It is difficult to know what I thought when I saw that Town had drawn 3-3 with Notts County last weekend. I also do not follow football in Ireland with any particular vigour so I also did not know what to think about Town’s victory against Shelbourne in early July.
I lived in Warwickshire during the late noughties in a place called Leamington Spa. You may have been there and it is a nice place. Sitting on the town’s green by the River Leamington with an ice cream or cold beer is not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
Talk to certain rugby followers, and they regard football as a sub-normal game, played by GQ posing models full of hair gel and attitude, diving like graceful swans at the slight brushing of a leg or arm.
Down in Devon, it has been as cold as East Anglia without the snow and a recent Tuesday night saw me without any electric in my flat. Much against every mental and physical sinew in my body, I am forced to go to the local supermarket to seek the much needed ‘leccy.’ I have just come back from the local gym after some early stage charity run training.
It seems an age since I wrote a frustrated piece for this site on a dull and dank Monday evening in Devon. 2012 has been and gone. Loan players have been and gone but you like to think that the 1st January 2013 is a clean slate.
I was sitting in a bar during another wet Saturday lunchtime, reading the papers. Going past the endless Olympics stories, I got to the double page spread about the recently completed John Terry trial. One page was full of who said **** to who.
I suppose that Town are in another crisis. The first time that I wrote for TWTD was in the post-play-off crisis of 2005. I was so incensed by the sale of Town’s then-best players that I wasted a university afternoon writing an essay about what I thought had gone wrong at Portman Road.
Is it really nearly 15 years ago on Friday 11th October 1996, when I went to see my first derby fixture at Carrow Road? These were the days before derby games were forced to become an automatic companion to the Sunday roast. Back in 1996, I was 16 with a load of adolescent attitude, acne-spotted moodiness but excited about the biggest game that I had seen since starting to watch Town play.
I cannot believe that it is nearly 10 years since I celebrated Christmas 1999 with a home game versus Stockport. In the build-up to Millennium Eve, it was difficult to persuade a good friend that a trip to Portman Road on a cold Bank Holiday Tuesday afternoon was worth the money.
I know that Birmingham has its critics. In some areas, it has the appearance of a budget version of Dallas, but I am growing to like Britain’s second city. The football is plentiful in the region and of a decent quality too at a very decent price. I have enjoyed a number of trips to Villa Park, Molineux and St Andrews since I have been living in the area, but my hometown team in Suffolk remains close to my heart.