Supporting yer local

[maz1974]

What makes a good away day? A half decent pub that welcomes fans is important, but as Tulloch Gorum says, not just about the alcohol. I live in Aberdeen, support Montrose so every game is an away day and involves driving. (except maybe Cove Rangers in the cup!)

 

I find a good chipper on the way home can make a good day out great!

 

[endieinreekie]

23 hours ago, Tulloch Gorum said:

Being teetotal and a massive nerd, one of my favourite things about away days is going early and visiting historical sites in the area with my dad.  Arbroath Abbey and the Pictish stones at Aberlemno just outside Forfar have been great, and I'm hoping to get to Dumbarton Castle, Brechin Cathedral this season and hopefully the Pictish stones museum at St Vigeans next time we play  either Montrose or Arbroath.

 

Nothing nerdy about Pictish stones!! The Aberlemno ones are superb but yet to see the St Vigeans ones. 

I introduced a workmate to the joys of Montrose matches and we have so far combined a trip to Stenhousemuir with climbing up Cockleroy hill to check out theremains of a hill fort. Have to plan some more trips in near future.

 

[AYRSHIRE_ANGUS]

A good friend owns a Bongo campervan which doubles up as an excellent awayday vehicle when we're not usually traveling by train. Last year eight of us and two Jack Russells used it to go to Banks 'o Dee in the Scottish Cup but instead of the conventional route to Aberdeen we took a cunning scenic route via Glenshee. This involved a stop at Glenshee ski station for a photo with my flag sitting on the chairlifts (they were not operating, no snow at that point), then pub stops at Ballater, Aboyne and Banchory and decent chat with the locals.

A fine 6-2 win despite being 2-1 down at one point then further pub stops at Blairgowrie, Auchterauder and Dunblane en route back to Troon and Ayr. Quality banter, wee dugs causing mayhem in each venue and I got in the ground for free as I was so occupied with keeping the dogs under control I walked straight by the wee boy taking the admission money  think he was too feart to stop me and the rabid canines!

The fun is always to be had in the lower leagues and smaller clubs, This also applies abroad, for example in Germany  finding ourselves on the Vfl Lubeck "ultras" bus after a game at Oberhausen, pretending to be pwopa hard British hoolie types to a group of wee boys on the bus and then being escorted to the station by two of the most stunning blonde policewomen I'd ever seen. We still reminisce about those ladies 

Edited to add - my friend's wife is wanting him to sell the Bongo. Bint.

[King Kebab]

Being teetotal and a massive nerd, one of my favourite things about away days is going early and visiting historical sites in the area with my dad.  Arbroath Abbey and the Pictish stones at Aberlemno just outside Forfar have been great, and I'm hoping to get to Dumbarton Castle, Brechin Cathedral this season and hopefully the Pictish stones museum at St Vigeans next time we play  either Montrose or Arbroath.
 

If that's your thing, next time your mob is at the Nou Bayview, come a bit earlier and head through Leven and onto Largo and check out the "Local" Pictish Cross!!!
https://senchus.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/largo-pictish-stone/amp/

[Tony Stark(s Park)]

Ah, now we’ve hit the pinnacle. Sharing Pictish Cross’! I fucking love Scottish fitbaw

[theycallmetrinity]

What makes a good away day? A half decent pub that welcomes fans is important, but as Tulloch Gorum says, not just about the alcohol. I live in Aberdeen, support Montrose so every game is an away day and involves driving. (except maybe Cove Rangers in the cup!)
 
I find a good chipper on the way home can make a good day out great!
 

Totally agree about the chippy. Can make or break your day. [emoji6]

[HoBNob]

On 1/16/2019 at 15:39, Hank Scorpio said:

I always find the best away days involve going to places that you’d never go to otherwise. Most folk will choose a large town or a city for a day out but going to places like Dingwall, Arbroath and Stranraer means you get to see other wee places and sample different pubs and grounds. Going to these places with your pals is just magic, there’s just something about getting the train or bus on a Saturday morning to some wee place in the arsehole of nowhere and watching your team play.

