Grumpy Old Men

by Brian Wilkinson | 29/04/2020

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As the years have passed, I have noticed more and more little things niggle away at me; I feel I am turning into my parents.

Back in my youth, I would get, "waste of money, football is not like it was in my day, they would put in a shift, there was none of this kissing or going down and doing several rolls on the floor, well maybe if a Norman Hunter tackle caught you."

Players were paid bonuses for wins and gate receipts. Even back then, I never complained about the dodgy hot-dog stands outside the ground, the Bovril, tea, or packet of crisps option in the ground.

Even being in a good spot at Goodison by 2pm, only to lose it by 2:50 as Richard Osman arrives from the pub, and decides the spot right in front of you is the best speck... Then waiting for your moment, for a sway in the crowd, to seize your moment, and nip in front of him.

Those things caused just a little sigh and tut on your misfortunes, but you accepted it, with the only talking point being the ref.

Now, though, I get wound up with simple things: players trudging off slowly after being subbed, shaking everyone's hand, waving to the crowd, before finally leaving the pitch.

A corner being taken outside the quadrant, with his own player a foot away, holding it up in the corner, constant shirt-pulling and holding players down in the penalty area.

Some guy next to you in the seat, taking part of your seat up as well... even a bit of sun in your eyeline is more annoying than it used to be.

In hindsight, it has gone full circle, I have become my parents, and my kids have become a younger me.

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