As an 80s kid, I grew up in South Manchester on Panini stickers, kicking a ball against a wall, by myself, until it was too dark to see, the World Cup in Mexico, Diego - cheating one minute, breathtaking the next. Being able to name every FA Cup final of the decade, the score and the scorers. When the FA Cup was everything.
My parents were Manchester United fans and as most young children, I followed their lead. At 14, I bought a season ticket on the then terraced Stretford End, 1991, pre Premier League. It’s easy to look back on that era and romanticize that it was the last great era of attending games. I think as a child, it worked out around £3 a game. You would line up against the red brick, outer wall of Old Trafford, sometimes as early as 1pm to get a good spot. The heaving mass of men, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke, the swaying, the songs, the football. I had some good days and nights on the Stretty. Short lived but memorable.
Something happened to me in the summer of 1992. I had a mate from Timperley, one of the bitterest City fans you’ll ever meet. We used to knock around together in the school holidays. He suggested going to an open day at Edgeley Park, home of Stockport County. It was some kind of family fun day from what I remember, you could walk on the pitch and players were available for autographs. I ended up getting a bunch of autographs of players I didn’t know but I loved it. The following week they had a friendly against Oldham. We went and County won 4-2. It felt like a proper league game, decent crowd and some hilarious comments and taunts from the Popular Side, a stand I would fall in love with over the next couple of years. As the season started, the Premier League era and Sky television had begun in all its pomp and splendor. I had renewed my season ticket at Old Trafford but as the Stretford End was knocked down for seats, we were moved to the Scoreboard Paddock at the other end. I went to the first few games but at the same time I was going to County, watching Big Kevin Francis, all six foot seven of him, the most ungainly and unnatural looking footballer I had ever seen but my god, could the man find the back of the net. I sold the United season ticket to a lad at school, I was growing disillusioned with the new commercial aspect of the top flight and at the same time falling in love with Stockport County.
Over the course of the next decade I watched County home and away, saw them beat many Premier League teams in the cup, get promoted to the Championship, got chased through London by a baying mob of Millwall fans, ended up on the pitch and that nights BBC Sportsnight - jumping on Alun Armstrong after he scored against Everton and generally had the time of my life, in County’s greatest ever era.
In my twenties life moved on to serious jobs, serious girlfriends, serious bills. A weekend with housemates in Amsterdam in 2002 resulted in the unexpected and unplanned experience of buying tickets from a tout, under a dodgy bridge, for Ajax vs PSV. As we sat there, marveling at our own genius, we wondered what was stopping us from visiting more famous European stadiums and more dodgy bridges.
In the next few years we went to Milan, Barcelona, Madrid and Rome. Not just average games, Milan played Juve, Barca and Madrid played each other, twice in the same season and Rome was the derby. Each trip provided memories of a lifetime, hilarious drunken exploits, unbelievable atmospheres and near scrapes/arrests. The fire for top class European football in the most magnificent sporting arenas was alight and could never be extinguished.
But life moves on, to marriage, houses and kids. In my case, moving almost 6,000 miles to California. I met my wife in Madrid on one of those trips so she is forever woven into the fabric of this footballing obsession.
Fast forward a decade or more and I have a renewed desire to go to more games, places I’ve never been, teams I’ve never seen, stadiums I’ve never experienced.
In early 2020, right before the world stopped, I stepped foot back in Edgeley Park for the first time in nine years. I went to two Serie A games in the same day in Florence and Bologna and had plans to travel to Colombia for the Copa America. Covid-19 has put that on pause for now but when things eventually go back to normal, I have a friend of a friend in Buenos Aires who has offered to take me to the holy grail - Boca Juniors vs River Plate. I’ve now discovered Argentina has a whole world of opportunity for a football lover. I also want to go to Germany, Dortmund of course and plenty of others. Perhaps more of Italy, Brazil for the first time and random places like Feyenoord but I’m doing it, before I’m a sad old man with nothing but stories.
My mates will tell you a famous old quote of mine. We were once asked my a teacher what we wanted to achieve in that school year. My response? “More away games”.