Learning to Love Another Club

In the dying minutes, tucked into the away end at the brilliant Aggborough Stadium, I held my breath as an instinctive shot looped up and onto the post before being cleared. I felt deflated, those three points could have made all the difference to the season.

But it wasn't a Michael Cheek effort, nor was it Corey Whitely’s, but rather Ashley Hemmings of Kidderminster Harriers.

So why am I here, talking about Kidderminster Harriers on a blog about Bromley Football Club? 

I want to explore how we come to love the clubs we do; whether through familial tradition, geography, or even by accident.

Let me take you back to when my father left Glasgow, thirty-eight years ago. A staunch Rangers fan in his youth, he still wears the scars (literal and metaphorical) from his time attending the Old Firm. When tragedy shrunk the Scottish side of our family, my Dad sought solace in the newly minted Premier League.

An early adopter of Sky TV (one of the very earliest, he tells me), he gravitated towards Arsenal, perhaps because of an imagined kinship with their Scottish manager, George Graham. Over the years, we watched some of the world's finest players don the red and white of Arsenal, and we yelped in glee at the majesty of Dennis Bergkamp and Thierry Henry.

Then came my first act of rebellion.

The 1997 FA Cup final saw one of English football’s most famous goals. When the ball left Roberto Di Matteo's boot, I became a Chelsea fan, and remained so for most of my adult life. 

But, seven years ago, something changed. 

I moved to Bromley.

While I continue to watch (and occasionally enjoy) Chelsea, the Premier League has lost its appeal. Speak to National League and Football League fans and they’ll trade tales of their club’s low crowds and brushes with financial ruin. Some sorry souls have lost their club altogether.

How can I justify watching Chelsea spend yet another £20 million on a 16-year-old from South America (to add to the biggest and most expensively assembled squad in England), while teams in the lower reaches can barely pay their staff?

So, as another pre-season rolls by, rather than watch Chelsea trudge through a list of money-making friendlies, with yet another new manager, my eyes have been glued to another Twitter account.

@BromleyFC.

But why? How has a lad born in Essex, raised in Kidderminster, with a Rangers and Arsenal-loving father, who has watched Chelsea for the better part of thirty years, ended up as a season ticket holder at Hayes Lane?

It's hard to pick the moment that made me fall in love. Perhaps it was a Tuesday night in the rain watching a turgid 0-0 alongside a thousand other hardy souls? Perhaps it was the echoes of Yeovil's fans singing after they’d scraped a dogged win? Or perhaps it was the dismal league form at the back end of the FA Trophy-winning season.

Learning to love a club’s flaws makes the beautiful moments all the more poignant. Lifting the FA Trophy. Beating York in the FA Trophy semi-final. Myles Weston's screamer against Altrincham. Beating Solihull in the play-off final and seeing Bromley promoted. The list goes on.

In truth, it wasn’t a moment that made me fall for Bromley, it was the people. There are too many to list here, but at a club like Bromley, everything feels more personal, more visceral.

When Bromley won promotion, we knew what it meant to the chairman, to Andy Woodman, to the coaches and backroom staff, to the Ravens Chat members, and to everyone connected with the club. We knew what it meant to them because we see them, we live it with them. 

This extends to the players. When Ben Krauhaus joined Kellen Fisher in heading to the Premier League and Championship respectively, we celebrated. We celebrated two of our own showing what Bromley is about. We celebrated because we saw them first. We celebrated because their potential was being realised. We celebrated because their transfer fees meant a lot to the club.

It means more here.

Over the years, my friends and I have invited countless others to join us at Hayes Lane. These are people who have grown tired of the Premier League's riches, people who want a more immediate version of the game away from VAR, or even people who have never seen a live game before. 

Where better to start anew? 

Bromley is a special football club, and Hayes Lane is a special place to watch a game. 

(Even if Aggborough is better.)

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