FairviewRover

My story is creeping that way too I'm afraid... I'm from Stockport - and in 1990 I was 8 when my dad sadly passed away. His best friend thought the way to support my mum and his mate's memory was to take her lad to the football - the only caveat being that he was a Rovers supporter.. .who were in Division 2. A week before my 9th birthday we went to Ewood for the first time, losing against Wolves but I was reassured it was an anomaly as they hadn't lost for six games before that! Regardless of the result, it did something to fill a hole in me, my life, my Dad... and I fell in love with the family nature of the club, the booming Lancs accents of the men around us at the games and felt like a big part of me had found my home. I wasn't disappointed with the ride... over the next few years nobody could have envisaged how it grew... Uncle Jack took over, and the stadium was thrown up around me. For every kid giving me stick about the team buying it's way to success, there were days and nights of sheer enjoyment, being devastated that Alan Shearer was effectively replacing Speedie but then being catapulted into dreamland as he fired us to the title. In 1996 I turned 15 and my dad's friend stopped attending.... but Rovers was my life and I had made good friends with the season ticket holders around us. As part of group of like-minded lads I started getting the train on my own from Manchester for every home game, having some hairy moments with a group of PNE fans at Mill Hill on one occasion and often encountering all kinds of scrapes with other fans at Piccadilly. We had no expectations, just loved the club and whatever happened, Rovers would always have a go.. "get into 'em" was the visceral cry of the Blackburn End demanding commitment, passion and heart from every player. Despite relegation, Graeme Souness came to the club and his Rovers side of the early 2000s became my favourite team of all. Jansen, Dunn, Duff - young English (and Irish players) complimented by a smattering of experience from Berg, Short and Flitcroft... Brad Friedel showing what an honest down-to-earth bloke he was. I followed them home and away every game through University for three years, mounting debts but didn't care... By this time I knew that there would be no chance of a Premier League title again - the money gap was too vast - but I was fiercely proud of my family club, still overseen by the Walker Trust and with a creative attacking team (not averse to getting one over on Burnley from time to time!) and the Worthington Cup win was one of the best days of my life, jumping all over Big Ron Atkinson outside the ground in a haze of Euphoria... God I loved that time. The smell of the pitch at Ewood on a Tuesday night for an evening kickoff... amazing. What a childhood. Didn't matter that we had been relegated, ups and downs, in fact it all enhanced the picture and my love for MY club. I took great pride in supporting them through thick and thin - I felt like I was a part of Rovers, and they were a part of me. My first daughter was born in 2006 and my son in 2009... work was a massive commitment and I struggled to get to games... but nobody wanted a free ticket anymore... I persevered, taking the kids to the games whenever possible, decorating their rooms in Rovers merchandise, my son playing in Rovers kit and keeping up to date with the team selections and results... watching every game we could... watching the kids pin their hopes on their 'Speedie' or 'Shearer'.... Jordan Rhodes, Adam Armstrong, Ben Brereton, even Sammie Szmodics... all flickers of hope quickly extinguished as the reality that this football world, climate, landscape had changed. Players like Phil Jones and Adam Wharton, coming through to great hope and promise - a throwback to an academy still capable of producing the highest quality of player... but now they didn't become David Dunn or Damien Duff, now they play a handful of games and are sold to the highest bidder to try and balance the books. The experience of a Travis or a Hyam - no longer cherished and valued like a Short or Flitcroft... now the wages weren't sustainable and away they go. A glut of foreign players - no xenophobia here - but a lack of relatability now... players who come and go overnight. A pitch that was cutting edge, a stadium that was home, slowly being left to crumble as some overseas owners don't even visit, just wait for the next transfer fee incoming to try to balance the books on a failing asset. I came with the kids to the Wrexham game last. They tried their best, oohing and aahing as Baradji - a player lauded as being decent but who is anything but - hit the bar. The Wrexham fans goaded us for our silence... but I couldn't muster a murmur. There was no passion, no heart or determination... no "get into 'em"... I looked at the kids and just felt guilty. Lamented the £110 it cost me to come and watch them and felt bad for subjecting them to this... I never expected anything but being part of a family and community who pulled in the same direction even if it failed. It doesn't feel like the club is pulling in the same direction as the fans any more. It hurts.