![]() I feel a frisson of pride as she joins in the shouting, saying, "Come on, West Ham, you can do it!" - instantly grasping the perpetual fear of the West Ham fan that "they" will not do it. There's some use of the F-word behind us, but I hope it's too far away to register with Lola. Sadly, there are few chances on goal, but Lola appears to appreciate the illicit pleasure of pulling a chip and egg butty from Ken's cafe out of my plastic bag. ![]() "That would be a straight red," interjects my pal Nigel. When Cisse is booked, she asks pertinently, "What if he put the ball in a dustcart and took it away, would that be a yellow card?" The game kicks off and Lola has many questions. I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles blares out from the PA, but Lola seems unfazed by all the raucousness, shrewdly offering my friends her jelly babies. With West Ham bottom of the league, there's an atmosphere of noisy encouragement. Kick-off is close and I bundle Lola's unfinished chips into my bag and rush for the turnstiles. "I want sloppy egg and chips!" she declares, provoking more laughter from fellow diners, and when the hallowed dish arrives, she adds huge dollops of tomato ketchup. We head to Ken's Cafe where I have promised Lola food that would horrify her mum. Yet carrying her down Green Street evokes memories of my own first trips to football with my dad - the smell of dodgy hamburgers, the sense of being part of something bigger than yourself, the mysterious odour of the players' embrocation. The unofficial kids' replica shirts offered by the street traders are £20, and, as I've already paid a pal £20 to use his season ticket for Lola, I'm beginning to wonder if it might not be more economical just to give up and let her support Arsenal. "I'm afraid football's not like that," I tell her, "although West Ham are good at winning friends and losing matches."Īt Upton Park I carry her on my shoulders through the throng of fans and buy her a West Ham cap, price £6. "That's not a good deal: everyone should win," says Lola, a true Islington girl already, causing the two blokes in replica shirts opposite to chuckle. On the train to Upton Park, I explain to Lola how you get three points for a win, one for a draw and none for a defeat. Manchester City will do because they're not Manchester United, they play attacking football and their fans are similarly long-suffering. ![]() There is always going to be a slight risk that your child will sympathise with the opposition, so I choose the opponents carefully. So, I resolve to take Lola to see West Ham v Manchester City. What better lesson could there be than that success is ephemeral and all the more valuable when you've had to wait for it? That sometimes losing in the right way is just as important as winning? all that heartache will be hers.īut perhaps there is some value in supporting a team that frustrates you at every free kick. The question is, though, do I have the right to inflict West Ham - a side that has not won a trophy for 23 years - on my own flesh and blood? Those inevitable cup defeats to lower-division teams, the taunting at school, that maddening inconsistency, the perpetual struggle to hold on to our young players. ![]() The result was an unhealthy lifelong obsession with the Gunners and the genesis of a bestselling literary career. In Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby recounts how his estranged dad first took him to Arsenal on his child access days. That first game can influence a child forever. ![]()
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