This weekend, I will visit Kenilworth Road for the first time.
It will also be my first trip away in an official media capacity, and that is probably something I should have expected given my belief in fate. It has not been planned like this. Illness ruled me out of Barnsley away, but again, I should have known.
Those of you who read me regularly will know this story, but I will tell it anyway. I was brought up a Lincoln fan, my first game coming in 1986, standing on the Railway End terracing in a stadium with three sides and 2,000 supporters. Somehow, that grabbed me and would not let me go, so I went home that October and discovered that football was my new thing.
The 1986 World Cup had got me into football properly, and that was why I ended up at Lincoln. The day before, Dad had tried to take us on a family trip to watch Man United and Forest, but we got waylaid, and so my potential Forest fandom disappeared. Perhaps Dad was downbeat that I chose Lincoln, because on the way home that cold October evening, I was told I needed a big club.
He got me the Panini ’87 album after a while, but I was already Lincoln. I saw us beat Swansea 4-1, then lose 1-0 to Cardiff, but we were relegated to the GMVC, and I guess he thought the club might go under. I was tasked with finding a big club, and I chose Luton. Why? Mick Harford. My grandad loved Mick Harford and had taught his budgie, Blue, to say Mick Harford. When a family pet talks, you tend to listen.
What a first year that was for me as a football fan. City won the GMVC, Luton won the Littlewoods Cup and finished ninth in Division One. I had my big club doing well, finishing above Spurs and Chelsea, and my little club doing well as well.
I supported Luton and Lincoln for maybe five years. It was easier to talk about the likes of Mark Stein, Mark Pembridge, Lars Elstrup and Kingsley Black to my friends at school, because they all had Pro Set cards. I thought David Preece was the best player in the world, and while I still went to Lincoln games, I paid almost as much attention to the Hatters. I collected all the cards, traded them, and aside from a Matt Dickens card, Lincoln had nothing.
The turning point came in 1991, when Luton visited the Bank for a friendly. I had collected all the Luton Pro Set cards and had them to hand, ready for signing. It pains me to admit it, but I briefly wondered if I should go in the away end, but common sense prevailed. I remember getting Alec Chamberlain to sign his Pro Set card that night, but I could not cheer the Luton goals, only the Lincoln ones. That was not because of where I sat, but because I realised I was Lincoln, through and through.
Just a few weeks later, City were hammered 6-0 by Barnet at Sincil Bank. I remember sitting in the front room of our house on Hansards Drive in Wragby, looking in disbelief at Teletext. Even though I was promoting myself as a Luton fan, that hurt. It hurt so much that I realised my heart was with City more than Luton. Within a further six months, I realised that I did not need my mask, not really, so I let it gently slip away. I swear it genuinely had nothing to do with Luton being relegated at the end of the season.
It did take until around 1994, during the Scott Oakes and John Hartson era, for me to really give up on Luton. I recall a 5-a-side tournament at Nettleham, a friend of mine, Jimmy Newlin, was chanting ‘Lennie’s taking Luton down’ incessantly, and I really didn’t care. I was wholly Lincoln by then, and in my heart, it was always Lincoln. Still, I never went to Kenilworth Road, not with the plastic pitch, and not when we played them a few times in the late 90s and again in the BSP. By then, I was all Lincoln, as I am now, and Luton were a team I wanted to do well, but had no further affinity with.
When we are not playing them, Luton always have a little piece of my heart. They are rivals, and I do not support them, but Mick Harford, Ricky Hill, Brian Stein, Andy Dibble, and a host of others made me a brief king at primary school with that 1988 cup win. Going to Kenilworth Road for the first time will be cathartic, like finally laying to rest the childhood ghost of a long-lost sweetheart.
I am Lincoln, always have been and always will be, but I think tomorrow will be a small glance back at my childhood, like meeting the girl you used to fancy when you were ten, but now you are both grown up and have found your way in life. You know there is nothing there, but for a brief moment, there will be a slight glint in the eye, a memory long-since forgotten.
Still, it feels fitting that Kenilworth Road is the first away ground I cover as proper media, not commentating as I did at Gateshead, but accredited media. They were the last team we played at the Bank while Dad was alive, just days after we beat his childhood big team, Chelsea, so it does feel a little fated. Given my article about prolific scorers and finding out our top two post-war are a father and son called Hutchinson, and Hutchinson being the referee from the first game after I was born, I shouldn’t be surprised Kenilworth Road is my first away gig as media.
Hopefully, fate means a win for the Imps as well. Is that too much to ask?
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