Last time we went upto Dingwall we booked a hostel in Inverness for the night, through to Dingwall for the pubs opening and went on a pub crawl through Dingwall. Brilliant day. 

 

 

 

We went 1-0 right at the start and then had a man sent off within the first twenty minutes. Great day though. 

[Rovers2017]

Technically Raith are not my local, but it is the team that I have a big family connection with. 

Absolutely love diddy football. 

[endieinreekie]

14 hours ago, King Kebab said:

If that's your thing, next time your mob is at the Nou Bayview, come a bit earlier and head through Leven and onto Largo and check out the "Local" Pictish Cross!!!
https://senchus.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/largo-pictish-stone/amp/

The Wemyss caves aren't too far away either,  l don't think??

[L. Brilliant]

Big overshare here and I hope it's not a vibe killer.  My story's not unique, but I've enjoyed the thread. Tried to do a short version but couldn't!

Born in Kirkcaldy, grew up in Glenrothes: old man took me to various grounds from 1990 onwards. Rovers first because he did support them himself, even before it became something we did together. Thinking about it though, I don't think he ever went in my lifetime before he took me, aged 6.

First couple were friendlies v old Rangers and Hearts. I think I nominally supported Rangers then but didn't have a clue; just parroting something from the playground. Also went to some Pars games since they were in the Premier and it was something different - the Norrie cup semi at Tynecastle was one. Anyway he never forced the Rovers on me, I think he just had faith that I'd come around to it - but then I also think he'd have gone along with it if I insisted I was a Pars or East Fife fan.

It was an easy time to start being a Rovers fan, 1992, and maybe everyone has a first season that they just 100% live it - you mind all the games, all the players, all the scorers and red cards. Because it was new my memory was a blank page for it and I remember it vividly. I had lucky trainers I had to wear, but being a bairn my feet were growing. It turned out we had a lucky manager.

We weren't a family where football necessarily mattered hugely, but after it became the thing me and my dad did together I think they made space for it, and a few years in my maw would come as well, and the wee bro - but it wasn't really for him and he'd bring a book or fall asleep.

I was at every game in the league cup run and had the whole family up to Dingwall midweek, stayed at a B&B and kidded on it was a holiday. I won a prize to do with the final and we were all there (though we already had tickets, obv), stayed in a hotel the night before, and it was a major event in the family history - though probably the same for every Rovers-supporting family.

Into the teens and being seen with your parents was embarrassing. You had to show you were hard and grown-up by going to things with your pals instead. Spitting, swearing, smoking, taking a drink. So away days on the supporters bus and maybe someone bringing a fake ID became ideal. Home games, especially with the team on a downward trajectory, became more awkward. I'm ashamed of this now but have heard others say the same: stories of abandoned grandads etc.

But despite that teenage awkwardness, fleeting moments of glory on the pitch could break through and back would come that old, earnest euphoria between me and the old guy. Some hardworking, limited underdog-type like Andy Smith would be pounding the ground with his fist in frustration at another missed chance, but later get his reward with a close range sclaff - scraping a win against some other bunch of diddies. Turning to celebrate with my dad I might see a wee shine in the eyes. What does it all really mean eh?

During the Calderon promotion season I was a first year student with borrowed money in my pocket, and I was hooked on a rare mix of classy continental football and lower league away days. We were ridiculous in a way, but the likes of the demolition of Hamilton (away) were as memorable as they were exhilarating. 4-0 with 2 missed pens and a few off the woodwork.

That was the season of My Garden Shed - our wee group started that when one of the boys nicked it from Sunderland fans at work.  It obviously caught on and the BBC were out to film at some point.

We limped over the line in the end but there aren't many seasons like that one.

The following year was less of a stroll but had its moments. A big one being a teenage striker scoring a late goal to secure 1st division safety. In the video you can see the proud parents on their feet in the main stand (am I imagining this?) and I know I was hugging my old da at that moment.

Anyway. Something about living away from Fife made me prouder of who I supported. Journeys home and away started at Waverley where you'd see all manner of scarves, big teams obviously but many diddies as well, and to be honest I felt like every Brechin, Berwick or Partick fan I saw was an ally of sorts, going to their own piddly fixtures that meant the world to the wee boys some of them had brought along.

