50 Years

50 years ago last Friday, 20th October 1973, Dad took me to the football for the first time.

At Carrow Road, Norwich.

He had said, we'll try football and fishing and see what you like best.

We never did get round to trying fishing.

There was something special about entering the old ground for the first time, watching it fill up. I see from the records that 24,819 people turned up to watch the game, which ended in a 1-1 draw.

This was our first season in the top division of the Football League, quite a time to be introduced to live football.

We would take the 11:10 train from Oulton Broad North, getting to Norwich just before midday, then wander down Riverside Road, past the oil depot, Boulton and Paul's yard, with the still busy river and its warehouses on the other side of the road. Turn then onto Carrow Road, past the guy selling rosettes and scarves from a wooden box, maybe buy a program, then walk round the back of the open terrace of the River End to the covered terrace of the South Stand.

We would go to the very front, so my nose or later, my chin, would rest on the railings.

And we would wait.

And wait.

The ground opened at half twelve, and there was nothing to watch, to be entertained by, until two when the wartime technology of the tannoy system sparked into life and played hots of the day, and maybe a dedication to those whose birthday it was. At some point the teams would be read out, and maybe quarter past two or so, the teams would come to warm up.

Nothing energentic, passing the ball, shooting for the goalie to make saves.

All the while the ground filled up. A fog of cigarette smoke hng under the roofs of the stands, and if it was winter, the floodlights would come on and make the colour of the grass vivid green.

Except the mud.

At five to three, the teams would come out and we would cheer, and the game would start. End to end for 45 minutes, a ten minute break, and off again at four, so that the whole would be done by quarter to five. Win, lose or draw.

Next season after next, 75-76, the South Stand had been turned largely into a seated stand, we got our first season tickets and went almost every game. The season ended with Norwich beating QPR at home, 3-2, thus devriving Rangers from winning their first league title. I was sick at home with mumps, sadly, but it was on Match of the Day that evening.

For most of the first twenty or so years, it felt that Norwich were going upwards. Sometimes a relegation or cup upset happened, but we won the League Cup at Wembley in 1985. Dad and I were there, watching from under the twin towers, as Norwich won something, and so qualified for Europe.

Granddad supported Norwich since the 1920s, he told me tales of games at The Nest, the wall of the Kop, actually the wall of a quarry that could seriously injure players if they ran into it, a few feet the other side of the goal line at one end. At the other end were allotments. Promotion to the 2nd Division in 1934 meant that the old ground was deemed sub-standard, and in 80 days over the summer, Carrow Road was built.

I wish I could speak to Granddad again about those early days of the club. He did tell me, but the words went in one ear and out the other.

The club struggled after the war, needing collections from the crowd several seasons, until in 1959, Norwich reached the FA Cup semi-final, beating Manchester United, Tottenham, Sheffield United on the way, only to lose to Luton in a reply.

We saw Norwich play in a semi-final too, losing to Everton in April 1989. We were lucky, in the other game taking place in Sheffield, 96 people lost their lives.

That year we nearly won the League, running out of puff in the final few weekes of the season, and again in the first season of the Premier League, also running out of puff after Easter. That did mean we qualified for Europe, but by then I had joined the RAF and watched on BFBS TV, or stood in a field on delployment in Denmark listening to a very faint Radio 2 sports round up on medium wave to find out that City had beat Viesse 3-0 at home.

The very moment of our greatest triumphs, beating Viesse and then Bayern before losing out to AC Milan, the club was overspending, not by much by today's standards, but were overdrawn by over £5million, and the banks got nervous, wanted some repayment, so players were sold.

And as more players were sold, results got worse, and the banks got more nervous, demanded more money back.

By the summer of 1995 the club was technically insolvent, and we had just avoided our second successive relegation.

I guess I could go on and on, recounting the steps and missteps of the last 30 years: survival, promotion, relegation, relgation, promotion, promotion, relegation, promotion, relgation, promotion, relegation, promotion, relegation, COVID, highs and lows.

In 2006, I came close to losing my house, the year before I had given up my season ticket as I knew I wouldn't be able to afford it and the travel to and from games. Nearly going bankrupt gives you a clear point of view about what is important. I like football. I love football. But it is just a game.

Nothing more.

It adds seasoning to life. I no longer get sad or depressed when we lose. I like it when we win, gives me joy when we won the league, but losing doesn't ruin my weekend. Anymore.

Norwich not only is the club I support, but it has the oldest existing chant/song in the sport. On the Ball, City, almost certainly, was sung before the club was formed, for another Norwiich club, but early on, Norwich City fans adopted it, changed it to City from whatever it was before, and othet than it slightly speeding up at some point in the 1970s, its the same song as my Grandfather sang on the Kop at The Nest.

Makes you tkink....

Kick off, throw in, have a little scrimmage,
Keep it low, a splendid rush, bravo, win or die;
On the ball, City!
Never mind the danger,
Steady on, now’s your chance,
Hurrah! We’ve scored a goal.