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nathjonesey-75 · 6 years

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A Tale of Two Cities (Well…. One City, One Town)

People may find it strange when they hear a South-Walian accent who claims to “support” a football team from a city; 162 miles (260 km) away from their home town. Well… I say people…. it’s almost always people from cities, with no concept of small town, tribal rivalries. Or no real thought or concept of larger land mass nations with 260 kilometres between one town or city – and the next piece of human settlement or civilisation.

Ever since I can remember being able to walk or run, there has been a football or rugby ball nearby. Which may suggest why all I wanted to do was play from a young age. Except – there were clashes of interest in this equation. After growing out of the 5-7 “Star Wars”, “Dukes of Hazzard” and “CHiPs” age group of ‘shotgunning’ which character you wanted to be – almost every playtime I can remember (apart from the oft-banned Bulldogs where someone always ended up with a bloody nose) involved playing football on the school yard.

So, the years between 1982 and ’84 were pivotal in my life. As my father and grandfather passionately indoctrinated me into the church of Stradey Park; the home of Llanelli RFC for over a hundred years, it was natural – as a Llanelli boy, to follow suit. I used to travel to watch the Scarlets play away matches at all of the rival grounds as a boy. Swansea RFC ‘s St. Helens Ground, The Gnoll in Neath, the Brewery Field in Bridgend, the Talbot Athletic in Aberavon, Rodney (Dave) Parade in Newport and of course, the Arms Park and the old National Stadium in Cardiff. It was pretty much an annual trip there for a few years between 1988 and 1993!

After hearing abuse towards my team and us, the supporters from rival fans from all of 12, 15, 25 and 50 miles away in these grounds – when my uncle, a season ticket holder during Swansea City’s halcyon (!) days of the old English First Division in 1983 – took me just before my eighth birthday to watch them play Ipswich Town on the last home Saturday game of that season, I wanted them to win. But not in the same way as I wanted the Scarlets to win. I remember it was a 1-1 draw with a disallowed Swansea goal in the last minute. The Swans were relegated and the attendance that day was a paltry 8,568 which I left wondering why I didn’t have as much passion as my uncle.

By then, I’d seen attendances at Stradey of over 15,000, touring international sides and more importantly; a fervour, a voice, intensity and not least; an identity. When Llanelli played Swansea, it was the Turks versus the Jacks. You can bet your bottom penny it didn’t lack the element of hostility. Therefore, the notion of supporting of my home town but also being expected to support a football team from what seemed like far enough away - whose fans also would say “Ew cowin’ Turks! Ew gets away with eeeverythen!” to us – didn’t really make sense. Ironically, here I am; almost light years away from whence I call “home”, talking about distance….

Later that year, as I saw more and more rugby in Llanelli; conversely, I saw more and more football on the television. It was a double act; one which would overshadow any excitement which Starsky and Hutch, Bo and Luke Duke, Jon and Ponch; or even Skywalker and Solo had ever done - which set my eyes alight and my footballing soul on fire. The goal machine of my Welsh hero Ian Rush and the smiles and subliminal skills of Kenny Dalglish, as well as the togetherness of Liverpool Football Club, became the be-all and end-all of my football interests.

Eight months later at the start of 1985 came my first visit to Anfield, thanks to my father’s persistence in getting tickets. Despite boyhood fears of sounding “different” as I didn’t have a Scouse accent, the best thing happened to quell them (See http://nathjonesey-75.tumblr.com/post/107279282904/thank-you-anfield from a few years ago). The January snow was no barrier to our journey. I saw a pink ball for the first time as we beat Aston Villa 3-0 in the FA Cup third round. The welcoming people of Liverpool just made the journey worth it, from asking directions to Anfield, to our first meal at the old Beefeater restaurant, and pre-match with what I became accustomed to as the naturally friendly; hardy, inherently-jokey dispositions which came with a city fighting for its pride at a time of vast unemployment when we arrived and to top it all off; when the teams ran out with us sitting in the Kemlyn Road Stand, Steve Nicol, Liverpool’s right-back kicked a plastic club ball sponsored by Crown Paints, signed by himself – into the crowd and in true Ray Clemence catching-a-cross style, my father caught it. This heightened the electricity of Anfield’s atmosphere for the first time. Immensely. Some moments in life stay with you forever – this was one of them.

The following year, we did the same again (minus the acrobatic, heroic signed ball catch). Through the snow we ploughed. Ridiculously, leaving Llanelli which had sludge as the seaside water cycle never really gave us any heavy snow, until twenty miles north; into the hills and vales of mid-Wales all you could see was whiteness. Again, the pink ball, again the heavy 5-0 win and the season blossomed into one of the best and most vivid in memory, even after the tragedy of the 1985 European Cup Final.

So, for all the tiresome, patronising voices I hear saying the words “support local” when it comes to sporting teams, have a think about how local you mean and how much of an identity - individuals feel with sides within any given distance. I had friends at school in Llanelli who supported Swansea and Neath ‘s rugby teams because members of their family had played for those clubs. How many Cardiff City fans come from the Rhondda Valley, given that twenty-five years ago Merthyr Town were playing football in European competitions, also still play in an English league? How many of those can speak Welsh or know the words to “Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau”? I completely understand animosity with fair-weather fans; like those who flitted between supporting Blackburn Rovers and Newcastle United in the mid-90s. Those who watch cup finals when form is strong and no other matches. Or those who wouldn’t know the history of their “chosen” clubs.

More personally heartbreaking for a time; was the time where I went to watch Liverpool play at Camp Nou in a Champions League group match in 2002; where a gang of us travelled from Cardiff, while I lived there; to Barcelona. Wearing our LFC shirts; we entered a bar, full of Scousers the night before the match. I’m not particularly sure why, but two smart-arses decided we weren’t worthy of following the Reds and chanted “Have you ever been to Anfield?” at us. I’m relieved that there were others there saying “Ignore those knobheads!”

I have lived and breathed both Llanelli Rugby Football Club – now Scarlets – and Liverpool Football Club, for as long as my coherent memory serves me. Through the glory days of the eighties and early nineties for both teams, through the desolation and tragedy of Heysel and of Hillsborough for Liverpool; through humiliation of near closure and hatred from the rest of South Wales’ rugby community for Llanelli. Through the misery of watching another rival team dominate half of my adult life’s English Premier League, but the sweet, sweet moments in places like Dortmund 2001; and atmospheres at The Imperial in Melbourne, home of LFC Melbourne. Sweet moments like beating World Champions Australia in 1992 or getting up at 3am – here in Australia - to watch Scarlets win the PRO14 last year, despite the bane of living so far away.

For an occasion such as today’s to have come around; where both teams play at stages as high as the PRO14 Final and the Champions League Final, one after another – is the stuff I grew accustomed to as a boy. Yet with changing eras, that never happened before in one calendar day, even as a boy in the silverware-laden eighties. Tonight, I am still dallying with staying up for the duration, until 7am tomorrow morning. The excitement in just a few hours will be unbelievable, so I’m not quite sure whether it will be Melatonin for a short sleep, or Mother and Vodka to power through. The previews and emotional trailers have already begun on social media, so it’ll be a long day whichever choice transpires.

I couldn’t be prouder of my teams; the town of Llanelli and the city of Liverpool and what they have represented in me for my life so far. All I ask is for pride in performance, as it will be worthy of the support which has followed both sets of supporters to Dublin and Kiev, respectively. Expecting both teams to win, would be a bit selfish. Wouldn’t it?

#Liverpool #liverpoolfc #Llanelli #Scarlets #rugby #football #support #Wales #England #passion

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