Derby day blues once again

It’s derby match week this week – a fixture list anomaly that means my team plays its two deadliest rivals within the space of three days. The current score is one down, one to go.

In this case the one stands for defeat. For defeat is what I come to expect when it comes to local derbies. It’s an irrational pessimism, given that my team’s record against their rivals is no worse than anyone else’s. I’ve even enjoyed glorious victories over our rivals, both at home and away. We’ve ruined their season, they’ve ruined ours. It’s generally level pegging.

But something about local derbies makes me sick to the stomach. I get little or no enjoyment out of them until the final whistle blows and there can be no argument that my team has deservedly earned its victory. The build up is nervy, whilst the match itself is often agony.

Despite being 1-0 up against our deadly rivals on Sunday, my friend turned to me and said he felt sick. We were winning the game, playing well and all the signs were that we would go on to take the three points comfortably. Yet like my friend, my stomach is in knots and I’m beginning to sweat. Quite frankly, I’m petrified.

I’m already imagining the hundreds of ways they can score their equaliser. We look edgy at the back – maybe we’ll give a penalty away? The midfielder can hit a 30 yarder like no-one else – this looks like his day. Our keeper is playing far too well – surely he’s about to make a mistake soon? A thought which in the cold light of day, I know is laughable.

But like most fans, I’ve been scarred by a home defeat to our rivals before. Because it only takes that one defeat to ruin a lifetime of future derby days. Even if you have won 99 derbies before, the one defeat will stick in your throat more than any of those victories.

The eventual defeat on Sunday was almost a relief. It was what I was expecting, and it hurt far less than I imagined. I’d prepared myself for it, and now my pessimism was paying off by allowing me to get through the rest of the day without having to be moved away from sharp objects and deep water.

Maybe this is my coping mechanism? By expecting the defeat, victory will seem that bit sweeter when it does come along. Only the victories haven’t come along quite as often as I’d like in recent years. In fact, the novelty of predicting the correct result is wearing a little thin and there’s only so many times you can say “I told you so” without getting punched by your own friends.

Probably the most disappointing aspect of Sunday’s defeat was the lack of abuse I received from friends who support our rivals. It’s an unwritten law that the winners of derby day have the right to text, email and call their less fortunate friends with the most mocking of messages possible. Pretty much anything goes including spite, borrowed jokes and even bad jokes – who cares if your text is a feeble, playground standard effort? You’ve won the game so nothing they can say in response will make the slightest bit of difference to you.

As my team impotently attempted to salvage a point, I was gearing myself up for the abuse that was sure to come my way. I was imagining the comments and dreaming up the responses. I’d got to the point where I was willing the texts to come in. I was prepared this year. I wouldn’t reject the calls, ignore the texts and delete the emails without reading them. I had retorts that struck the balance between humour and spite, and would surely silence any and all goading.

Imagine my disappointment then when the only call I received from a rival fan was from a good friend who kindly agreed that it was an even game, and that it could have gone either way. He even commented on what a handful our centre forward was!

This is no way to treat a fan of a rival team you have just beaten. I’d sat there for 90 minutes, almost wanting his team to ruin my day so I could fire back just one of the responses I’d prepared. I wasn’t even granted that opportunity and although I didn't need reminding, it proved that even the smallest of pleasures are out of reach when you lose to your rivals.