I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You Growing up as a Football Addict

Greg Whitaker

Contents Introduction ...... 9 ‘This is getting better and better and better!’ ...... 17 . Handbags at dawn ...... 20 Fer Ark, Lawrie Dudfield and raining rust ...... 25. . The first cut is the deepest ...... 31 Change ...... 38 The Galacticos: A footballing masterclass ...... 45 Block E5, Seat 151 ...... 51 . . . ‘E I E I E I O! Up The Football League We Go!’ ...... 57 En-gerrrr-land, and the conspiracy ...... 64 Away days: Pies, bets and Michael Keane ...... 72 . . Hullsborough ...... 78 Stepping up ...... 88. . . The winker, the stamper and the end of the ‘golden generation’ ...... 96 . . Survival ...... 105. . . Daring to dream ...... 113 . . . Que será, será ...... 120. . . One day like this ...... 127 ? We’re having a laugh ...... 139 London 0 Hull 4 ...... 145 . . . Almost heaven, Barcelona ...... 156 Modern football is rubbish ...... 163 . . Vuvuzelas and disillusionment ...... 171 . . The grass isn’t always greener ...... 180 . . Ups, downs and the one German that misses penalties . . 190. Why I dislike Kieran Gibbs ...... 201 . . European blues ...... 217 The gloomiest promotion ...... 224 . . Rock bottom ...... 231. . . The final pilgrimages ...... 238 . . Salvation in a blue waistcoat ...... 247. . .

Introduction

THERE was a time, not all that long ago in truth, when it was all I could think about . My life could well have been falling apart around me, and relatively speaking, at times, it was, but during those years I probably didn’t notice half the time . Relationships suffered, work would often deteriorate in quality, and my health, perhaps mentally more than physically, took the brunt of it all . Like an addict craving their next hit, waiting for Saturday afternoon to come became a living hell . Football was my drug of choice and Hull City AFC was my preferred strain . Well, this is what I imagine addiction in its simplest form to feel like . Of course, as someone who has never taken an illegal substance in his entire life and is describing a period of his existence that started at the age of seven with his father, perhaps this is where the drug analogy should stop . Despite my tendency to overanalyse every single aspect of my life – a habit which will become more significant as this story unfolds – I have yet to come up with a better comparison . Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch describes football fandom better than anything else I’ve ever read, and a hell of a lot better than I will ever be able to . Hornby quips, for him, the process of falling in love with football was similar to that of falling in love with women: ‘ . . suddenly, inexplicably, uncritically, [and] giving no thought to the pain or disruption it would bring with it’ . I agree wholeheartedly . Yet, I have come to associate my relationship with football far more with addiction than with love . Indeed, it’s worth noting that Hornby’s comparison works just as well

9 I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You when imagining it coming from the mouth of a heroin addict desperately trying to justify their habit . Of course, football addiction doesn’t affect everyone . Some ‘fans’ can happily live their lives without checking their chosen football club’s Twitter hashtag every other hour . Some so-called supporters can even go shopping on a Saturday afternoon rather than committing to biweekly pilgrimages to their stadium of choice . With this in mind, football fandom can be plotted on a spectrum . At one end are those heathens who can only list when asked to name their favourite footballer . At the other end, bearded, usually anorak-wearing, stereotypes, that can, and often will, name Hull City’s entire 34-man squad that was relegated at the end of the 2009/10 season . Can you guess which side of the spectrum I fall into yet? The topic of football spectatorship, and all the culture surrounding it, is something I have thought about a lot . Indeed, I believe it was during one particularly long 3pm–11pm shift working at an unnamed bank – my first full-time job out of university – that my mind drifted, and I began to form a theory about how supporting a football club fits into modern life . Specifically, I wanted to find an answer for why, after nearly 20 years of being truly fanatical about football myself, apathy was beginning to sink in for me personally . Sitting on the bus home after my shift, here is what I came up with . While people from all walks of life fill my crudely thought- up spectrum of fandom, there are four distinct subgroups in which all football fans fall into: casual football fans, fans who love football, football junkies and the disenchanted ‘former’ fans . Firstly, casual football fans . These are the people who like the beautiful game; however, not enough to go to every home match . This group, admittedly my least favourite collection of people on the planet at one point in my life, will often claim to support the more successful football clubs – Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea, and even Manchester City more recently .

