. The history of the club is top-class, but the present does not look too favourable. This sounds harsh, but a series of not-too-interesting performances against not-too-good teams resulted in a not-too-entertaining aura building around my new “hometown” team, and this is something I have not been able to shrug off. It also would feel like a betrayal of Bury to support a team which we would have been drawing with this season (twice). I have nothing but respect for Mr Mower and Mr Coleman for their dogged support of Ipswich Town, but they will have to settle (again) for not quite getting the winner’s spot.
And so, to Norwich. My new club. This is not a decision based on history, or indeed geography, current talent or the interpretation of tea leaves. Living around Suffolk and Ipswich, you become aware of how Norwich (and Norfolk) are ‘the rivals’ or ‘the others’. But at the same time, we are so isolated in East Anglia that we are dependent on Norwich for that rivalry, otherwise we would just… exist. Like Batman and the Joker, Ipswich and Norwich oppose and need each other, but couldn’t live a life without them. Norwich is local enough to be my ‘new’ team, but far enough away (and a rival of Ipswich) for it to pander to my ‘maverick’ streak and not feel like a betrayal of my Bury roots. Plus, they beat Manchester City the other week and Pukki is getting transferred into my Fantasy Team, so it’s time to get the season ticket to Carrow Road.
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