How
Thursday, April 16th, 2009This isn’t an easy thing to confess, but…I’m a Stoke City fan.
Never lived there, worked there. No Elliott, to my knowledge, has any sort of Stokie connection.
It all started years ago, when I did casual shifts for Accountancy Age in Frith Street. Turned out the cleaner was Alan Hudson’s mum.
We talked, I travelled to a match with her, and for a couple of seasons, hardly missed a single fixture, even the away ones.
Those of a certain generation will remember Hudson (Chelsea, Stoke, Arsenal). Franz Beckenbauer called him the finest English midfielder he had ever seen after Hudson destroyed Germany, then world champions, in 1975.
And what a team Stoke had then! Hudson, Banks, Pejic, Greenhoff, Mahoney, Salmon, Smith… For a while, they were actually top of the league, but five broken legs for first-team players put paid to supporters’ hopes.
They were the 1970s equivalent of today’s Arsenal: sweet, flowing, one-touch football. Easy to support such a team and its ethos.
That was then. Now, Stoke appear to be a team of big, intimidating blokes who can kick and throw a ball a very long way: a real security guards’ XI.
Trouble is, as a fan, you can’t switch. You can’t say: think I’ll support Liverpool this year. You take what you’ve inherited and snatch a few moments of pleasure in seasons of gloom, while dreaming of those golden days.
Dominic Mills, Haymarket’s editorial director, is a Fulham fan. He’s even got a season ticket (renewed early, too). And when he invited me to their home match, I accepted without thinking.
Trouble is, I’m not a quiet supporter, a stay-in-your-seat-and-clap-politely fan. What if Stoke add to their rich tally of 13 away goals this season?
Unlikely, but it could happen. I just know I’ll leap in the air, punch Dominic and taunt the opposing fans – except they’ll be all around me.
Haymarket is an important client for us. Beating up their editorial director at a football match is probably not the best way to boost business and improve relationships.
Would it be too much, God, to ask for a tame 0-0 draw?