I still fill up when Notts County emerge from the players’ tunnel. That moment, the roar of the crowd, the ritual of anticipation — it should be shared with the man who was always beside me. My best friend. My dad. But he isn’t there anymore. The void he left never truly goes away. In time, you learn to live with it, but you never stop feeling it.
Sons often forge a bond with their fathers that is distinct from the one they share with their mothers. Mothers are the emotional nurturers, the steady warmth at home. Fathers, though, often become role models, disciplinarians, and figures of identity — shaping how we see ourselves in the world. My dad was all of that, and more.
When he died — suddenly, though illness had kept him in hospital for a while — I remember my mum’s words with painful clarity. “We’ve lost him.” For a moment, I thought she meant he’d gone missing. But no, he was gone. And the last time I told him I loved him was too late. That was the moment I realised those words should have been spoken more often, not saved for the end.
So, here’s my recommendation: if you are lucky enough to still have your dad around, don’t wait. Don’t leave it until it’s too late to say what matters. Tell him you love him. Say it often. Mean it.
He lives on through my son, and now my beautiful grandson. The little one is too young to know the game yet, but I’m sure he’ll grow to share the passion. And when he does, I’ll see my dad in him too.
But hell, I miss him. Every cheer from the stands, every emergence of the Magpies from the tunnel, is both a reminder of what I’ve lost and a celebration of what he gave me.
Thanks dad. I love you. COYP!
© Ian Kirke 2025
@ iankirke.bsky.social
Title photograph by Ben White on Unsplash.