 

I didn't go at all when Claude Anelka bought the manager's job - let's call it a boycott... I had loved backing the Calderon/Paquito team and couldn't accept selling it out. As soon as Anelka was gone of course I came back. Hot take though: Dalziel was worse than Locke.

 

Later in life I worked away from home for spells, and we got out of the habit of going, sometimes. Never stopped being into it though and in that period, although modest by 90s standards, we were on the up. Some big wins and good eggs on the park and in the dugout. One of the best ever was the Scottish QF at Dens Park, the singing from 2pm, a good crew of pals and dads out and a few drinks for the hype. The blistering start to go 2 up (3 if the linesman had been awake), and the highlight one of the best goals by one of the best boys (Laurie). Can scarcely beat a QF as a wee team: big day out on the verge of glory, but not quite the nans and grans and hangers-on you get diluting things at a semi final.

I missed the semi final working abroad, and so my girlfriend wore an old-school home top to chum my dad to Hampden in my place. Needless to say she's my wife now. Anyway, trying to follow that game on BBC text updates was purest crap.

 

My dad's health and mobility eventually presented more challenges and we couldn't go often. Eventually I was the one taking him to games if we could manage. Just getting to a seat was more difficult. When the chance arose to have your name on a step in the stand I got him one for christmas: fortunately he got back to see it a few times, and I have a precious photo of him smiling above it with the north stand floodlights behind him.

His last game at Stark's was Ayr at home on the last day of the Locke/Hughes season.  I think we knew it was likely to be the last one, and I can tell you it is very weird for something to mean absolutely everything and be left in the hands of Yogi Hughes, Johnny Court up front and that mad goalie from the Slovakian 4th division.

It was glorious sunshine and all we needed to do, to not finish bottom of the league and go down, was avoid a five goal defeat.  Said goalie is sent off in the first minute, and it's not looking good.

--Interrupting myself, but: for a small club from a medium-sized town, are we not kind of eccentric? Shipwrecks, thrown out of the league for 48 hours (93), the scoreboard in Munich, Claude Anelka, outfield player in goals, wacky goalie driving from Slovakia to play for us (obviously in a trabant and wearing goalie gloves the whole 2000 miles) and whatever else I forgot.  Are we weird or is this just “wha's like us?!” the same as all diddies feel?--

Johnny Court scores, Conor Brennan saves a pen, McManus scores a winner.  We let everyone file out in front of us because we need a bit of space to make our way out.  It was important to feel a win, even though it was futile against relegation in the end. A wee look around the emptying stadium in the sunshine, a glance at the step, and away we slowly go - my dad will never be back here.

I was at the playoff games, but after that I stayed away in solidarity with my ill old man, and would spend Saturday afternoons wherever he was instead.  Final score on the telly would have to do us. The last game he watched was Airdrie away on BBC Alba, which at least we didn't lose.

I've been back this season and always have that impulse to tell my Dad about the game. Alas, now I can't.

I had some trepidation about going back, walking up the stand and seeing my old man's step.  The bold Hank Scorpio knew the craic and said “Touch it!” and did so on his way past.  Don't laugh if you see me doing what is now a bit of a micro ritual.

Still sit in the same group when I'm there, and they all get it. I mean, they really ken, for their own reasons.

I've got a daughter now and the news that the Ladies would now play at Stark's too (since the artificial pitch is in) was exciting to me.  Seriously cannot wait to take her to see a game, be it men women or girls.  She kicks a ball in the house, and if she ever does so on that fake grass: ooya.

Our modest, local club is the absolute best.  But I know, I know - so's yours.   

 

 

 

 

[maz1974]

3 hours ago, L. Brilliant said:

Big overshare here and I hope it's not a vibe killer.  My story's not unique, but I've enjoyed the thread. Tried to do a short version but couldn't!

Born in Kirkcaldy, grew up in Glenrothes: old man took me to various grounds from 1990 onwards. Rovers first because he did support them himself, even before it became something we did together. Thinking about it though, I don't think he ever went in my lifetime before he took me, aged 6.

