I hate the derby.
There… I’ve said it.
It’s an age thing of course, and on the off chance there is a teenager reading this right now, he/she will be incredulous at anyone not positively salivating at the prospect of engaging with ‘that lot’ again.
Social media this week has been brimming full of #NCFC folk counting down the days, hours and minutes until Big Mick’s boys roll into town; the same folk positively itching to take the first ‘bantz’ potshot of the weekend.
I no longer ‘get it’. I used to. But not now.
I cringe every time I see a ‘bring it on’ tweet. My heart sinks every time I hear we’re going to hammer them. The sphincter twitches every time I see someone in yellow and green giving it large to someone in blue and white.
Like I said, in days gone by I was all for it. Part of it. The recklessness of youth saw no downside to letting those from the south have it with both barrels.
In my dotage, I can only see downsides. Loads of them.
These days the pre-match powder is kept as dry as a bone.
Why? Well, as the years have ticked away I’ve become the opposite of battle-hardened. Battle-softened I guess. And the more time that passes with the bragging rights being held north of the border the worse that gets. [Brazil got to keep the Jules Rimet trophy for winning the World Cup three times – shouldn’t we get to keep the bragging rights after eight seasons unbeaten?].
Defeat by the old enemy should be easier to take as the years pass but then City go on a nine-derby unbeaten run and defeat – and the pain that goes with it – has become something of a distant memory. And that’s made it harder.
We know the worst is going to happen at some point… the waiting is (kind of) agony.
Quite whether this knot in my stomach would be quite so pronounced if we were used to winning a few, drawing a few and losing a few I somehow doubt, but the longer this run continues, the doubts and fears increase.
Irrational, yes. Idiotic, probably. But such is the lot of a City supporter in these weirdly successful derby times.
And maybe that’s the rub.
Because it hasn’t always been this way. Far from it. My formative years were riddled with derby-day pain; the ecstasy of victory was an emotion enjoyed sparingly. And part of my initiation – as it transpires – was a 4-0 defeat at Portman Road in 1978, which was about as brutal as a derby-day experience can get.
As we lived in ‘the sticks’ near Halesworth, my dad, for a reason unknown at the time, decided we would go to Portman Road on a bus from said town that was not intended for away supporters. He also decided we would stand with the home supporters (something to do with getting back to the bus, which wouldn’t wait for the City fans to be released from their North Stand ‘pen’).
Portman Road in 1978 was a far cry from the empty, soul-less echo chamber it is today and in the midst of the Bobby Robson era and with modest, compact stands on three sides of the ground, it generated what is known in the trade as an atmosphere.
That schoolboy – who ironically stood in the area at the front of the Cobbold Stand near where away fans are located today (it was a standing area then) – was, in truth, a little intimated. What made it worse was that Bobby Robson’s Ipswich were better than John Bond’s Norwich. A lot better on the day.
A 90-minute dissection of City defence on an industrial scale left its mark. To this day I can still see David Jones and Tony Powell floundering against Paul Mariner and Eric Gates. Just to sit here at my desk and contemplate it rekindles that gnawing pain in the gut. Even Mick Mills scored!
If watching it all unfold among the dim, guffawing and whooping locals wasn’t bad enough, we then had to endure the coach trip home amidst more celebrating, gurning and undiluted pi$$-taking. For an odd reason, they seemed to assume we were unaware of the score and needed reminding of it.
As you can tell, the scars remain.
In the years that followed I exacted my revenge at every given opportunity, but always on the premise that whatever I dished out would always be returned with interest. And as the years pass, the skin it seems has become thinner.
Some will no doubt be telling me to ‘grow a pair’. Maybe they’re right. But in the cyclical world of football Ipswich Town will beat us again and nine years of hurt will be unleashed on us. And, despite the bravado of some, it could happen on Sunday.
So, forgive me if I save any celebrating or banter until after the game, if indeed victory is to be ours. I’m one of the ‘been there and done it’ brigade.
The young and fearless will learn… eventually.
