“There were 3 of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded”, Princess Diana was famously quoted, in reference to her involuntary menage a trois. But it’s never been a problem for me, to be honest. Being hopelessly in love with my partner, and another. It just kind of works, you understand. They both know about each other and I never try to hide it. Some people have found it a bit strange, suggesting it surely must be ‘one or the other’. But no, it just kind of works.
You see, I am in love with two football teams and I am proud of it.
I met my long term partner, Greenock Morton, when I was about 5. I met my lover, Bolton Wanderers, when I was 12. Lets talk Morton first of all.
Like many relationships, it took a bit of time to blossom. It was certainly not love at first sight. In fact, I allegedly tapped my dad on the shoulder, approximately 2.50pm one Saturday afternoon at Cappielow Park, having been seated for 15 minutes or so and asked him “is it time to go home yet”. Now, this is a question both my dad and I have asked each other on many an occasion over the past number of years, whilst following the Ton. Passing me his joker card, the book and crayons, it kept me quiet for a wee while. But not long. My next activity was to take to climbing the stairs, back and forth, of Section A at Cappielow. Not once, I am informed. Not twice. But well into double figures did this ritual continue. This, apparently, was a not so welcome side show to the entertainment on the pitch. I was to find out in later life that the only reason I was introduced to the beauty that is Morton and Cappielow at such a tender age was to ensure my dad did not go to the pub post match, get a comfy seat and stay there for a couple of days (as was the want of a typical man living in Greenock in the 70’s). My mother insisted on him taking me, for that very reason. He must have been made up.
I don’t really remember much about those early matches. It wasn’t until season 1977/78 that I really fell in love. That’s a long time dating without getting to second base! Season 77/78 was memorable for many reasons. The mighty Ton won promotion, as champions, to the Premier League for the first time. Led by the messiah that was Benny Rooney, the squad consisted of my ultimate heroes. Household names such as Jim Holmes, Davie Hayes, John Goldthorpe and the legend of all legends, Andy Ritchie. Clinching promotion one cold April evening against Airdrie, I can distinctly remember the celebrations on and off the pitch. Grown men hugging each other, some with tears in their eyes. I had well and truly arrived in this relationship and by god I was going nowhere. I wanted more of this. Goodness, I was only 8 but i knew I had found true love.
Now, I wasn’t really looking to have an affair. After all, I was only 12. I had witnessed some great years with Morton. I was happy. Content. But, then a chance conversation with my papa suddenly changed all that. Papa was a Welshman, living in Scotland. He told me of his love for Bolton Wanderers. He had been on their ‘books’ pre war. He shared their history. Bought me the kit. My head was turned. I had love hearts in my eyes. I loved Morton but by goodness, this was exciting. To have an English team in my life, one that held a special place in my papa’s heart, felt so right. I could do this, you know. I could do this, without feeling like I was cheating on Morton. After all, it’s a different league. A different country. At least I wasn’t having an affair with any of the Old Firm (god forbid). Names such as Sam Allardyce, Neil Whatmore and Neil McNab (who played for both of my love interests, incidentally) suddenly entered my life. Panini sticker albums suddenly took on a new meaning. I was swapping Jimmy Case for Gerry McElhinney. My school pals were asking why and I was honest. I was a Bolton fan, as well as a Morton. This was a revelation for some, however it did encourage others to have the strength to come out and admit they also had a mistress. Some went for Liverpool, others Manchester Utd. I was happy being a Wanderer.
Roughly 22 years ago, I swapped Greenock for West Yorkshire. It has given me the opportunity to be within touching distance of Bolton. I have been a season ticket holder for many years, witnessing the ups and the downs. The Allardyce teams. Jay Jay Okocha (great but no Andy Ritchie), Stelios, Super Kevin Davies. I have seen them all. Now, I go to the matches with my sons. It feels good. It feels right. But, as I sit at Bolton, watching my mistress, my heart is also at Cappielow Park, Greenock, thinking about my wife.
