Another unnecessary distraction from what should be a joyous adventure through the Premier League.
If this was not "little" Hull City, the shenanigans at the club would be back page headlines.
Anyway a little time later and via the wonders of modern social media, I received a photo from my elder daughter (The "big kid").
The caption read "Dad, 6 years since the game we nearly got snowed in at Middlesbrough".
It was the 27th November 2010 and I had dragged her to Middlesbrough on one of the coldest days I can remember watching a football match. Well, when I say I had dragged her, that is not strictly true, she was in her mid 20s and should have known better!.
I have a history of preying on the conscience of my family when I have no mates to travel with. The "big kid" and her younger sister, the "little kid" have, along with their mother, been dragged around the country in some of the most inclement of weather.
On this occasion we arrived in Boro just as it started to snow. There is nowhere to park near the ground, but we found a little street across the bridge from the stadium. No one else was parked there, and as a well versed fan of parking at away stadiums, I was a little surprised that no one else was parked in the same spot.
Into the boot and the "big kid" put on her coat and two of mine that were probably in there to go to the charity shop. She put on a hat, gloves, thick socks and off we went. She resembled the famous Michelin Bibendum. Dutifully she put her arm through mine (always makes me feel good that!) and we trekked to the game. Hot dogs, hot drinks by the dozen consumed, we drew 2:2.
By the time we walked out of the ground, we were walking in a blizzard. It was so cold that the "big kid was blue". Not just lips and ears, no, a full blue face. She had become Roald Dahl's Violet Beauregarde.
Upon returning to the car, it fast became apparent why no none else had parked in my location. It was on a slope. The snow had become ice and my wonderful rear wheel drive car would go sideways, backwards and anyway but up the bloody hill. Car mats out and under the wheels only succeeded in ruining car mats. Thanks to friendly fellow Hull folk, we made the hill and drove very slowly home. "Violet" thawed out at Thirsk. Some hours later and another away trip complete.
Her first away visit along with her sister had been at Rotherham on 5th December 1992. The FA Cup Round 2. It was a freezing cold, wet and windy day at Millmoor and for those of you who remember the ground, it reflected the weather!
I bought both kids their first Pukka pies and we sat in a windswept stadium to watch the mighty Tigers go down 1:0. Instantly forgettable apart from the "Little Kid" and her pie.
This was her first experience of red hot pie and plastic forks. She was 5 years old.
She fought with the pie for fully 45 minutes, until just as half time approached, her patience cracked. An almighty lunge saw half the still red hot meat disappear into the hood of the gentleman's Parka sat directly in front of us. "Big kid" was horrified. The chap who was a balding old lad, would of course have put up said hood as the temperature dropped. I taught both girls that honesty was always the best policy, so in the second half we moved seats to avoid the burnt baldy head shock.
Neither kid ever complained, because since very early childhood they have both endured cold miserable away trips. Like some people ensure their children go to church every Sunday, I would take them to Boothferry Park and the odd away jaunt.
The "little kid" had a season ticket for a few years. In fact in our days in the South Stand, I still remember missing many a goal as I stood outside the Ladies toilets waiting for her tenth or eleventh visit. Some time later I realised that it was warmer in the toilets away from the driving rain and wind and she would just go for warmth!
Another famous boxing day game away at York, the little kid was so cold I thought I had finally managed to kill her. Both the kids and their mother stood in sleet and wind, their hair matted to their foreheads, all shivering uncontrollably. The "little kid" didn't thaw out until we threw her in the bath back in Hull!
And still no complaints.
As the kids have become older, one moving away, the other losing interest because she finally has the common sense to know when not to stand in the most demanding of conditions, it has become a more solitary family event, although their mother has taken up the mantle in ensuring I get home from the KCOM without self harming.
But, as a defence lawyer in his closing speech would direct the jury to the miscreants unfortunate upbringing, I can submit that same defence.
My Dad subjected me to the same intolerable cruelty.
The Guardian has helpfully printed an article about all things Newcastle as we approach the League Cup quarter final.
They clearly miss the point about why the stadium will be at least half full.
They do however quote Rafa Benitez. "I always like to see stadiums full because, ultimately, football is for the fans. Its future is about children and families going to games" he says.
Well done Rafa!
You highlight perfectly the point to this nostalgic look at my past.
The point to this rant is THOSE EMPTY SEATS!
A whole generation of parents will no longer be able to afford to subject their kids to the same level of insane treatment I did.
Indeed, if they could afford to, they may be just so cheesed off with all that is going on at the club, they no longer have the will to hone their cruel intentions.
And those parents will never see the tears of joy rolling down their kids faces as the team their crazed father made them adopt, walks out on to the Wembley turf in an FA Cup final. They will never see the sheer joy, pride and passion etched on their faces on a day they will talk about for ever.
I did!
The owners will never understand how football courses through the veins of generations.
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