In making the assumption that you have felt love I am guessing that you have experienced the physical and emotional pulls and pushes too? The highs, lows, and the levels in between. Personally, I know I have been in love, am in love, yearn it, have missed it and have been completely stumped by it, lost it then found it again. An emotional contradiction wrapped up in a heart-shaped enigma. Greek philosophers claimed that there are four types of love: Storge (an empathetic fondness of somebody typified by parental love), philia (affection within a friendship), Eros (romantic love) and agape (the love associated with divinity). On the other hand Kim, in the ‘Love is …’ cartoons, created multiple facets including, “… not mentioning his lack of genitals”, “… as warm as toast” and “… when you can’t stay mad at each other for long.”
From a purely scientific viewpoint love heightens the production of dopamine and norepinephrine that have tangible physical side effects such as dizziness, loss of appetite and lack of sleep. This emotional cocktail can play havoc on your powers of reason which no doubt encouraged Elvis to claim that “only fools rush in”. Google describes love, rather usefully, as being complex!
Weirdly I would like to explore the complications of love and ask the question, ‘Can you ever love an inorganic object too?’ I guess the immediate answer is yes, since I recall watching a late night documentary that focused on objectophilia where a select number of folk achieved union with, amongst other things, a portion of the Berlin Wall, a wooden fence and, if my memory serves me right, a certain part of a car (or am I thinking of a schoolboy joke here?). This is by no means mainstream. Less extreme I must admit to have uttered the words, “I love a Mr Whippy” on many occasions. However, I have never experienced the identical chemical reactions that are associated with the power of love and epitomised by the immortal words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” when I hear the distant chimes of the ice cream van. But what I am about to suggest may seem even more bizarre. Can I really be in love with my Football team: Notts County?
As I write this Notts have failed again and the pain is real although I shouldn’t be surprised. In 2007 The Telegraph newspaper revealed that Notts were the most stressful team to support. But as the devastation of losing to Harrogate Town in the National League play-off final was at its immediate post-match peak I wanted to make sense of how gutted I felt. Indeed, how closely these raw emotions echoed those of a love lost.
Whilst sitting at Tenerife South airport (COVID-19 had put the kibosh on any thoughts of attending Wembley) I pondered, how I really felt whilst others no doubt were more angered at having to quarantine for 2-weeks once back in the UK. No one had died so it wasn’t that bad. The closest comparison that I felt comfortable with was the feeling of an end of summer romance and just to rub my nose in it she had walked away hand in hand with a guy from the 6th form! I felt more than just miserable and on the run up to the game I had experienced fractured sleep and a loss of appetite too. All the classic signs, I would contend, of love.
A win would have elevated us back to the English Football League after an excruciating year in non-league football and for my club to reclaim the title of the oldest football league club in the whole damn World once again! Then Harrogate Town came along and won, quite rightly, with room to spare.
If you do not share such a passion for a football team or association with a similar entity I fully acknowledge that it may only appear to be ‘a game’. But let me explain, and whilst doing so compare with the various stages of my experiences of love, that it’s not that simple. Indeed, the game itself from kick-off to the final whistle can often be the dullest part!
For instance, it’s the anticipation during the days beforehand (will we hit it off?). The planning of how to get there (where shall we eat?). The euphoria of a win (they like me!). The despair of defeat (was it me?). Of course at the match, and assuming it has some action of note, the near misses, the decisions that go against and the fortunate ones that go our way by the referee who can never see what us unbiased supporters see only adds to the drama (from my experience real love will always have drama once that initial 3-month emotionally charged hiatus has elapsed). Let me point out to you that in the fifth tier of English football there is no such thing as the video assistant referee (VAR). For the oldies out there Notts are lucky to get a mention on the pool’s coupon nowadays.
My relationship with Notts County began when I was 10 years old. I was born in Nottingham and lived in Stapleford, a parish of the great east-midlands city, until my family moved to Bicester in Oxfordshire when I was 5. I can’t recall much about the early days in Stabbo save getting my head stuck in the railings outside of the local shops and the fire brigade having to free me to run home in tears to my house in nearby Denver Court. Those that have known me ever since would probably not be surprised that my head was large enough to get stuck even in those days. And how could I forget running to the very edge of the then known universe and touching the Hemlock Stone adjacent to the A6002 and running back without telling my parents?
My Grandma remained in nearby Chilwell in the impressively named Great Hoggett Drive and my Dad would spend every third weekend driving up to see her. In those days I tagged along for the pocket money, sweets, and Mr Kipling cakes that we always had with Saturday night dinner and, if I’m honest, little else. That all changed when my Dad, principally a Reading fan, took me to the Football!