First couple were friendlies v old Rangers and Hearts. I think I nominally supported Rangers then but didn't have a clue; just parroting something from the playground. Also went to some Pars games since they were in the Premier and it was something different - the Norrie cup semi at Tynecastle was one. Anyway he never forced the Rovers on me, I think he just had faith that I'd come around to it - but then I also think he'd have gone along with it if I insisted I was a Pars or East Fife fan.

It was an easy time to start being a Rovers fan, 1992, and maybe everyone has a first season that they just 100% live it - you mind all the games, all the players, all the scorers and red cards. Because it was new my memory was a blank page for it and I remember it vividly. I had lucky trainers I had to wear, but being a bairn my feet were growing. It turned out we had a lucky manager.

We weren't a family where football necessarily mattered hugely, but after it became the thing me and my dad did together I think they made space for it, and a few years in my maw would come as well, and the wee bro - but it wasn't really for him and he'd bring a book or fall asleep.

I was at every game in the league cup run and had the whole family up to Dingwall midweek, stayed at a B&B and kidded on it was a holiday. I won a prize to do with the final and we were all there (though we already had tickets, obv), stayed in a hotel the night before, and it was a major event in the family history - though probably the same for every Rovers-supporting family.

Into the teens and being seen with your parents was embarrassing. You had to show you were hard and grown-up by going to things with your pals instead. Spitting, swearing, smoking, taking a drink. So away days on the supporters bus and maybe someone bringing a fake ID became ideal. Home games, especially with the team on a downward trajectory, became more awkward. I'm ashamed of this now but have heard others say the same: stories of abandoned grandads etc.

But despite that teenage awkwardness, fleeting moments of glory on the pitch could break through and back would come that old, earnest euphoria between me and the old guy. Some hardworking, limited underdog-type like Andy Smith would be pounding the ground with his fist in frustration at another missed chance, but later get his reward with a close range sclaff - scraping a win against some other bunch of diddies. Turning to celebrate with my dad I might see a wee shine in the eyes. What does it all really mean eh?

During the Calderon promotion season I was a first year student with borrowed money in my pocket, and I was hooked on a rare mix of classy continental football and lower league away days. We were ridiculous in a way, but the likes of the demolition of Hamilton (away) were as memorable as they were exhilarating. 4-0 with 2 missed pens and a few off the woodwork.

That was the season of My Garden Shed - our wee group started that when one of the boys nicked it from Sunderland fans at work.  It obviously caught on and the BBC were out to film at some point.

We limped over the line in the end but there aren't many seasons like that one.

The following year was less of a stroll but had its moments. A big one being a teenage striker scoring a late goal to secure 1st division safety. In the video you can see the proud parents on their feet in the main stand (am I imagining this?) and I know I was hugging my old da at that moment.

Anyway. Something about living away from Fife made me prouder of who I supported. Journeys home and away started at Waverley where you'd see all manner of scarves, big teams obviously but many diddies as well, and to be honest I felt like every Brechin, Berwick or Partick fan I saw was an ally of sorts, going to their own piddly fixtures that meant the world to the wee boys some of them had brought along.

 

I didn't go at all when Claude Anelka bought the manager's job - let's call it a boycott... I had loved backing the Calderon/Paquito team and couldn't accept selling it out. As soon as Anelka was gone of course I came back. Hot take though: Dalziel was worse than Locke.

 

Later in life I worked away from home for spells, and we got out of the habit of going, sometimes. Never stopped being into it though and in that period, although modest by 90s standards, we were on the up. Some big wins and good eggs on the park and in the dugout. One of the best ever was the Scottish QF at Dens Park, the singing from 2pm, a good crew of pals and dads out and a few drinks for the hype. The blistering start to go 2 up (3 if the linesman had been awake), and the highlight one of the best goals by one of the best boys (Laurie). Can scarcely beat a QF as a wee team: big day out on the verge of glory, but not quite the nans and grans and hangers-on you get diluting things at a semi final.

I missed the semi final working abroad, and so my girlfriend wore an old-school home top to chum my dad to Hampden in my place. Needless to say she's my wife now. Anyway, trying to follow that game on BBC text updates was purest crap.