I can completely understand where you are coming from. I live and work over the border and can actually see the ground from my work. My colleagues are season ticket holders. I hate the derby. It is a one off game and as each year goes by the thought of losing to 1p5wich becomes more horrific. It will happen one day. Man Utd used to always crush Man City but even that dominance came to an end. As long as Tettey is fit and out there I am optimistic. COYY.
I share with you. I lived and worked in Harwich for a number of years, and suffered many a very painful and fearful trip back to Parkeston Quay on my own in a carriage of those resembling cavemen ready to club me.
I have never really been a fan of these games, very rarely do they live up to all the hype and billing. often boring and flat as a cow pat.
I hate to say it. but be careful Pride comes before a fall
“Pride comes before a fall” …. quite. The TNC boys would do well to remember that 🙂
Of course, it should be ‘just another game’, but it’s clearly far more than that, especially if we lose.
Maybe it’s complacency caused by winning which is the problem here; too many have forgotten just how painful it can be.
Yeah – it’s a bit like waiting for the sun to go down after a beautiful evening in a different country – you never know exactly when it’s going to happen and dread the moment when it does.
I go back to the days of the Hospitals Cup, which I doubt the “young guns” would have heard of let alone remember.
My favourite derby memory is of swearing at Pablo Counago in Spanish; he eventually heard me and gave a friendly wave in my general direction. Childish but strangely satisfying:-)
My only reservations about these games are concerning those who don’t know where to draw the line, on both sides.
The rest, for me, is what it’s all about. There’s for too much apathy at football grounds. At least on these occasions people are up for it.
That Ben is indeed what it is all about… or at least should be. Even more reason why I need to “grow a pair” 😉
I thought I was in a minority of one until I read your piece, feel much better now thanks Gary.
I keep pretending I’m not bothered………….
Living in Lowestoft – this side of the border – as you know oh to well was painful most Christmas and Easter, growing up surrounded by crazed Ipswich supporters. Got used to our boys getting a good stuffing at least once a season through junior and middle school. Only when Fash stopped them winning the league in 1981 did things feel a little less pained, until a Jim Melrose hat trick dumped us into division 2 a few weeks later.
Cue high school and an upturn – O’Neil’s screamer on Boxing day ’82, Bertschin knocking them out of the FA cup in round 5 in ’83 then that header!! Barham to take it 3 minutes to go, floated into the 6 yard box city’s ginger-headed no 4 steaming in not a Town defender in site… bang! … ball nestling in the back of the Barcley net – Stevie Bruce heading up the main stand touchline at 90mph. Cue bedlam. In one movement of Bruce’s neck the past 11 years of pain at school were rewritten; finally, the yellow side of the school could smile and hold its head up high the next day.
Funny, that Thursday not a blue shirt was to seen unlike other games when myself n ‘Lasty’ took the brunt of that lot crowing about another John Wark hat trick…
Like you, nothing is said before the game. Lessons weren’t learnt in my formative years at school in deepest town territory OTBC!!
Great post Thommo, really good… brought those memories – good and bad – flooding back. Oddly, for reasons I can’t recall, I was in the Churchmans Stand to see both Fash’s header and O’Neill’s piledriver. Weird… but good weird. They’ve been quiet and anonymous in Lowestoft for a while mate but you can bet your life they’ll re-emerge when they finally beat us!
Also coming from Halesworth area a mate yesterday pointed me towards this piece Gary… fortunately being born in 82’ I’ll justifiably disregard anything that occurred before I did! I do remember going to derbies with town-supporting friends and their family, on the train, sat in ‘their’ end, wearing colours. That was for a 2-0 loss in the mid 90’s. We’d arranged to do the same for the 5-0 pasting a year or two later, but never have I ended up so relieved to (genuinely!) have chronic diarrhoea and sickness. Undeterred I found myself in the North Stand the next season with my ‘town mates’ … Bellamy header 1-0 Norwich. I kept quiet – but nearly imploded! We’ve had good and bad times since, and as blissful as this run against them is, it can’t last forever!