10 Introduction

As kids they would often justify their claims of support by constantly reminding you that ‘their dad’, who suspiciously had a strong Hull accent and went to the local comprehensive with your mum, ‘is from [insert city with successful football team] and never missed a game as a kid’ . Yet, infuriatingly, these people will often be the first you see on Wembley Way, clad head to toe in black and amber, when little old Hull City reach the FA Cup Final . Sickening . Next come the fans that love football . People who pride themselves, not only on their knowledge of the game, but also their loyalty to a chosen team . Football lovers will usually be season ticket holders, and occasional travellers to away games . These fans, of which I classed myself a part of for the vast majority of my Hull City supporting life, tend to be the happiest and most content group of supporters . They read, listen, watch, breathe and live football because it makes them feel part of something to which they truly belong . Football is their chosen form of entertainment, their method of socialising with their friends and their passion . I envy those who remain part of this group . Then there are the football junkies . These are fans who have spent most of their football-supporting lives in the second of these groups but have gradually, without ever truly being able to pinpoint when the change actually happened, transitioned into football addiction . While there are many similarities between those who love football and those who are addicted to it – supporting a chosen team home and away, desperately keeping up to date with transfer rumours and religiously buying every overpriced new home shirt each season – there is one key difference . While fans who love football, as my not-so-subtle title suggests, actively enjoy the sport and everything that comes with it, paradoxically, football junkies tend to resent it . Most of the time they follow football because they feel they should . Like a religious cult brainwashes its members, the global church of latter-day soccer never allows you to leave . Finally come the disenchanted ‘former’ fans . I do hesitate to say ‘former’ fans, as, like I’ve just said, football never really allows

11 I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You you to lose interest completely . Yet, these fans are those who are completely fed up with the modern game . They have often been through the football lover and addiction stages of fandom, and their love has turned into resentment and now, quite tragically, disinterest . Money, television, commercialisation, sanitisation, lack of atmosphere, or all of the above, have ruined football for this group, who never really know if their fanaticism will ever return . Being a Hull City fan, it’s hard not to respect this group – I’ve experienced it first-hand . Seeing a veteran fan you’ve seen every Saturday for the past 20 years being told to ‘earn their stripes’ by their club while, at the same, having their concession ticket prices taken away after 60 years of loyal support, for example, is enough to turn anyone against modern football . However, luckily, I haven’t yet reached this stage . Hopefully I will never become part of this group . As you are reading right now, you may think you still love football . Why else would you choose to read this book? But, just for a second, humour me . Really think . Can you all honestly say you pay the extortionate prices for tickets, away travel and Sky Sports subscriptions, for example, or buy a third choice away shirt each season, because you love football? Love the game in the same way you love your family, or your partner, or going out with your mates, or seeing your favourite band live? If you do, I am eternally envious . That was me once . You see, if I’d have asked myself the same question just, say, five years ago, I would have said absolutely . Outside of my family, football was my greatest love and my passion . Now I can honestly say I have fallen out of love with football . Yet, this hasn’t stopped me being fanatical about the game, and about Hull City specifically . Hi . My name’s Greg and I’m a football addict . They say falling out of love is just as easy as falling head over heels, it’s just that society doesn’t want you to know this when you’re growing up . Disney, CBBC, Enid Blyton, and even watching Coronation Street with your parents – they will all have you believe, no matter how bad life starts to appear, we will

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2001–2008 Falling in Love

15 ‘This is getting better and better and better!’ Germany 1–5 England – 01/09/2001

