Losing 3-0 at home to Shrewsbury. That was how it all began for me. On a cold, dark and grey (probably) Saturday afternoon back in 1990, aged five years old, that was how I was first introduced to the club that would come to monopolise my weekends for the following two decades.
It was Stoke's first season in the third tier of English football after a disastrous run under Alan Ball the year before. The one man relegation machine had somehow inexplicably kept his job going into the new campaign, but departed half way through what was to prove a disappointing season for Stoke as we limped home to a paltry 15th place finish.
It would be very easy for me to say that the proceeding twenty years followed in the dismal footsteps of that bleak Saturday back in 1990, but if I’m honest, supporting Stoke has provided it's fair share of highs along the way, as well as some pitiful lows.
For every 7-0 thrashing at the hands of Birmingham there is a last minute play-off victory over Cardiff. For every 0-0 draw at home against Nuneaton Borough in the FA cup, there's beating Man United at home 2-1 in the League cup. Three promotions and two Autoglass/Autowindscreen victories(whoever the unglamorous sponsor of this prestigious cup competition was at the time) aren't a bad haul across nineteen odd seasons, especially when balanced against only one relegation in the same period.
Even in seasons where we don't really achieve anything, we quite often still manage to instill a bit of drama into the proceedings, be it a couple of unsuccessful dalliances with the play offs, or narrowly avoiding relegation on the last game of the season. In this respect, I suppose it has been quite exciting to support Stoke and taking my 20 years of support as a collective whole, it sounds like a veritable thrill ride compared to some other clubs.
But this is the problem with only examining the highlights of something, it disregards the long periods of tedium where nothing of note really happens. It's like when you see a trailer for a new film where you know they have just shown you the four or five best bits out of two hours of predictable drivel.
It is these moments of predictable drivel that really test the patience of the football fan. It's easy to keep going back week after week when your team is running away with the league and in all likelihood going to win the majority of their matches. What really tests your loyalty, whoever you support, is whether you can still drag your beleaguered body, all hungover and weary, down to a drafty stadium with a few other hardy souls on a chilly winter's evening to see your heroes struggle once again against an away team whose own stature is best exemplified by their possession of an away following which could literally of come in a taxi.
So why do we do it? For me it's a combination of three things: enjoyment, blind loyalty and a perpetual fear of missing out.
In the first instance, one thing's for sure, supporting Stoke is often far from enjoyable. I am a firm subscriber to the mantra however that you've got to be there for the bad times to fully appreciate the good. The buzz experienced after a last minute winner can only truly be appreciated if you are there yourself to witness the other 89 minutes of nail biting action (ahem) in person.
Surviving relegation on the last day of the season back in 2003 was greeted with wild scenes of celebration hitherto rarely seen at Fortress Britannia. This hard earned 1-0 win over Reading is all that sticks in the memory from that grim campaign, with the memory of the other 45 forgettable games discarded thanks to this glorious 90 minutes. The elation of surviving relegation in this manner was made all the more sweeter by the fact that I knew I'd earned that victory. After sitting through the misery that constituted the vast majority of the previous 22 home games, this rare moment of joy was the much needed pay off that made the rest of the season worthwhile.
Blind loyalty on the other hand is hard to explain in words, it's just a feeling that develops over years of continual match attendance, a feeling that you really ought to be at the game. You owe it to to the club. Quite where this feeling comes from, I cannot explain, but if you miss too many games, you can develop a genuine sense of guilt at letting the team down. That and you run the risk of being labelled a 'part-time fan' by disappointed family members.
Then finally there's that eternal fear of missing out on something special. Every game, before those 22 cretins kick off and balls it all up, has the potential to be great. How can you possibly know that this won't be the day where you come back from 3-0 down to score four goals in the last ten minutes including a bicycle-kicked lob from the centre circle in the 95th minute to seal the win? Granted if you'd of seen a forward line of Richard Cresswell and Vincent Pericard play you would of been fairly secure in the assumption that this wouldn't happen....but you can never know for certain. Despite their best efforts, the match day experience can never truly be replaced by TV and the Internet, the special feeling you get from being their in person can never be matched.
The dream of that 95th minute lob never goes away, and at some point, it will happen.
I guess the bottom line is that if you go to watch football regularly, it becomes an unavoidable part of your routine. Without it, your weekends feel empty and trivial. Summer's are by and large merely a barren wasteland for football fans where repetitive weekends roll by filled only by menial tasks and feigning interest in lesser sports like rugby or cricket. The bizarre enthusiasm that greets the start of transfer speculation season in mid June is the clearest sign of the desperation to fill the void.
For me, it's hard to imagine a football season existing and me not attending most if not all of Stoke's home games. It has become a crucial part of my routine and a massive part of my life. As such, I felt it was about time I made my own attempt to chronicle the emotional rollercoaster that accompanies supporting a football team and give my own take on the strange beast that is the football fan.
