What links the letters “E, E, G, E, D, C, B” to Cameron Jerome?
No, they’re not his GCSE results.
Nor an anagram (unless you can find one?).
They’re the opening notes of Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes – the tune that we sing to show our appreciation of our current number 10.
That is, unless you’re the bloke who sits behind me in the Barclay who for some reason holds that penultimate C note rather than dropping pitch to the last B.
The musical maverick.
If he went on The X Factor, Louis Walsh may well commend him for ‘making the song his own’.
But I’m not Louis Walsh and it really bugs me.
In the same way it bugged me when people used Houghton instead of Hughton or even worse, when the guy at the office used to call my favourite ever player “Darren Huckerberry”.
With all of these things, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to expect people to get it right – especially in the case of a song that is as vocally undemanding as simply singing ‘ooooooh Cameron Jeroooo-ome’ (with the change to B after the hyphen of course).
I’m not a natural musician or blessed with a great singing voice but I do my bit on the terraces, which is odd in some regards.
Considering I’ve never felt the remotest urge to serenade my wife (or any of my previous girlfriends for that matter), it’s strange that I’m so quick to turn to the medium of song to show my love and appreciation for a variety of men in shorts.
But when I was a kid, kicking a ball about in the garden, I used to pretend I was playing for City and my imaginary Carrow Road would sing out my name.
A bit like Grant Holt, my mono-syllabic moniker didn’t exactly lend itself to many of the traditional terrace chants but unlike Holty, neither did my fictitious footballing exploits.
“He scored nineteen goals in the back garden against an imaginary Liverpool side, Steve Cook, Steve Cook” really doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Growing up, I always imagined what it must feel like to be a fans’ favourite and hear the crowd show its appreciation. Because whilst football is a team game, it’s made up of individual contributions and amidst all the ‘kicking it off and throwing it in’, we like to recognise and acknowledge those individual efforts.
Like when the keeper denies a one on one with a smothering block.
“Ruddy, Ruddy, Ruddy”!
Or when the full-back sends both the ball and their winger into touch with a perfectly timed tackle.
“Ivo, Ivo, Ivo”!
But it’s not quite that simple. After all, we sing for Ruddy but not for McGovern. We sing for Pinto but we didn’t for Olsson – or at least I didn’t.
The Graham Dorrans, Steven Naismiths and Ryan Bennetts of this world don’t get their names sung but why is that? (no, I don’t accept that it is simply “because they’re rubbish”)
My theory is that you have to tick at least two of the following boxes:
a) Be good
b) Show some love
c) Be different
d) Score against Ipswich
Let me explain my thinking.
Both Pinto and Olsson are good full-backs, the difference being that one of them engages on social media and gave us his #PitchWarYellowArmy. The other gave us the impression he wanted to leave and, of course, subsequently did.
Hucks (or “Huckerberry”) was good – really good in fact, and he told his agent where to go and signed for us permanently because he had grown to love the club. He became a legend and was rewarded with TWO songs that still get the occasional airing.
By definition, being ‘different’ covers a multitude of things, all of which allow us to get creative in our terrace chants.
It might boil down to nationality, if for example you’re a ‘yella who eats paella’ or someone who goes ‘Moroccan all over the world’. It might be down to or rather ‘despite your lack of height’ or maybe because you have a twin brother and it’s hard to tell ‘which one’s which’.
Score against Ipswich and that used to be a sure fire way of being immortalised in song – right up until the point that ‘half of f***ing Norwich’ did it. But Leon McKenzie, Malky MacKay, Super Messrs Johnson, Howson and Holt all have songs dedicated to them for sticking it to our near neighbours.
On the flip side, Lewis Grabban scored against Ipswich twice but we didn’t sing about him.
There’s possibly one other criteria that can lead you to becoming a hit on the terraces;
e) It’s just makes us smile.
Examples of this are ‘one F in Fleming, there’s only one F in Fleming’ and to the same tune ‘One Juan Velasco, there’s only one Juan Velasco’.
Or who can forget ‘he’s fat, he’s round, he’s worth two millions pounds, Robert Fleck, Robert Fleck’
Regrettably, one of my favourite terrace songs was as short-lived as the City career of the man who inspired it – the one and only Fernando Derveld and his Abba themed tune.
“There was something in the air that night; he’s Dutch; he’s shite, Fernando”
So ‘Let’s be ‘aving you’ good people of MFW – what are your favourite songs that have graced Carrow Road to acknowledge one of our boys in yellow?