LAURA GOES to a FOOTBALL MATCH ...in which our youngest correspondent goes to places she's never been before
Hi everyone! My name's Laura and I'm twelve years old. I'll be writing a few articles about my new experiences with Barrow AFC, otherwise known as the Manchester United of North West Lancashire (you wish!) My Dad drags me along to the games sometimes. I really wish he wouldn't, but Mum doesn't want me with her when she goes into town to do some serious shopping. She says something about kids not being allowed in Portland Walk. Personally I'd rather be at Old Trafford anyway, but as my Dad keeps saying, you can't always get what you want. I think he's a secret Rolling Stones fan. Well, he's ancient enough to be one. I was looking at his record collection the other day: King Crimson; Crosby, Stills and Nash; New Riders of the Purple Sage. He's really an ageing hippy, but he's got short hair now and his flares and Ben Shermans are all in a bag at the back of the garage, with all the stuff that Mum says she's going to take to a car boot sale one of these days. She needn't bother; no one will buy them. I bet even the Oxfam shop would turn them down. Dad pretends he's cool by saying he's into up to date groups like the Cardigans, the Wannadies and the Manics. They're all really cool. But he's not. Well, that's enough of my old man. Now on to the football. It's boring, unless it's Man United playing. You can sit down in a huge, modern stand amongst 55,000 people. In Old Trafford. What a noise. What an atmosphere. Then Dad takes me to Holker St and thinks I'll enjoy it. Fat chance. He stands, as in standing up on your own two feet, for the entire duration of some of the most boring football games it's ever been my misfortune to witness. There's a perfectly good grandstand where you can sit down, but will he take me there? Can Kelly Brock read her autocue? No chance. He says he'll never set foot in that grandstand because it's tainted by drugs money, but I can't imagine what he means. I bet it's far more comfortable spending two hours of your life in a seat than standing up in the middle of a crowd of adults. He doesn't seem to appreciate that I'm only five feet tall. He stands up and he can see over everyone's heads. All I get is the view of the back of someone's replica away shirt and the occasional view of a football as Shane Westley's men use route one to try to save their Conference skins. Well, that's what I heard someone say last week. Wasn't my Dad, though. He thinks anything is okay as long as Barrow don't get relegated. At least he lets me buy a hot dog from the snack bar if I nag him enough. My record is getting the money out of him after only ten minutes, but that was a particularly good day. Usually he's had enough around the half hour point. By then Barrow have let in at least one goal and he just wants me to shut up so he can concentrate on the game. But I don't want to slag Barrow off. They've had their moments and when they're playing well and winning I can almost get caught up in it myself. Winning the UniBond last season was fantastic. Everyone was cheering and shouting and Dad was so happy he let me buy a Barrow AFC baseball cap from the Souvenir Shop. So if anyone really thinks Barrow are better than Man United, write in and let my Dad know. Laura Murphy Issue 040 - May 1999