Sing when you’re winning

We're well blessed for football in these parts. There are teams (yes, plural!) up here in Ringmer, Lewes has the Rooks and there's also Brighton & Hove Albion down the road in Falmer. I'll happily support local teams against their more-travelled opponents but I've never really been passionate about a particular club. This reluctance can probably be traced back to childhood. You see, I wasn't much good at football when I was younger; my usual role was that of scapegoat or 'defender' as my so-called mates described it. Unlike one of the children in my class, I didn't have the same permed hairstyle as Peter Ward. Heck, I played a musical instrument - apparently a sure indication that I was both homosexual and knew nothing about sport, according to my many detractors. And so I didn't support anyone. It was safer than choosing the wrong team.

My wife has a very different perspective. Born in Bolton, she's followed Bolton Wanderers throughout their oscillations between the top and bottom of the football league. With the 'Trotters' coming to the AmEx stadium for the first time, she was definitely going... and despite Brighton & Hove Albion tickets being easier to buy, we were heading for the 'away' end of the stands. Yes, we. I was to become a football fan.

The Saturday of the match was pretty wet; weather that would favour the northerners, I thought. The absence of my half-namesake, Wayne Bridge, from the Brighton line-up was an encouraging sign as well. At the very least it meant I wouldn't be standing in a crowd of people cursing my family name.

The positive omens were soon dispatched as Brighton started attacking. A number of Bolton's supporters responded with songs that seemed to condemn their rivals as being homosexual (this is starting to sound familiar) although the words weren't entirely clear. And if I couldn't make them out, I doubt that Brighton's players would have been too bothered. After Brighton scored, the Bolton fans turned into their own harshest critics and my wife's Lancashire accent intensified to the extent that she became utterly unintelligible. Fortunately I could interpret her facial expressions. She certainly wasn't happy.

The singing from the other terraces increased to a deafening level. Seaaa-guuuls. I kept quiet even though I knew the words to this one. I still couldn’t identify the lyrics to any of the Bolton football chants but was quickly learning the actions.

And then Bolton scored in the last few seconds of the game. They'd managed a draw. Suddenly the Albion weren't singing any more. As the final whistle blew, Bolton's fans tearfully embraced each other. Under different circumstances there'd have been a song for that kind of behaviour.

First published on vivalewes.com 29th November 2012: http://vivalewes.com/