The agony and ecstasy of being a long distance supporter

Naturally, most of Hereford United FC's supporters live in or around the local area but the club also has a significant fan base throughout the UK and overseas.

Here, a keen follower of the club living in East Sussex, writes about how he became hooked and describes the 'agony and ecstasy' of being a long-distance supporter.

A crowded commuter train into London on a miserable January morning is hardly the place you would expect to begin a 'love affair' that has now lasted more than 35 years.

So what was so special about that particular journey? It was the moment I turned to the back page of my newspaper and read the stirring account of how Southern League Hereford United had held mighty first division Newcastle to a 2-2 draw at St James Park in the third round of the FA Cup.

As a Tottenham supporter since the mid 1950s, I had been brought up on a diet of exciting, successful top-class football with its fair share of cup thrills and spills. But this was something a bit different. Certainly there had been cup shocks before - even the mighty Spurs had been humbled by third division opposition a few years previously - but there was something about Hereford's exploits that captured the imagination.

Having read the report of the Bulls' heroic display, like many others, I was eager to see what would happen in the replay.

And, by an amazing and fortunate stroke of fate, I did actually see what has become one of the most famous football matches in FA Cup history.

By pure chance I was due to visit Herefordshire on a work assignment in early February 1972 and could hardly believe my luck when the much postponed replay coincided with my trip.

The opportunity to see the game at first hand was too good to miss and by calling on the help of fellow journalistic contacts, I found myself packed into an expectant Edgar Street.

What followed, of course, needs no repetition here but suffice to say the game became part of cup folklore and the events of that evening confirmed my allegiance to the magnificent underdogs.

And the bandwagon continued to roll. Election to the Football League - albeit like the cup tie not decided until extra time! - was a fantastic achievement and I eagerly awaited the following season to see how the new boys on the block would perform.

The first dozen or so games gave some cause for anxiety but as the season progressed and the Bulls literally found their feet in their new surroundings, it was clear that they were more than a match for most of their opponents. I knew I had picked a winner.

Promotion to division three was followed by a couple of years of consolidation and then the giddy heights of division two were achieved as nothing seemed impossible. This, indeed, was the ecstasy.

Think about it for a moment: who five years earlier would have believed that Chelsea, Wolves, Bolton, Blackburn and Nottingham Forest - soon to be European champions - would come calling at Edgar Street where entertaining the likes of Romford, Poole Town, Chelmsford City and Dartford had been the order of the day?

It all seemed too good to be true. And so it proved: the agony was about to begin.

Successive relegations saw the team on the slide and, by and large, mediocrity was the order of the day. The three re-election campaigns at the start of the 1980s were cause for real alarm while the promotion push of 1984-85 proved to be a false dawn as supporters found little to cheer.

The amazing gallop up the table in the early months of 1996 was a welcome change of fortune but hopes were quickly dashed in the play offs - games that were to be the prelude to the even bigger disaster just 12 months later when the unimaginable happened against Brighton.

The wheel had turned full circle: the agony was complete.

By the time of this calamity, incidentally, I had retired from full time work and moved to East Sussex - ironically just a 25 minute drive from the old Goldstone ground. This made everything seem even worse.

But ever the optimist I regarded the Conference as a place to re-group but nevertheless was aware that it was becoming an increasingly difficult league to escape from.

My retirement meant that I now had more time at my disposal and I took the opportunity to familiarise myself with the delights of such places as Margate, Gravesend, Crawley, Woking, Farnborough, Dagenham and even venues as far away as Barnet and Stevenage.

I also began the habit of making regular autumn and spring pilgrimages to Edgar Street itself although I am beginning to wonder if I have become something of a jinx. In more than a dozen visits I have only ever seen the Bulls win on three or four occasions and have yet to see them score more than twice in one game.

But just as it seemed that a return to former glories was becoming a distant fantasy the pendulum once again swung the Bulls' way and season 2002-03 saw Graham Turner's men on the move at last.

What a rollercoaster ride it has been since then. Two brilliant seasons ended in heartbreak and the third looked likely to end in the same way until ten minutes from the end of normal time on that balmy afternoon in May last year at Leicester. That really was the agony and the ecstasy.

Now my main channels for keeping in touch are this excellent website and Sky TV's soccer specials which provide those heart stopping up-to-the minute goal bulletins.

And what of the future? My hope is that the ecstasy will outweigh the agony - but I wouldn't put too much money on it.

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