The James Ramsden Column

Friday 23 November, 2001

Football in the land of song

At last, we're stringing a run of results together. Good for two reasons - 1. It gets us up the table and 2. It gets people off my back. You see I live in Wales, the land of song and rugby.

I've lived here for eighteen years and for fifteen of those years people thought that it was great that I was a Bradford City supporter. In a country where the egg shaped ball is king and the minority of those who supported football followed Manchester United, Liverpool or Cardiff City, I was a novelty, a person who followed a unheard of team from up north. In games lessons, I wore my claret and amber with pride. I even started a trend, two other lads buying the shirt because they thought the colours on our kit were great - Bradford City in South Wales, were cool.

Then it changed. We became good. We moved up the leagues, we even played at the twin towers. A bloke in Tesco's wished me good luck in our game against Wolves. Then we did it, little Bradford had the audacity to get promoted to the Premiership, and how they loved us. 'Good for you', people would shout in the street as I walked past in the rhubarb and custard, 'Cmon the Bantam's' neutrals would cry. Then it happened,we outstayed our welcome, how dare we beat Liverpool? The claret and amber was put back in the cupboard, as jeers instead of cheers met me across the street. Why do you follow such a rubbish team? You're nothing but whipping boys, the colours on you're kit are awful. So we did the decent thing, we got relegated.

We started life in division one fantastically. We won games and we won people round. My girlfriend, who has only experienced me and Bradford City for the past two years, was jumping up and down at the Gillingham result - that's how we used to be I tried to explain. People were tipping us for instant promotion - my mate put £20 on us bouncing straight back - it's money in the bank!

Then it happened again, four defeats on the spin and people were laughing at me - going down again they'd cry. The only reason they didn't slag off the kit was because I'd bought the away one and they actually like it.

So here we are again, slowly moving up the table, quietly regaining respect, ready for our charge on the Premiership, ready to reunite old friends.

Lets hope that come the end of the season, I'll be walking down the streets of Cardiff and once again the cry of 'good for you boyo' will be singing in my ears.

Index of column & Biography | Mail