 

My dad's health and mobility eventually presented more challenges and we couldn't go often. Eventually I was the one taking him to games if we could manage. Just getting to a seat was more difficult. When the chance arose to have your name on a step in the stand I got him one for christmas: fortunately he got back to see it a few times, and I have a precious photo of him smiling above it with the north stand floodlights behind him.

His last game at Stark's was Ayr at home on the last day of the Locke/Hughes season.  I think we knew it was likely to be the last one, and I can tell you it is very weird for something to mean absolutely everything and be left in the hands of Yogi Hughes, Johnny Court up front and that mad goalie from the Slovakian 4th division.

It was glorious sunshine and all we needed to do, to not finish bottom of the league and go down, was avoid a five goal defeat.  Said goalie is sent off in the first minute, and it's not looking good.

--Interrupting myself, but: for a small club from a medium-sized town, are we not kind of eccentric? Shipwrecks, thrown out of the league for 48 hours (93), the scoreboard in Munich, Claude Anelka, outfield player in goals, wacky goalie driving from Slovakia to play for us (obviously in a trabant and wearing goalie gloves the whole 2000 miles) and whatever else I forgot.  Are we weird or is this just “wha's like us?!” the same as all diddies feel?--

Johnny Court scores, Conor Brennan saves a pen, McManus scores a winner.  We let everyone file out in front of us because we need a bit of space to make our way out.  It was important to feel a win, even though it was futile against relegation in the end. A wee look around the emptying stadium in the sunshine, a glance at the step, and away we slowly go - my dad will never be back here.

I was at the playoff games, but after that I stayed away in solidarity with my ill old man, and would spend Saturday afternoons wherever he was instead.  Final score on the telly would have to do us. The last game he watched was Airdrie away on BBC Alba, which at least we didn't lose.

I've been back this season and always have that impulse to tell my Dad about the game. Alas, now I can't.

I had some trepidation about going back, walking up the stand and seeing my old man's step.  The bold Hank Scorpio knew the craic and said “Touch it!” and did so on his way past.  Don't laugh if you see me doing what is now a bit of a micro ritual.

Still sit in the same group when I'm there, and they all get it. I mean, they really ken, for their own reasons.

I've got a daughter now and the news that the Ladies would now play at Stark's too (since the artificial pitch is in) was exciting to me.  Seriously cannot wait to take her to see a game, be it men women or girls.  She kicks a ball in the house, and if she ever does so on that fake grass: ooya.

Our modest, local club is the absolute best.  But I know, I know - so's yours.   

 

 

 

 

Awwww jesus, I'm off again! *tears *

 

 

We just got a step at Links Park, 

Maz, Erin n Nana 

 

[King Kebab]

The Wemyss caves aren't too far away either,  l don't think??

You need to book ahead and make an appointment to see them, the main ones are caged and gated off, too many Kirkoddie types driving their clapped out Cortinas into them and setting fire to them!!!
Book here;
https://wemysscaves.org/

[King Kebab]

