The Fan :: Wessex Scene Online

The Fan

23rd January 2008
Phil Webb

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May 03 - Gutted
May 03 - FA Cup Final 2003: A Saints Fan's Diary
Feb 03 - Beattie struggles, but has international future
Jan 08 - University Sport
Oct 07 - A View from the Chapel

More by Phil Webb

It’s p*ssing it down, the stadium looks like an unfinished tin shed and I am standing in the unfinished end. The fifth goal goes in, Warren Goodhind has broken his leg and John Ford’s already been sent off for deservedly head butting Jimmy Quinn.

It’s the goalkeeper’s debut and I have just broken my Kappa mac in a mild rage. The game finishes 9-1, and our goal was an own goal. I am soaked through, still watching, still singing, still laughing. This is when you really know you’re a fan.

Looking back, realising this, I imagine is like coming out. I was unashamed. I had to laugh it off at school, but "I am a fan and proud"; this team really meant something to me, orange became my favourite colour, everything I did became about Barnet FC. I had emerged out of my childhood phase of just "liking" Man United because of Merlin sticker albums, their away kit, and wanting to be Andrei Kanchelskis.

Being a Barnet fan makes me different and gives me something to talk about. Part of being a fanatic is all about identity and belonging; psychologists might even argue it is quasi-group therapy. Accidentally, after taking on this identity you develop an extensive knowledge of club history, even beyond the time you started supporting and it seems even the annals of time before you were alive.

Like many things, time brings you closer together; when you go to enough matches to start remembering the "the good old days". (I have seen Barnet thrash Wigan 5-0 in the "good old days") Indeed, should you follow a team for long enough, you feel like you know the players, you start referring to them on first name terms and shout ‘go on son’ and actually mean it.

Merging adoration and encouragement, in the early days it was hero worship. I literally idolised the players and Sundays in church came nowhere near to that Saturday afternoon feeling in the presence of Gods. The excitement changes, but still remains; it is no longer a childish awe, but a tonic, watching sport to relax. Ironic, because it’s not relaxing but the emotional drain is addictive, as is experiencing the the highs and lows; fandom is my nicotine.

Like any drug, being a fan alters your moods. I have established endless Sunday sulks firmly based on the outcome of gains. Whilst under the influence, you often do things you otherwise wouldn’t – like hugging strangers in Colchester.

Prioritisation is also another factor, apparent when you start planning your social calendar around home and away games. My last summer holiday involved Google maps, one L-reg Peugeot and three away games. You need to start worrying about the level of your obsession when your first date with a new girlfriend involves dragging her to a match. Then again, as being a fan is such an integral part of my life, this is always a good measure of whether it is going to work out.

Being a Barnet fan is a family tradition, but my love for the Saints is firmly based on my current Geographical location.

Slow growing sympathy.

Craving football intake.

Lured in. Crowd. Atmosphere. Passion.

You can’t beat it.

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