**WARNING: this post is about neither parenting, nor work. It's about football. I've been thinking about it for a while. Feel free not to read it if the topic doesn't interest you...**
It's been a funny season to be married to a Bradford City fan.
I met Martin in 2001, when Bradford were just beginning their slide down the echelons of English football. The football season was characterised by anxiety, depressing results, the inevitable approach of relegation, the threat of insolvency, and a distinct absence of enjoyment. They never seemed to catch a break, and there wasn't much to hope for, but being at a distance in London it didn't impinge that much on my consciousness.
We moved up north in 2006, Martin got his season ticket, and in an odd fit of enthusiasm (and I think it was buy one get one free) I got one too. This lasted one season - Bradford didn't win one of the games I attended, and we made a mutual decision that it might be better for the club, and my Saturdays, if we didn't renew it.
So the club plodded on in League 2, seasons now characterised by early hope, a good but small squad, injuries, a succession of loan players, a late-season panic about possible relegation, and a disappointing mid- to bottom-half league finish. Oh, and a revolving door of managers. For me, Saturday afternoons were dominated by keeping an eye on Soccer Saturday to see what mood Martin was going to come home in. Another loss from a goal in the 89th minute? Quel surprise. There was a dreary inevitability in it, despite Bradford's nearly-Championship-level crowds...League 2 referees, losing in the first round of every cup, ugly football, bad decisions, a world of pain.
Until this season.
This season has been different.
Bradford somehow started to carve out a cup run. It came to the next draw and, rather than getting another League 2 team, out came a Premiership team. But it was Wigan - a recipe for a dreary 1-0 loss on a rainy Tuesday night. Except that somehow, Bradford held on for a draw, held on for extra time, and contrived to win on penalties. Suddenly the season held a glimmer of hope - fourth round of a cup! The league performance was looking good too. Bradford had a manager that was pulling the team together; the team was populated by regular players signed to the club not loan players; they cared about the club. There were more positives than negatives...something I had never experienced in relation to Bradford.
And then...Arsenal in the next round! A proper Premiership team, coming to Valley Parade. (no offence, Wigan). Obviously there was no hope that Bradford would win, but excitement started to build nonetheless. Wenger picked a full strength team, off Martin went, resigned to seeing Bradford lose but delighted at the prospect of seeing some decent football in the process. I watched it on TV...and somehow, again, it came to penalties and Bradford won.
It's hard to explain, to someone not interested in football, what this felt like. The Bradford fan is accustomed, when telling an enquirer which team they support, to receiving responses which range from confusion to pity. They are not used to being the main story in the sports pages in the national press, to gushing features on the news, to being spoken about with fondness, to start having a reputation for being unbeatable in a penalty shootout. Football doesn't usually feel ... well... good.
This was partly about pressure - Bradford were now playing well beyond a level where they could possibly expect to win. With expectation lifted, any achievement could be celebrated, and even being there was an achievement.
Next round - Villa, over two legs. There was no way Bradford could win again. Except, after the first leg, Bradford were somehow 3-1 up. They tried not to hope, and for the first half of the second leg looked hopelessly outclassed, but regained confidence and managed to retain a one goal league at the end. Bradford were in a final. At Wembley. In a cup!! At Wembley!!!
Again the hope thing kicked in...it was impossible that Bradford could win it but a little spark of belief was there all the same - after all, it had been impossible to beat Wigan, Arsenal and Villa.
Wembley was amazing:
And, as Swansea demonstrated pure superiority and crushed Bradford 5-0, utterly devastating. But about 20 minutes before the end, we remembered that we weren't supposed to be there, there was no way we should win, and that the experience was one to be enjoyed...and the Bradford fans sang, cheered, shouted, went crazy for a corner (our only one of the match), and generally displayed an incredible sporting spirit. It's hard to articulate but it was unforgettable to be part of.
So, that was it...the excitement of the season over. Performance dipped in the league, the team was tired; the financial benefit of the cup run remained, but the sense of anticipation was gone.
Now, though, we find ourselves facing Wembley again in the League 2 playoff final. I'm not going this time - it's too important a game to risk bringing my losing curse back to the club (I fear the 5-0 loss was my fault!). Bradford are marginally favourites, there is pressure to win, and it feels too important to believe they can...this feels like the season where they have to get promoted if they're ever going to do it. There is definite hope and anticipation here but mixed with a massive amount of fear. Only a few days till we'll know.
It's been a weird season to be married to a Bradford City fan. It appears to have converted me from an interested bystander into...well, a Bradford City fan. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
