Where do you go to my lovelies?

As a boy with a Sheffield Wednesday season ticket it didn’t make sense to me that with  ten minutes to go before the end of a home game  hundreds of flat capped Wednesday supporters vacated their seats in the stadium.  


And if we weren’t winning the exodus was even more pronounced… 




The body language was clear to me. T’flat caps were deserting t’sinking ship.



As we on the spion kop occupied the moral high ground so we began to  chant as they walked out “part time supporters CLAP-CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP, part time supporters…” etc. That would show em. Weren’t the flat caps aware that their absence would be noted by the team, our gods in blue and white stripes? And what if we scored a late goal? They may never learn of it until tomorrow’s papers. And if our centre forward broke his leg, or had a heart attack…and in his dying breath managed to raise a finger and wave it in the direction of the exodus, gasping “Where do you go to my lovelies?”. How could they live with the ignominy. 
Deserters in war are shot, so what’s the difference here? 


Many years have ticked by since I witnessed such desertion. In their defence the flat caps were quite probably gutted, passionately disappointed about the likely result of the game.
It was out of grief that they left quietly. 
Evenso, they had abandoned ship, and were guilty of dereliction of duty. 
In the book of rules, goalkeepers should dive at the feet of the onrushing opponents, centre forwards should do their best to score hat tricks, and fans should support. It’s their duty.
To walk out during a match changed them from fans to voyeurs.


How awful it was therefore to witness thousands of Man Utd fans leave their stadium last week as they were being thrashed Man City. And how sad it was to see the thousands of Chelsea fans vacating Stamford Bridge as they being stuffed by Arsenal. Surely they ought to have taken the rough with the smooth and stayed put. Week in week out they are used to seeing world class football, and have no right to spit their dummy out.


Perhaps it would be a blessing in disguise for football everywhere if, when they vacated the stadium they were never allowed to come back. Like Peter Sarstedt’s girl in the song they were probably never at home posing as football supporters, and we’d rally like to see just what it is inside their head. 


Published by Rob

Now 70, I'm getting back into website development and brand protection, as well as showcasing the delightful artistic talents of my beautiful wife Lynne. My projection will encompass a lifetime of database marketing, as well as the Christian democratic socialist ideals of my wife and I.

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