Big overshare here and I hope it's not a vibe killer.  My story's not unique, but I've enjoyed the thread. Tried to do a short version but couldn't!
Born in Kirkcaldy, grew up in Glenrothes: old man took me to various grounds from 1990 onwards. Rovers first because he did support them himself, even before it became something we did together. Thinking about it though, I don't think he ever went in my lifetime before he took me, aged 6.
First couple were friendlies v old Rangers and Hearts. I think I nominally supported Rangers then but didn't have a clue; just parroting something from the playground. Also went to some Pars games since they were in the Premier and it was something different - the Norrie cup semi at Tynecastle was one. Anyway he never forced the Rovers on me, I think he just had faith that I'd come around to it - but then I also think he'd have gone along with it if I insisted I was a Pars or East Fife fan.
It was an easy time to start being a Rovers fan, 1992, and maybe everyone has a first season that they just 100% live it - you mind all the games, all the players, all the scorers and red cards. Because it was new my memory was a blank page for it and I remember it vividly. I had lucky trainers I had to wear, but being a bairn my feet were growing. It turned out we had a lucky manager.
We weren't a family where football necessarily mattered hugely, but after it became the thing me and my dad did together I think they made space for it, and a few years in my maw would come as well, and the wee bro - but it wasn't really for him and he'd bring a book or fall asleep.
I was at every game in the league cup run and had the whole family up to Dingwall midweek, stayed at a B&B and kidded on it was a holiday. I won a prize to do with the final and we were all there (though we already had tickets, obv), stayed in a hotel the night before, and it was a major event in the family history - though probably the same for every Rovers-supporting family.
Into the teens and being seen with your parents was embarrassing. You had to show you were hard and grown-up by going to things with your pals instead. Spitting, swearing, smoking, taking a drink. So away days on the supporters bus and maybe someone bringing a fake ID became ideal. Home games, especially with the team on a downward trajectory, became more awkward. I'm ashamed of this now but have heard others say the same: stories of abandoned grandads etc.
But despite that teenage awkwardness, fleeting moments of glory on the pitch could break through and back would come that old, earnest euphoria between me and the old guy. Some hardworking, limited underdog-type like Andy Smith would be pounding the ground with his fist in frustration at another missed chance, but later get his reward with a close range sclaff - scraping a win against some other bunch of diddies. Turning to celebrate with my dad I might see a wee shine in the eyes. What does it all really mean eh?
During the Calderon promotion season I was a first year student with borrowed money in my pocket, and I was hooked on a rare mix of classy continental football and lower league away days. We were ridiculous in a way, but the likes of the demolition of Hamilton (away) were as memorable as they were exhilarating. 4-0 with 2 missed pens and a few off the woodwork.
That was the season of My Garden Shed - our wee group started that when one of the boys nicked it from Sunderland fans at work.  It obviously caught on and the BBC were out to film at some point.
We limped over the line in the end but there aren't many seasons like that one.
The following year was less of a stroll but had its moments. A big one being a teenage striker scoring a late goal to secure 1st division safety. In the video you can see the proud parents on their feet in the main stand (am I imagining this?) and I know I was hugging my old da at that moment.
Anyway. Something about living away from Fife made me prouder of who I supported. Journeys home and away started at Waverley where you'd see all manner of scarves, big teams obviously but many diddies as well, and to be honest I felt like every Brechin, Berwick or Partick fan I saw was an ally of sorts, going to their own piddly fixtures that meant the world to the wee boys some of them had brought along.
 
I didn't go at all when Claude Anelka bought the manager's job - let's call it a boycott... I had loved backing the Calderon/Paquito team and couldn't accept selling it out. As soon as Anelka was gone of course I came back. Hot take though: Dalziel was worse than Locke.
 
Later in life I worked away from home for spells, and we got out of the habit of going, sometimes. Never stopped being into it though and in that period, although modest by 90s standards, we were on the up. Some big wins and good eggs on the park and in the dugout. One of the best ever was the Scottish QF at Dens Park, the singing from 2pm, a good crew of pals and dads out and a few drinks for the hype. The blistering start to go 2 up (3 if the linesman had been awake), and the highlight one of the best goals by one of the best boys (Laurie). Can scarcely beat a QF as a wee team: big day out on the verge of glory, but not quite the nans and grans and hangers-on you get diluting things at a semi final.
I missed the semi final working abroad, and so my girlfriend wore an old-school home top to chum my dad to Hampden in my place. Needless to say she's my wife now. Anyway, trying to follow that game on BBC text updates was purest crap.
 
