As penance for being one of life’s great numpties I started supporting one of the world’s worst football teams. Think more soap opera than bastion of sporting greatness. But every week 52000 other lost souls descend on this place for our regular fix of mayhem and snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Decades of never missing a match.
Then things changed.
Single parenting and getting my priorities right.
Trips to St James Park reduced in number. Restricted to those days I can borrow my friends ticket and I can convince Hawklad to endure 90 minutes of torture. Restricted to days when Hawklad will visit my sister for an afternoon.
Then a pandemic hit. Trips stopped completely. The last visit was September 2019.
And that was for a rugby international and a group of seats that high up we were in the Jet Stream.
It’s a changed world. Changed domestic situation. Will I get to see the useless team again. I’m not entirely sure, maybe not for a few years. I guess that’s life.