IN true millennial fashion my introduction to football wasn’t attending a live game with a family member, but through the magic of television – Germany 1–5 England . Of course, I had been aware of football long before England travelled to Munich for their now famous World Cup qualification match – I even just about remember hearing, albeit from my bedroom, my dad and sister screaming and shouting at the TV late one night two years earlier, as Manchester United completed their treble in Barcelona . However, it was this game, just three months short of my eighth birthday, that got me hooked . It’s bizarre what tiny, often insignificant, details the human brain decides to store for life . For me, there are three specific details about this game I remember being very aware of when I was sat in the lounge watching it on the BBC with my mum, dad and sister . First was the commentary . If commentators were to be judged in the same way as the footballers who provide them with a living, this game would represent the peak of John Motson’s glittering career . The sheer enthusiasm and glee for football that oozed out of every pore, combined perfectly with Motty’s almost poetic verse, truly were things of beauty that night . Even now, 17 years after the event, I have lines of this commentary etched into my

17 I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You brain . While some people can’t help but memorise more useful pieces of information, such as historic dates, song lyrics, poetry or elements in the periodic table, my brain has a tendency to store the useless sound bites of football commentaries gone by . ‘It’s the Germans’ turn to stand like statues!’, as equalises . ‘It’s 2–1 England! A smiling Sven!’, as the camera pans to an ecstatic Sven-Göran Eriksson following England’s second . ‘Michael Owen gets his second of the match! Oohhh, fantastic stuff!’, as Owen makes it 3–1 . ‘Could it be five? Yes, it is!’, as is put through on goal to complete the rout . Earlier this year John Motson announced his retirement after nearly 50 years in his sheepskin jacket . While many snidely commented that this announcement had come ten years too late, I could not disagree any more strongly . Motty, along with his BBC rival , have been the voices of football, not just for my generation, but, quite incredibly, for several generations that came before mine . Just as the late, great Kenneth Wolstenholme’s ‘They think it’s all over, it is now!’ surely symbolised the beginnings of thousands of young children’s love affairs with the beautiful game in the 1960s, and, as I am reliably informed, Martin Tyler’s 2012 rendition of ‘AGUERRRRROOOOO!’ has sold the game to the youngest generation of new fans, the moment I fell for football can be almost clinically pinpointed to a euphoric Motty announcing ‘Ohhhh, this is getting better and better and better! One, two, three for Michael Owen!’, as the Liverpool striker completed his hat-trick . The second detail I vividly remember from watching this match is far more niche . If you ask any English football fan of a certain age to name England’s starting XI, I wager most will be able to name all but one . The unfortunate individual history has forgotten? . Yet, for me, along with Owen’s hat-trick and Gerrard’s screamer, the inclusion of Hull-born Barmby is something I will always intrinsically associate with this game . I was born, raised and schooled in and around the city of Hull . Nowadays, it is going through a renaissance period following the

18 ‘This is getting better and better and better!’ huge success of its 2017 City of Culture year . I can, and no doubt will, wax lyrical about what poet Philip Larkin described as Hull’s ‘sudden elegances’ later in this book, yet in 2001 the city was still in the middle of a decades-long slump . Indeed, as I was growing up I remember being reminded constantly that Hull only had two claims to fame: having the highest rate of teenage pregnancy in the whole of Europe, and for being named the UK’s worst place to live in the charmingly titled, The Idler Book of Crap Towns . Consequently, it’s fair to say that when my dad explained that Sven’s first attempt at solving England’s left-sided midfield crisis was a lad from Hull who owned a house less than a mile from our own, my seven-year-old mind was blown . It’s easy to forget Barmby was excellent in this game, too . He played a key role in two of England’s goals and dovetailed perfectly with his Liverpool team-mates Owen, Heskey and Gerrard . ‘Oohhh, fantastic stuff!’ But more about Sir Nicholas Barmby later . The last detail I remember about this game, and which sealed my new-found love for football, was the horribly mistaken thought that England were the best team in the world . Indeed, England’s crop of players in the early to mid-2000s were, at the time at least, considered a ‘golden generation’ for the national side, with world-class players in every position . Combine this with the ever-growing popularity of international football in England, stemming from Italia 90 and fuelled further by Euro 96 and, to a lesser extent, France 98, and it’s understandable I came to this conclusion after watching this game and the additional fanfare that followed . This one Saturday evening plonked in front of the television kick-started the whole thing . The hundreds of away trips, the countless meat pies, the thousands of pounds spent on tickets and football shirts, and some of the best days of my life . John Motson, Nick Barmby and the let-down that was the so-called golden generation of English international football, I have you to thank .

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