It's often thought that we remember the first time we did X, Y, or Z.
Apart from the obvious first time, I disagree, however.
Do you honestly remember the first time you rode a bike? Played tennis or mowed the lawn?
It only sticks in the mind if it is or was truly memorable, and that’s where I found myself recently with my 13-year-old daughter, Millie, finally agreeing to attend her first football game.
The USPs were dual fold: Her cousin Zac was coming up from the mean streets of Hastings, and there was promise, should Barnet get the point required, that there would be a pitch invasion as they clinched the National League title for the fourth time.
But was Millie bothered with the game? After five minutes, I would say not, as she did what all teenagers seem pre-programmed to do, and had her face firmly pointed at her phone screen as yet another seemingly important message came through from one of her buddies.
And then, despite the regular announcements throughout the game as to how we weren’t to enter the field of play, the vast majority of the 5,000-strong crowd ventured to the hoarding boards to await the final whistle.
As it blew, I stalled, remembering my bad back, and I told the chap next to me why this wasn’t a good idea.
He disagreed and, with one leg over the sign, he gave me a friendly (I think) shove onto the pitch, and we dad-danced and chanted around for a few seconds before I felt a twinge in my lumbar that left me cheering ‘Champions’ through gritted teeth.
The next hour was wonderful as we hugged the players (tip: Don’t: They were sweating profusely) and jostled each other as the chants and roars went up.
One poor steward, who must have been on his first day in the job politely went around and asked people in a whisper to ‘leave the pitch please’ before I told him to give up to which he reluctantly agreed, as more merriment ensued, with photos and selfies in the goalmouth and the trophy celebration sometime later.
Come Sunday, I had rendered myself immobile and I visited the chiropractor to find I had dislodged my sacrum, which may take many weeks to heal after he ‘popped’ it back in.
Still, that gives me time to contemplate the odd away day come August with the mighty Bees who are back in the big time as they invade the football league as well-deserved ‘cham-pi-ones, ole, ole, ole!’
- Brett Ellis is a teacher.
