‘This is the best day of my life.’ Eight words which are as true now as they were when they first fell out my gobsmacked mouth 20 years ago. Just don’t tell the wife.
Clutching a bag of sweets that that would make the wee Haribo bear go green with envy and hidden behind an over-sized polyester scarf so itchy against my rosy cheeks you would have thought an army of marching midgies had gone on manoeuvres in its claret and amber plaid, the sheer giddiness that I was overcome with at the prospect of going to the football for the first time is a feeling that is still difficult to put into words. I was so excited I almost dropped my Dib Dab. Almost.
Walking up Fir Park Street five minutes after the game kicked off, I can still recall the loud roar of the crowd coming from inside Motherwell’s main stand – further life experience has found this memory to be slightly skewed, either that or my swag bag of pick ‘n’ mix had been spiked – and the rush of adrenaline as I clicked through the turnstile, the anticipation as I strode two at a time up the concrete staircase and the sheer amazement as my breath was taken away by the sight in front of me is still vivid in my mind's eye. I was actually at a football game. Me. At a football game.
It was 1996 and the titanic battle in question was Motherwell versus Kilmarnock. I remember that as there were two older girls sitting behind me in white and blue – one had a stookie on her arm and a patch on her left eye that made me think she was some sort of injured pirate – who repeatedly shouted ‘C’mon Killie!’ throughout the encounter. This was much to my confusion as I repeatedly trawled my team sheet looking for the clearly hopeless player in question, without any joy. Regardless, Motherwell won 2-0 and I went home in a trance. On reflection, I should have quit while I was ahead.
Scott Mullen: Sportscene a real turn-off
To come back to the present day, this rambling around in my ageing brain did not happen by chance, although this a rare thing these days in a barren waste ground of forgotten anniversaries, incorrect pin numbers and the entire back catalogue of ACDC lyrics.
It was in fact triggered by the sight of a little lad at Parkhead on Thursday night who, after just 45 minutes of Celtic’s 2-1 defeat to Molde in the Europa League, turned to his auld man and said ‘this is rubbish, Dad. Can we go home?’ There were probably around 35,000 who wished they could have asked the same thing.
Now, as the father of a 15-month-old, I’m a fair bit off that red-letter day of dragging my offspring kicking and screaming to his first football game, but it is a moment that fills me with nervousness more than excitement as we inch closer to it. Will he like it? Will he understand it? Will he stay awake? Will he ever forgive me?
That thunderbolt moment at Parkhead last week was a bit of an eye-opener. If a young kid can’t be captivated by European football under the floodlights surrounded by tens of thousands of people in a state-of-the-art stadium - despite the dross in front of him - what chance do I have with a boiling Bovril and a bucket seat?
Some clubs are doing more these days to try and bring young supporters in to the game. There are kids groups, face painting, mascots and other activities which pop up from time to time. But, more often than not, we are losing a generation who, instead of filling dwindling stands around Scotland, would much rather occupy their sofa playing video games or watch Stoke City versus Bournemouth on ‘Super Sunday’. Shoot me now.
While a few are attempting to make football appeal more – and I credit Motherwell with having such an approach – there are still far too many clubs across the country with an arrogant attitude founded upon a reality that existed 20 years ago when all there was to do on a Saturday was go to the football. If variety is the spice of life, Scottish football has become the familiar cheese sandwich on the wide-ranging sporting menu that, on its own, simply doesn't satisfy anymore.
Those in charge of our teams that struggle to bring in young blood need not look far for inspiration on how to do it right. With the Ladbrokes Premiership out of action this weekend, arguably the best attended sporting event will take place on Saturday evening when Braehead Clan take on the Sheffield Steelers in the Elite Ice Hockey League.
Around 3400 people will squeeze into the modern setting of the Braehead Arena to witness a game but also competitions, pre-game rituals, music, dancing and much more all from the comfort of a soft warm seat with the potential to do it with a beer in hand.
Clan’s rise has captured the imagination of those who have become disillusioned with the mainstream alternative. Going to watch Braehead has become a family event that goes beyond sitting in a seat for 60 minutes, it is a day out that is designed to rival the cinema, going out for a meal or even sitting watching the X Factor on the telly. The fact half of Braehead’s 1500 season ticket holders are female will testify that they are doing something right and it should be embraced.
There has been a feeling of acceptance among some that change is needed to bring Scottish football out of the doldrums. But if Master Mullen is to follow in his father's footsteps and be destined for a life of misery along with thousands of others across the land, those at our club's best get their skates on.
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