As we all hurry down to the stadium, you can feel the buzz from the fans, everyone is chatting, young kids are so excited about the match they can’t shut up. The turnstile ejects us into the noise of the bars which are bustling with people clamouring for a beer or tea, every of is happy, nervous kids queue impatiently for their sweets and pop. I have been looking forward to this match all week and the anticipation has just increased dramatically, and then up the steps into the stadium, a brilliant stadium, always good to see thousands of people that feels the same as me. I drink my tea; I smoke a cig as I point out to my son the players warming up. Then it starts.
That slow, Gradual, Invisible mist of depression creeps its way over me. Looking around and people have stopped talking, their smiles have gone and immediately I know that the mist is engulfing the fans, I see my son sinking, For my sons sake, I try to fight it, I can’t let it get to him. I force myself to chat and joke with him. I must keep him smiling. Then as quick as it started the mist clears.
Slowly at first and quietly people start to talk again and their frowns disappear and the smiles return. But somehow it isn’t the same; the mist has left its mark, those that have been here the longest have been attacked so many time that the depression is easy to spot and even if we win some will not smile or cheer.
Three minutes later and the wave comes again, I curse myself for coming so early. But just like I hope we will win, I hope the depression mist won’t be too bad. Inevitable it is. The second attack is bad, and it takes me down. Again I fight it, I stand up, I light another cig. This time the mist lingers on and on, I look around, some people are beyond help and they don’t even realise what has happened, they are so low, so down, so glum and depressed that I wonder if there if there is some justification for euthanasia. I promising myself that next time I will not enter the stadium until the match is about to start.
I remember when it was fun to go to football and I want that back, after all this isn’t what football is about, and I feel so guilty that again I have put my son through this ordeal, I felt good when I came in. My son did, it’s a nice sunny day and I know we are going to win but, never the less. I feel like I am at a funeral. So Durham if you have any influence over thing that happen at city.
Change the fcuking Music
