I didn’t miss Bristol Rovers yesterday. Well, I did, but only in the sense that I didn’t go. I could have gone to the game versus Scunthorpe United but I got an offer I couldn’t refuse, which involved seeing my youngest son and then going on a pub crawl with my better half. 15 years ago there would have been no decision to make.
It’s not that I hate the Rovers, or anything stupid like that. Whilst I have serious doubts about the Jordanian owners and their level of commitment, I don’t have serious worries. If things go tits up, others can come to the rescue. Sadly, I no longer have serious passion, either.
The reasons for my decree nisi with the Rovers are long, not very complex and part of yesterday. The people who ruined my enjoyment have long departed the scene. The autocratic, vindictive chairman is the day before yesterday’s man, the arguments that plagued the club in the 2000s are long over. An old friend, long departed from BRFC, once told me that he had lost the emotional connection with the club. I wondered how that could possibly be, since a football club was for life. Now I know.
I should have regained my love for the club but for some reason I haven’t. I still have scores of friends and even more acquaintances who inhabit the stands and terraces on a Saturday afternoon. I still want to see them it’s just that my priorities have changed.
I used to miss family occasions to go to the football. I even missed a wedding many moons ago, much to the chagrin of some family members and friends. I planned my holidays around the football season, I would only consider a weekend away if we were away, because I have never done away games. That’s all changed now.
It’s not just the years of argument and conflict. It’s other priorities. I like to do stuff on a weekend, other than just standing around watching lower league football. There are games in other football leagues, games in other sports, so many places to visit, friends to see, golf courses to play, cottages to stay in at the weekend. And, at the centre of everything, is the reality of my own mortality. Rovers will still be there when what’s left of me will be in an urn on the mantelpiece.
None of this is to remotely criticise those whose Saturday life revolves around watching football. Since I got too old to play, that’s been me. Even though I was a terrible player, the act of merely watching football was lower than a distant second to playing it. Every professional I ever watched was much better than me, but I never lost the desire to play and win.
I’ll do at least one more Rovers game this season, for sure, because I want to see my friends over a pre (and post) match pint. The game I can take or leave, to be honest. I do not for one moment forget that through football I have met some amazing people. I never will. But the act of going to the game has not become the thrill it used to be.