Nottingham has a great footballing heritage with, then, three league teams to choose from. In addition to County there was Nottingham Forest and Mansfield Town. I was taken to all three, so I had to make a choice. At 10 critical thinking isn’t a particularly well-developed skill. It was easy to discard Mansfield Town since they were in the then 4th tier of league football. The ultimate life choice became a straight shoot-out between County and Forest. At the time I went to Meadow Lane, Notts were marginally above our noisy neighbours from across the River Trent in the second tier and I liked their colours more. Remember I was just a kid! Let me not forget the great players too and especially the brilliant centre forward Les Bradd, the all-time leading goal scorer for Notts County and instant boyhood hero.
But like a star struck lover I have remained loyal ever since even though the red half of the City went on to win the League One Championship (now The Premiership) a few years later, back to back European Cup wins and more League Cups than you could shake a stick at, etc. (yawn!) whilst the mighty Magpies didn’t have to invest in any additional trophy space. Having said that my Notts County Subbuteo team were virtually unbeatable!
Yet for all the lack of on field success Notts ultimately became my point of stability. At 10 years of age this had never crossed my mind although as the decades passed and I began to be exposed to the challenges of life the need for an unwavering place of escapism, safety, and consistency became an enduring part of my identity. Love can very often change things: my children introduced me to a love I never knew existed and death took away, amongst others, the love of my wife and Dad. Yet throughout the enforced changes to my life, many of which I wouldn’t have ordinarily chosen, Notts County remained stable in that it existed embodied in the stadium along with all of my childhood dreams, aspirations and the spirit of my best mate ever, my Dad. Players come and go and there are ground improvements but Notts are permanent. Solid. Ever present (or so I thought as latterly this perception was challenged). The place where I would ultimately go on my own, especially since the passing of my Dad, when things were tough for me. The place where I wouldn’t be judged, shunned, or criticised, even if I gave our own players an expletive mouthful from the safety of the Derek Pavis Stand. A place where I would be with others yet, if I chose to be, alone too.
Yet this affection isn’t contagious. When Lucy and Adam were born they were instantly enrolled as junior Magpies and although my daughter didn’t get into the football tradition I wasn’t that downhearted since my son would be a Notts fan. Like father like son, as always happens in the Sunday afternoon films. Yet this is real life and love doesn’t always follow such a clear trajectory. A tad before his third birthday I took Adam to his first match away at Oxford United. I can’t remember the score yet I clearly recall him holding my hand and looking up at me with his beautiful blue eyes at the half-time whistle and blurting out the never to be forgotten statement, “Daddy can we go home now?”
In July 1999 I knew that I would be able to successfully reinforce his footballing genetic code when Arsenal came to Meadow Lane and played a friendly match as part of the transfer deal of our then starlet Jermaine Pennant to the Gooners. On arrival at the ground a mate of mine gave him an Arsenal shirt to wear and as an impressionable 6-year old, who knew the entire visiting side too, he became a supporter of the Londoners. To be fair to Adam he has remained a loyal Gooner and I should not forget that the love of a football club can very often be driven by the colours!
I have experienced more lows than highs, but then again true love isn’t always glitzy in the end. Loyalty, reliability, and a sense of family belonging are, at least in my humble opinion, the most important drivers although I do like an emotionally charged adrenaline ride once in a while and I have seen Notts lift a few trophies during the last 47 years!
My company, Training For Success, became corporate sponsors where our party were always graciously looked after by club ambassador, the one and only Les Bradd, inducted into the club’s Hall of Fame last year. Les must meet hundreds of corporate visitors and I was, no doubt, just another face in the crowd. How wrong was I? At the half-time whistle at Yeovil Town away in August 2016 I went for the customary brew and heard a shout, “How are you Ian?” I turned to see a smiling Les. He remembered me and I was a 10-year old boy once again.
If the distress of our relegation to the National League in 2019 wasn’t enough, worse was to follow. For a brief moment in time at The County Ground, Swindon we took the lead whilst Macclesfield Town were being beaten at home by Cambridge United. I began to believe that miracles can happen. Just as the miracle of watching my two children being born as a result of love. Then reality cruelly popped my artificial bubble as we eventually lost, Macclesfield drew, and we lost our league status for the first time in our 158-year history. Then the real shit happened. The club was put up for sale and there was a real chance that Notts would be no more. The most unsettling time ever in the history of my club was ended as a stroke of midnight takeover was agreed by the Danish knights in shining armour Alexander and Christoffer Reedtz with, as rumour had it, only a handful of minutes to spare before we became extinct. That night I got totally drunk and poured out my feelings and my love of Notts to a very attentive West Ham fan. Well I will give him the benefit of the doubt as he was probably more pissed than I was. Not for the first time my unbreakable emotional ties with my club made me cry. But not in front of him! My love affair with Notts County was allowed to continue and as much as I find most football memes naff I have to admit that ‘I’m County ‘til I die!’
So, can I really be in love with Notts County? If the spirit of the club had a consciousness and responded to my utterance of the immortal Kojak quip, “Who loves ya, baby?” the emphatic reply would be, “You do!”
Come on You Pies!
© Ian Kirke 2020 and all photographs