Footballing heritage can be divisive, disruptive, even damning. It can split loyalties, ignite arguments, and turn social gatherings into tactical debriefs. Yet every so often — on those rare, magical occasions — something deeper rises to the surface. A single strand that blurs tribal lines and reminds us why this sport continues to hold its grip over many of us: legacy.
Just over two years ago, I watched Arthur stride out onto the hallowed turf of Meadow Lane, representing my beloved Notts County. My little big man, stepping into the story I’ve carried since childhood. Of course I cried. How could I not? It was a moment stitched from past and present, a moment where the home faithful welcomed another junior Magpie into their hearts as captain Kyle Cameron lifted him aloft. A rite of passage. A baton passed. A memory sealed.
Then came last Saturday — a day that unravelled a DNA strand so unique it felt almost mythic. A connection between Reading, our opponents, and the world’s oldest professional football club, the Magpies whom I’ve supported since my dad — a proud Reading Royal — first introduced me to the beautiful game in the city of my birth. Some might question why I didn’t follow the rowdier reds across the Trent, with their trophy cabinet polished more frequently over the last half century. That debate can wait for another occassion. Because on this day, the colours didn’t matter.
My family tree was wearing every shade of footballing allegiance. Blue and white hoops. Black and white stripes. And the youngest of the clan — Mabel, just six weeks old — proudly, if unknowingly, draped in the famous Notts colours. Four generations in attendance. A near 90-years of lineage humming quietly in the crowd as the afternoon kicked into life.
Arthur and Darcie embodied it all. Mascots for Notts and Reading respectively. Two children leading out two teams whose histories, on this day, beat in harmony. I held myself together until the end of my pre match Vlog, after I found my late dad’s memorial brick in the wall of the Reading stadium — now the Select Car Leasing Stadium, though in my mind still affectionately the “Mad Stad”, a tribute to to former charman John Madejski. That was the moment the emotional dam cracked. I knew it would.
But what stayed with me — what still sits warm in my chest — was the reception. The affection. The unity. Running with my two best buddies to have our photo taken by Dan the Man Westwell in front of the away end faithful. The cheers. The smiles. The sense that, for a heartbeat, football wasn’t dividing us. It was binding us.
Even the chant — “baldy, baldy, what’s the score?” — after we went 2–0 down couldn’t dent the spirit of the day. If anything, it added to the tapestry. Banter as belonging.
Thank you to Gill Jacob, mascot coordinator, and her Reading team for making the day extraordinary. And to gaffer Martin Paterson for ensuring Arthur led out the Magpies with captain Jacob Bedeau. Darcie, naturally, with all her swagger, led the Royals.
Four generations. Two clubs. One family. One game.
Because in the end, as the late Jo Cox reminded us in her maiden speech to Parliament:
“We are far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us.”
Come on you PIES!
© Ian Kirke 2026 & all uncredited images
@ iankirke.bsky.social
Title image reproduced by kind permission of Dan WestWell
All other credited images © of named individuals