Meet me at the Clock Tower: Death, football and everything in between
Framed on the wall of my former Birmingham home was a photo of me, face painted, at Wembley surrounded by different family members before one of the early 1990s play-offs finals.
This trip was recently mentioned at my uncle’s funeral. He was very close friends with the gent who organised the coach to the game whilst another uncle ran the pub it left from: The Falcon, Heyford Road, Braunstone. No longer there but instead a veterinary practice.
I remember vividly people funnelling alcohol into pop bottles as the police warned any coaches found with cans and bottles of booze would be sent back to Leicester. In the greatest hits of my uncle’s life, Leicester City came up repeatedly.
At our last home game, Union FS revealed a new tifo. The large symbol of the clock tower held up and the message underneath: ‘Meet Me at The Clock Tower. On this weekend past of all, it deeply resonated.
Sunday 26th November was the fourth anniversary of my mum’s passing. Meeting her at the Clock Tower was common after she finished work around lunch. Off to Crusty’s or Newman’s for a double egg, chips, ham and another family trait, slices of buttered white bread.
Mum wasn’t a football fan but she made a handful of appearances in the stands, including seeing Jamie Vardy on his goalscoring run at Bournemouth, the play-off final win against Crystal Palace and the very sad night that Vichai passed away. I described her in something else I wrote as the backroom staff to mine, my brother’s and my father’s passion. Supportive and forever inspiring.
I originally started writing about Everton and how I dislike our attempt at claiming compensation. Ultimately, I struggled to get the balance right. Forever I found my strongest argument was removed from the business functions of a football club; rather the effects it would have on the Everton supporters. Would anyone want to explain to a young child getting engaged with football that their team aren’t playing this week because another football club pushed them into administration?
I read this weekend that someone close to The Fosse Way lost a best friend whose friendship was intertwined with Leicester City. One of the leading figures on the internet messageboard Bentleys Roof recently passed away. The site was down for a while in the last week.
Forever you read of a fellow Leicester City fan who lost a close relative and wish to celebrate their life in connection with the club by a timed applause or similar.
Death and grief seem to place the same market in a memory as, bizarrely, a football team does. The fanaticism has no barriers. We live our lives in a strategic August to May format. I can’t remember what I did on certain days this year but with a couple of clues, I’d probably use football games to get near to working it out.
I walked to the King Power when we played Watford in a reflective mood, thinking about this apparent relationship between the most horrific parts of our life and our most joyous.
Family is a dirty word involved in football. It suggests homogenisation. It hints at this fake façade presented between supporters. Realistically, we crave tribalism rather than togetherness. We like being part of something. After all, this is where the partisan nature which is increasing ugly is rooted.
A fanbase is a community really. It evolves with time due to all the factors around it. You can see how the demographic has changed among match going supporters. We can be so different yet tied with a common theme. Deep down as humans – does that not tie into the feelings of home?
I love how all of that is organic. Life feels recorded now, albeit not the most private parts. Yet you still have tales and stories from individuals. Variations from your experiences. Passed down from generation to generation. The fans of 1980s idolise an away trip to Leyton Orient whereas my cousins recount a fire in the away end at London Road, Peterborough in the early 1990s. It’s beautiful storytelling in its rawest form.
I realised two points. We live to remember as humans. Memories are set by the extremities of emotion. Sadness and enjoyment. Therefore, it’s forever a scar on you. The great example of Vichai highlights that.
We also live our lives to share those emotions. The sport is nearly entirely communal. It helps with mental health and fosters a safer outlet than most. Equally the extremities can do this either way. In the glow of Leicester becoming champions, I can retrospectively say there were times I was extremely selfish and spent a year trying to chase the same highs I had previously enjoyed. It wasn’t healthy. Physically or mentally.
It may be a cop-out to say I am struggling to conclude my point but that is THE POINT. To describe your relationship with football, your club and your friendship is incredibly hard to do concisely. It’s forever present. Even in an era of minimal physical contact during the COVID lockdowns, Leicester City reappeared on TV every three to four days. Like a maths or science equation, it just seems to all be related but not without a very long explanation.
12 Days of Christmas at The Bridge
For the past 10 years, The Bridge Homelessness to Hope has served a 3-course Christmas Dinner with all the trimmings to hundreds of people in Leicester who are experiencing homelessness.
This year, they want to go one better and offer their guests (service users) not just one day of celebrations but 12 days of festive events over the month of December.
If you’re enjoying The Fosse Way, please consider donating to The Bridge’s Christmas appeal:
