I listened to the Wigan-West Ham game on the radio this afternoon. It sounded like the faintly unhinged sort of match you sometimes get at the season's end, when desperation mixes with fear and every chance is a last chance.
What came over really strongly was how much the fans cared. I know Wigan get derided for their attendances, but you could hear in the fevered moans at 2-0 down and the explosion of euphoric release at the end a genuine depth of feeling.
I can't remember the last time I sensed that sort of emotional connection at a Rotherham game. Even at Wembley last season, we trudged out disappointed, but no-one seemed disconsolate. (By contrast, I still remember the gnawing sadness and the silent train ride home after we lost in the play-off semi against Leyton Orient over a decade ago now).
I wonder if this is the price for coming so close to the brink of extinction. That, faced with the real prospect that the club would cease to exist, we all hardened our hearts against it that little bit, to shield ourselves from the potential blow. So now, the joys are less vivid (because we know how it feels for it to suddenly count for nothing) and the sorrows less cutting. But, the experience is less than it once was.
I wonder if it's just us (or just me)? Or whether fans of other teams who've flirted with disaster feel the same way once they're saved and things settle down a bit?
Very interesting, but I don't recognise the phenomenon. When Dundee went into administration in October the future looked very bleak.
ReplyDeleteFor me, and for most Dundee fans, the experience of attending games was intensified. It helped enormously that a tiny squad went on a 6 month, 23 game, unbeaten run in the league.
I think this article on the DFC supporters' trust site gives a good picture of what it felt like.
http://www.dee4life.com/homepage/2011/5/13/the-moment-i-knew-we-could-do-this.html
There were some fantastic, emotional games. One that will always last in the memory was the home game against Raith Rovers, who were top of the league, in February.
Dundee had run out of players and were banned from signing any. So they were relying on a series of trialists to make up the numbers. One of them was former hero, Neil McCann, former Scottish international, now a Sky pundit at the age of 36. He hadn't played for nearly two years, but came on as a sub and scored the winning goal in injury time. He lobbed the keeper with the last kick of the match, sparking off amazing scenes. My match report. http://www.thedees.co.uk/match_report.asp?m=DUNDEE-V-RAITH-ROVERS&FID=1032
The consensus of Dundee supporters has been that the experience of being a Dundee supporter this season has been the best, most exciting and most enjoyable that any of us have known.
I don't think it's really to do with coming close to extinction, hardening our hearts against any future heartbreak or anything so complex. Frankly, David, I reckon it's because we haven't been good for absolutely ages.
ReplyDeleteThat, of course, is a worry in itself. Because we have been good, haven't we? I mean, surely we have. We finished 5th last season and missed out on promotion by the thinnest of margins. The year previous, we knocked Wednesay, Wolves, Southampton, Leeds and Leicester out of cup competitions. The year just gone, we stormed to 2nd in the table at Christmas, everything that WAS good about us in that period coming rather delightfully together in a sumptuous performance against Port Vale on New Year's Day.
Yet we were never consistently good, and we haven't been in what seems forever. Our teams of the last four/five seasons promised much but had deep, latent flaws that were exposed anywhere between October-February. In League One, that spiralled dismally into relegation. In League Two, where you can, essentially, get away with being absolutely garbage most of the time, it damaged us but didn't altogether derail us. Problem is, though, it's hard to excite yourself about - to truly, whole-heartedly commit to - a team that can be so, so poor on a bad day. It's the equivalent of having a girlfriend who cheats on you. Except, in our case, we're happy to remain friends with the girl and we're willing to see her as much as we ever did. But we can't trust her. We can't invest any level of personal concern in her. We'll forever keep her at a distance. So, even after the triumphant Lincoln game this year, for example, the reaction of many Millers fans was something along the lines of 'yeah, yeah, let's just see what happens when a decent team plays us'. Frightfully, and what makes it so much harder to bear, is that those fans were right. And there’s nothing worse than being right when you really don’t want to be.
That can change, though. If we put together a side that was as good as the side that played against Port Vale and Macclesfield, that trust would come flooding back. That trust, that unity, is key. We need a team that we can all bunch together and just love, believe in and commit ourselves to, like the side we boasted at the turn of the decade. So when Lee elbows Whitbread in the face, we'll blame the ref. When Barker clumsily bundles over Huckerby, we'll hound the diving cheat out of South Yorkshire. When Branston snaps and gets himself sent off, we'll put it down to 'classic Guy'. We won't treat Newey like a child killer when he misplaces a pass, we'll appreciate Jaybo's endeavour and winning mentality and we certainly won't label the best striker we've had in years disinterested and overweight. Clubs lacking in unity are destined to fail. Just ask Lincoln City. Granted, it’s difficult to imagine us putting together a mightily successful team in this division (the nature of the league is that you can win the division with a distinctively uninspiring side, and that’s probably what we’ll eventually do under Scott) but I dunno, maybe just a team we understand, a team we can trust won’t royally let us down, would be a start.
ReplyDeleteOf course, it's impossible to discuss the aspect of fruitlessness at RUFC without at least acknowledging the Don Valley. I can't be bothered to go into detail as we all know its limitations, but it really is such a life-sucking, energy-draining hellhole that epitomises all that is wrong with the club and its distinct lack of identity at the present time. We're also sat so high that it lends us a level of perspective that really doesn't do us any good. Not only do the on field weaknesses seem so magnified when you're up there in Block 4 trying to defend Harrison's existence, but it enhances our perspective in a more rounded way. There's that feeling of 'why am I here', and it's slowly permeating through the minds of every single one of the 3000 fans putting themselves through the ordeal week in week out. The Don Valley Stadium offers us perspective in that it makes us wonder what the hell we're doing there on a Saturday afternoon. Rotherham United shouldn't be a chore and at the moment it really is. That is why everything seems so desperately unfulfilling.
To finish (sorry it's taken three entries...50 words where 10 will do and all that), you've got a point about Wembley but, in fairness, the whole occasion of Wembley engulfs and dehumanises you in equal measure. The entire experience was surreal, especially when you couple it with the barren striker scoring twice and the normally reliable defence capitulating like a house of sand in a tsunami. Feeling a little numb throughout, therefore, isn't all that surprising. Ultimately, though, the reason we 'trudged out disappointed' was because we all knew we didn't deserve it. Dagenham had spirit, talent, energy and form. We had just one of those vital commodities (talent, if you're struggling!), and even then it was in fairly short supply. Everything about it felt wrong. Weeks previous, our supporters had chanted inexcusable profanities at the manager. Our home remained a soulless bowl in the wrong town. Nobody in our team could score bar Le Fondre. It couldn't have felt less like a promotion party, so when we lost, we trudged off because it kind of felt more right than winning. Contrast that to Leyton Orient in 98, and you can see why it felt so different.
ReplyDeleteOh, and before I finish, let me just ask you this. Have you REALLY lost the passion? Think back to how you felt the night after the Port Vale game, how proud and excited you were to be finally seeing an exciting, young team reach its peak (your blog on that match tells enough of a story). And if that isn't enough and you're merely looking for those moments of pure, unbridled ecstasy, think of Pope's winner at Chesterfield. Or Reid's equaliser at Hillsborough. Or Alf's smash and grab at Aldershot.
If that doesn't spark a bit of excitement, then maybe it's time to admit it...you're just getting old!