Baptism by Soccer

"I can't remember how old I was when I took my first pilgrimage.

"I'd been nagging my dad since my birthday.

"All my friends had been and I thought I was old enough, and big enough, for him to take me to the football.

"I don't know what made him decide, but this time when I asked, he said yes . . . That lunchtime he told me that this was to be the day.

"Mum immediately started fussing. Wrap up warm. It was, after all, late October and could be nippy.

"Well, if that was all I had to put up with I'm sure it would be worth it.

"Any preconceptions disappeared when we stepped off the train and the army of supporters greeted us.

"We started walking at a pace which left me half-running, half-skipping, and a little too warm in my clothes which would have been more fitting for a young Arctic explorer than a first-time football fan.

"Finally we arrived. I couldn't see the man behind what my dad told me was the turnstyle, but he took some money and we were in.

"There was That Question, of course, and no I didn't want to go. I just wanted to get inside and see the game.

"Up some steps, round the corner, and a strong gust of wind hit my face.

"I couldn't see at first as it seemed I was surrounded by giants, but as soon as my dad lifted me up, put me on his shoulders and held me steady, it had been worth the wait.