My dad's health and mobility eventually presented more challenges and we couldn't go often. Eventually I was the one taking him to games if we could manage. Just getting to a seat was more difficult. When the chance arose to have your name on a step in the stand I got him one for christmas: fortunately he got back to see it a few times, and I have a precious photo of him smiling above it with the north stand floodlights behind him.
His last game at Stark's was Ayr at home on the last day of the Locke/Hughes season.  I think we knew it was likely to be the last one, and I can tell you it is very weird for something to mean absolutely everything and be left in the hands of Yogi Hughes, Johnny Court up front and that mad goalie from the Slovakian 4th division.
It was glorious sunshine and all we needed to do, to not finish bottom of the league and go down, was avoid a five goal defeat.  Said goalie is sent off in the first minute, and it's not looking good.
--Interrupting myself, but: for a small club from a medium-sized town, are we not kind of eccentric? Shipwrecks, thrown out of the league for 48 hours (93), the scoreboard in Munich, Claude Anelka, outfield player in goals, wacky goalie driving from Slovakia to play for us (obviously in a trabant and wearing goalie gloves the whole 2000 miles) and whatever else I forgot.  Are we weird or is this just “wha's like us?!” the same as all diddies feel?--
Johnny Court scores, Conor Brennan saves a pen, McManus scores a winner.  We let everyone file out in front of us because we need a bit of space to make our way out.  It was important to feel a win, even though it was futile against relegation in the end. A wee look around the emptying stadium in the sunshine, a glance at the step, and away we slowly go - my dad will never be back here.
I was at the playoff games, but after that I stayed away in solidarity with my ill old man, and would spend Saturday afternoons wherever he was instead.  Final score on the telly would have to do us. The last game he watched was Airdrie away on BBC Alba, which at least we didn't lose.
I've been back this season and always have that impulse to tell my Dad about the game. Alas, now I can't.
I had some trepidation about going back, walking up the stand and seeing my old man's step.  The bold Hank Scorpio knew the craic and said “Touch it!” and did so on his way past.  Don't laugh if you see me doing what is now a bit of a micro ritual.
Still sit in the same group when I'm there, and they all get it. I mean, they really ken, for their own reasons.
I've got a daughter now and the news that the Ladies would now play at Stark's too (since the artificial pitch is in) was exciting to me.  Seriously cannot wait to take her to see a game, be it men women or girls.  She kicks a ball in the house, and if she ever does so on that fake grass: ooya.
Our modest, local club is the absolute best.  But I know, I know - so's yours.   
 
 
 
 

Good tale, well told!!![emoji1303]

[Diamond8]

Delightful seeing all the supporters clubs like Aberdeen Loyal etc kicking up a stink about the Cowden v Rangers being off, let that be a lesson to you c***s.

[Kejan]

Absolutely beautiful, L. Brilliant.  

[Wullie McNaught]

Great post Mr Brilliant. Totally get how difficult it is to go back after losing your Dad, I went through the same a couple of years ago and the empty seat next to me can still set me off occasionally.

[L. Brilliant]

Generous of you gents. There are far better stories on the thread but I had an urge.

[Links_Park_Dynamo]

 

 

LHave my old man to thank for getting me involved and supporting Montrose.   Starting out at school it was who do you support one of the evil twin sisters from Glasgow, Aberdeen or Dundee United.  The old man said choose  who you want however try and support someone you can go see.  He’d been going to Links Park since the early 60’s so headed down with him and got the bug at 5yrs old.  

That season the club won their first ever championship and was great times for the club.  Fast forward to the Bryan Keith era and the promotion party down in Dumfries and thinking football is great, straight back down and before last season 1 other season  with promotion, certainly can’t be called a glory hunter.   

Over the last 10 years have been involved in the Supporters Club and seen the club take great strides off the park however the season under Shields and Hegarty was a scary time and thank f**k for Garry Wood and that screamer against Brora.

Since SP has taken over I’ve no missed a game home or away much to the wife’s annoyance at times, to watch the league winners last season this included over 5000 miles traveled a 3am home time after a cup replay and still up at 6 for work.  The feeling of community and welcoming you get from following your local team is unbelievable.  

Had some great times following Montrose and now my 14yr old is traveling the country watching them and understanding the joy it brings.

[DA Baracus]

These are brilliant! Tearing up at so many of them yet can feel the warmth and laughter and love in them.

Great thread.

[Tony Stark(s Park)]

Thought I would add to this with the showing Raith have put on today.

The derby I love so much and is the best game in the world to me. I’d take the Fife Derby over the Old Firm, the North London Derby, Manchester Derby or whatever other dross you can think of, Fife Derby is MY Derby and I would not change that feeling today for anything in the world. I fucking love my team [emoji173]️