Identity Crisis?

Next Wednesday, many of my friends will be scrabbling around for fake ID, frantically searching for any way possible to enter nightclubs, even if it means through the toilet window. Because the 1st December is of course, The Big Rugby Match (C), the Clash of the Titans (TM) and the Best of Enemies fight. Or am I getting confused with David Haye v Audley Harrison? Never mind. Anyhow, the only identification I will be needing that night will be my Birmingham City season ticket, and my blue and white scarf. For next week, ladies and gentlemen, is probably, for me, the most eagerly awaited match I've ever known- Blues v Villa in the quarter-finals of the cup.

It's not that I have anything against the rugby match. Please don't think that, I think it's fantastic how people turn out, and you can guarantee that under any normal circumstances, I'd be there too. However, 'Grammar till I die' isn't strictly true, is it? We're only really Grammar till next year. Supporting a football team, well, that's a slightly different matter, isn't it?

I was wondering, what makes a Blues fan a Blues fan? What makes a Wolves fan a Wolves fan (aside from of course, the fact that you're a pikey and your sister is also your mother)? What makes a Gateshead United fan so firmly dedicated to their team? Why can we not just throw aside these loyalties and forget about football apart from the odd 90 minutes here and there? It's the question that has baffled non-football fans for decades, and probably football fans too, if truth be told. I used to laugh it off, claim it to be genetic, blame it on my Dad, anything to skirt the issue. But although the superficial reasons are tempting, it will only hold off the inevitable inquest later in life, when I regret passing up a date to see Blues play Huddersfield.

I'm not sure whether I'm more fanatic than most of my friends about my team, or whether I just fail at hiding it. I asked somebody recently what was my worst quality (I'm not entirely sure why, in hindsight, it makes me seem like a self-obsessed arse). She, without hesitation, said that I get too upset at football too easily. It's probably true. Two years ago, I refused to commit myself to my Year 11 prom in case the Blues were playing. The first thing I check when somebody asks whether I'd like to come out is whether the Blues have a game or not. I don't regret it for one second. But why do I feel such an attachment to this particular group of men running around in coloured shirts?

Yesterday, I found a website detailing every single Blues match, and from the mid 90-s onwards, the team and scorers from each game. I could hardly contain myself. I found my first game (versus Port Vale, 21/08/1999, we won 4-2), relived some of my greatest memories, and generally just had a good old wander down Memory Lane. I was almost euphoric with glee. The thing that surprised me most was how good my memory of certain matches was. I remembered going to a night match in half term to see us play Gillingham, and vividly remember Marcelo scoring a 90th minute winner. (I only remember it because I think I compared the ecstasy surrounding me to that moment in Chicken Run when the chickens eventually escape). I also had a vague inkling that it was 'Kids for a Quid', and sure enough, the attendance was over 26,000! I also remember coming out of a game against the Wolves, miserable, with my Dad saying 'well, that was like watching a goalless draw, they scored so early'. Sure enough- 1/4/2001, Blues 0-1 Wolves, Ndah 1.' Now, if you were to ask me what I learned at school today... Not a chance.

This trip down Memory Lane also allowed me to go all misty-eyed over certain players, names that will mean nothing whatsoever to 91/92 clubs in the Football League and Premier League. Even my sister, who stopped going when we lost in the play-offs to Watford ('it's too depressing, seeing grown men cry'), occasionally yells 'Dele Adebola! He was playing when I went to watch them!' when he pops up on Soccer Saturday from time to time. Yes, he did play back then Sarah. And he still hasn't got a right foot.

Now, I'm well aware that that joke about one-footed Dele will mean nothing to the vast, vast majority of readers. But that is what is so incredible about being a supporter of a team. I have no desire to gain an encylopaedic knowledge of Everton, or Yeovil, for example. But my club, these names, like Mark Burchill (greedy b****** who looked like me), Christopher Wreh (next best thing? Useless!) and Stern John (in the last minute...!) will always have a resonance with me, just as, I don't know, Tomas Radzinksi will have a resonance with Everton fans. Like I said, I don't know.

I'm even not entirely sure why I hate the Villa so much. It's just so. But would I love the Blues as much if I didn't hate the Villa? My Dad and I had this discussion recently. With clubs like Sheffield Wednesday teetering on the brink of apocalypse, how do Sheffield United fans feel? Do they laugh? Would I laugh if the Villa went out of business? I'd probably miss the rivalry, but on the other hand, you could have a good chuckle to yourself. Before the league meeting a few weeks ago, I pondered whether I'd prefer the pragmatic win in the league to a victory over them in the cup. Years ago, I'd probably have said the league. But now, I'm well aware that after 17 years of supporting the Blues, my best memory isn't a glorious treble, not even a cup win, but a 94th minute equaliser. You can't really wax lyrical about a scrambled point in February, no matter how good it felt.

I'm fully aware I've posed more questions than answers in that article. But perhaps what it means to be a Blues fan can be summed up in the way that, following Chelsea's capitulation at the hands of Sunderland the other day, the Birmingham City forums were awash with people saying 'well, you know what this means, a Chelsea backlash'.

Or perhaps, more poetically, it can be summed up in three words: Keep. Right. On.