It was Stoke's first season in the third tier of English football after a disastrous run under Alan Ball the year before. The one man relegation machine had somehow inexplicably kept his job going into the new campaign, but departed half way through what was to prove a disappointing season for Stoke as we limped home to a paltry 15th place finish.
It would be very easy for me to say that the proceeding twenty years followed in the dismal footsteps of that bleak Saturday back in 1990, but if I’m honest, supporting Stoke has provided it's fair share of highs along the way, as well as some pitiful lows.
For every 7-0 thrashing at the hands of Birmingham there is a last minute play-off victory over Cardiff. For every 0-0 draw at home against Nuneaton Borough in the FA cup, there's beating Man United at home 2-1 in the League cup. Three promotions and two Autoglass/Autowindscreen victories(whoever the unglamorous sponsor of this prestigious cup competition was at the time) aren't a bad haul across nineteen odd seasons, especially when balanced against only one relegation in the same period.
Even in seasons where we don't really achieve anything, we quite often still manage to instill a bit of drama into the proceedings, be it a couple of unsuccessful dalliances with the play offs, or narrowly avoiding relegation on the last game of the season. In this respect, I suppose it has been quite exciting to support Stoke and taking my 20 years of support as a collective whole, it sounds like a veritable thrill ride compared to some other clubs.
But this is the problem with only examining the highlights of something, it disregards the long periods of tedium where nothing of note really happens. It's like when you see a trailer for a new film where you know they have just shown you the four or five best bits out of two hours of predictable drivel.
It is these moments of predictable drivel that really test the patience of the football fan. It's easy to keep going back week after week when your team is running away with the league and in all likelihood going to win the majority of their matches. What really tests your loyalty, whoever you support, is whether you can still drag your beleaguered body, all hungover and weary, down to a drafty stadium with a few other hardy souls on a chilly winter's evening to see your heroes struggle once again against an away team whose own stature is best exemplified by their possession of an away following which could literally of come in a taxi.
So why do we do it? For me it's a combination of three things: enjoyment, blind loyalty and a perpetual fear of missing out.
In the first instance, one thing's for sure, supporting Stoke is often far from enjoyable. I am a firm subscriber to the mantra however that you've got to be there for the bad times to fully appreciate the good. The buzz experienced after a last minute winner can only truly be appreciated if you are there yourself to witness the other 89 minutes of nail biting action (ahem) in person.
Surviving relegation on the last day of the season back in 2003 was greeted with wild scenes of celebration hitherto rarely seen at Fortress Britannia. This hard earned 1-0 win over Reading is all that sticks in the memory from that grim campaign, with the memory of the other 45 forgettable games discarded thanks to this glorious 90 minutes. The elation of surviving relegation in this manner was made all the more sweeter by the fact that I knew I'd earned that victory. After sitting through the misery that constituted the vast majority of the previous 22 home games, this rare moment of joy was the much needed pay off that made the rest of the season worthwhile.
Blind loyalty on the other hand is hard to explain in words, it's just a feeling that develops over years of continual match attendance, a feeling that you really ought to be at the game. You owe it to to the club. Quite where this feeling comes from, I cannot explain, but if you miss too many games, you can develop a genuine sense of guilt at letting the team down. That and you run the risk of being labelled a 'part-time fan' by disappointed family members.
Then finally there's that eternal fear of missing out on something special. Every game, before those 22 cretins kick off and balls it all up, has the potential to be great. How can you possibly know that this won't be the day where you come back from 3-0 down to score four goals in the last ten minutes including a bicycle-kicked lob from the centre circle in the 95th minute to seal the win? Granted if you'd of seen a forward line of Richard Cresswell and Vincent Pericard play you would of been fairly secure in the assumption that this wouldn't happen....but you can never know for certain. Despite their best efforts, the match day experience can never truly be replaced by TV and the Internet, the special feeling you get from being their in person can never be matched.
The dream of that 95th minute lob never goes away, and at some point, it will happen.
I guess the bottom line is that if you go to watch football regularly, it becomes an unavoidable part of your routine. Without it, your weekends feel empty and trivial. Summer's are by and large merely a barren wasteland for football fans where repetitive weekends roll by filled only by menial tasks and feigning interest in lesser sports like rugby or cricket. The bizarre enthusiasm that greets the start of transfer speculation season in mid June is the clearest sign of the desperation to fill the void.
For me, it's hard to imagine a football season existing and me not attending most if not all of Stoke's home games. It has become a crucial part of my routine and a massive part of my life. As such, I felt it was about time I made my own attempt to chronicle the emotional rollercoaster that accompanies supporting a football team and give my own take on the strange beast that is the football fan.
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