Miranda Kemp kicks off the first of our, hopefully, many personal football journeys. Miranda spearheaded the campaign against the Mercury13 takeover of the Lewes FC Women.
Hardcore follower of one team all your life, or a fickle armchair supporter, football means something to all of us. Miranda Kemp kicks off the first of our, hopefully, many personal football journeys. Miranda spearheaded the campaign against the Mercury13 takeover of the Lewes FC Women.
My first memory of football is, post-Sunday lunch, lying on my dad’s lap, while he watched The Big Match at 3pm. He smelled of beer and tobacco, having had a few pre-lunch pints at the Eagle and Child, his local. His pipe would be down by the side of the sofa, along with a pile of loose change, silently but regularly raided by us, the younger of his five kids, when he dropped off which he inevitably did. That sofa remained propped up on a book for years, where he’d leapt up when England equalised against Poland in the 1973 World Cup qualifier, came down and wrecked the casters. Mum was not pleased but also not that bothered such were my parents and our family.
Like Proust’s madeleines, it was the smell of him, his warmth, along with the groans of frustration and yells of triumph that rooted themselves in me. To this day, that combination says ‘love’ and ‘maleness’ to me. My dad (Alan Kemp (1923-2012) was born in a house that literally backed onto Upton Park, the old West Ham ground, and so he was a lifelong Hammers fan. Until they were evacuated by Ilford County High School to Ipswich in 1939, he and his younger brother spent their Saturdays scaling the walls of the ground to watch matches.
I tagged along with my dad to watch my brothers play football and never had any urge to join in, a combination, no doubt, of two things – 1) it was a boy’s thing back then and 2) I had no interest in playing team sports and never have. My dad would never have dreamt of stopping me playing if I’d wanted to. He was a natural feminist and once actually said to me that he thought women were ‘better at being humans than men’. He may have been right. He was also a lifelong socialist and would’ve loved the whole Equality FC and fan-owned thing.
Dad never minded that I became a Tottenham fan in the early 80s, when I met my best friend who was – and is – a Spurs fan. My then-boyfriend, who was also Spurs, was so anxious and wound up that he couldn’t watch the 1987 FA Cup final against Coventry City (we lost) and instead walked about north London until it was all over. Men are traditionally ‘not great at emotions’ – and football is the one place where they can shout, swear, laugh, cry, be together and express themselves. By the early 90s, I was friends with Nick Hornby, who was writing Fever Pitch at that point, a defining moment for many when it comes to understanding why men love football so much. The first time I borrowed Nick’s then-girlfriend’s season ticket and went to see Arsenal with him (undercover), there was an old lady, season ticket holder, swearing herself hoarse at the players. The unbridled passion, tribalism and banter was thrilling. There aren’t many public spaces where this stuff is allowed anymore and I’m all for it in a football stadium.
My dad was also very proud of my brother’s daughter (now 25) who was a brilliant football player until she gave up at around 13 when the FA told her she was no longer allowed to play in mixed teams. Funnily enough, she cited the lack of on-pitch aggression of women players (at that time) as one of the reasons she gave up. Generally, I am not a big fan of aggressive behaviour, but I admit to finding it exciting in the controlled confines of the terraces. I know the consensus is that all that stuff – the shouting, the aggression, the swearing – are exactly what some women hate about men’s football matches. For me, it’s where men can be at their most male – and I don’t want to see that disappear. It is the sheer glorious differences between men and women, on full display when men watch football, that I love.
This isn’t a dissertation for a gender studies degree and so I haven’t done the relevant research but there is something in men’s response to men’s football that, as a (heterosexual) woman, I can’t deny, I am wildly drawn to. I am sure a therapist would have a field day. I am just about self-aware enough to understand why I was drawn to my now-fiancé, when it turned out that he was a beer-drinking Spurs (and Rooks) fan. Along with being generally gorgeous, he smells like love and maleness to me and that makes me feel right at home.
The Rights of Fans. 