Fortune always hiding

Saturday was my nephew’s first birthday party, and what a joyous occasion it was. There were kids crying, kids laughing and then crying, kids playing with toys and then kids crying with toys.

Fun was had by all, but something completely of my own doing made me feel very sorry for little Archie – I’d bought him a West Ham kit for a present. In years to come, he will curse me for signing him up to follow this purveyor of disappointment that likes to masquerade as a football club. Hopefully though, he’ll also eventually understand that I had no choice, just like he doesn’t either.

In any football following family, new entrants are restricted to two options when it comes to deciding who to support; following the team that the rest of the family supports, or not following football at all.

There can be no period of analysis where primary school children take a couple of years to watch the 92 league teams England has to offer, before making a calculated decision on who to follow based on style of football, chances of success and the quality of the matchday pies. No, you are born into a football club – instructed to give your unconditional love to the team of your family.

Usually, this will be the team closest to your Dad or Granddad’s family home. Unfortunately for Archie, he has drawn the footballing short straw and his family are from East London and therefore has no choice but to follow West Ham.

On the day of his first birthday and the donning of his first replica shirt, Archie’s now beloved West Ham were soundly beaten 4-0 at home by Manchester United. Both his father and uncle were there to witness the massacre, and in just a few short years Archie will be able to experience the full horror of being a hammer all for himself.

You might think it cruel that we subject the boy to a life of such misery. Couldn’t we give him the choice? Maybe he’d prefer to support Arsenal or Spurs? What if he doesn’t like football? Well first of all, supporting Arsenal or Spurs is simply not an option. Nor is supporting Chelsea, Leyton Orient, Crystal Palace or anyone else in, or outside of the M25 who is not called “West Ham United”. And secondly, the idea that he might not like football is perfectly realistic, but far, far too frightening a thought for any of us to seriously contemplate at this stage.

But most importantly, it’s his duty. I don’t mean that in a clichéd Peggy Mitchell style “families stick together” way. No, what I really mean is that all the rest of us have had to endure over 20 years plus of abject football poverty, so too can Archie. He might get lucky after all. In the 27 years prior to my birth, West Ham had won the FA Cup three times, the Cup Winner’s Cup once and of course, the World Cup in 1966. The most purple of all purple patches in the club’s history. However, since my birth we have lost an FA Cup final and got relegated three times.


So we’re all hoping that Archie’s arrival into the welcoming arms of the West Ham family will mark the beginning of a new era of success. Deep down we know it probably won’t, but for Archie’s sake alone, I genuinely hope it does. And even if he suffers in the same way as I have, being a Hammer will be good for him in the long run.

By supporting West Ham, he will quickly learn that you can’t have everything in life, and pretty soon after that will also learn that you actually can’t have much at all. He will become a world-renowned expert in false dawns, and will develop the spirit that will see him live through the bad times as well as the slightly less bad times. But he will also find out that sometimes it’s good to have a bit of excitement and not just go through the motions. And perhaps most importantly, he’ll soon realise that if you’re not going to be very successful at what you do, you might as well look bloody good whilst you’re doing it.