Cod Almighty | Diary

Carl Boyeson to referee the Lincoln game? Someone is having a laugh

28 September 2017

Football isn't war.

One of Middle-Aged Diary's most intense footballing experiences remains a match at Tranmere in the mid-1990s. We were in the last minute, hanging on to a 2-1 lead when John Aldridge threw himself to the ground to win a penalty. (I was 120 yards away so you'll just have to take it on trust that I have unblinkered, binocular vision.) At that moment, my feelings about Tranmere and their fans amounted to a delirious, incoherent rage.

The penalty was saved, but still the ref played on. Injury time was no doubt about five minutes. It felt like an hour. The away end was a delirious mix of euphoria at Aldridge's missed penalty and desperation for the final whistle to sound. All coherent thought processes had dissolved, but I do remember glancing at the neighbouring paddock where Tranmere fans were staring at us in bewilderment. The contrast between their resigned rationality and our exalted panic stuck with me.

The game ended, and we all filed out peacefully together, all tension entirely dissipated. It was something like the dissonance you have when you leave a matinee showing in a cinema, from dark into daylight. That, I always feel, is how it should be: the greatest intensity for the drama of the match, amicability before and after. It's why a minute's silence, these days always "immaculately observed", is such an effective framing device.

The memory has come back to mind for two reasons. One is that someone has questioned why we still applaud the announcement of how many away fans are in the attendance. (Do they do it at other grounds too, I wonder?) It risks being patronising – as Andy Freeman observes, the applause is loudest when the away support is smallest. But given that the announcement is always made during a quiet moment in play, why not? It's a reminder that beneath the intense emotions of the match, we understand what we have in common as fans.

Then, of course, such thoughts introduce the Lincoln derby. A derby is, should be, play war. Lincoln, Scunthorpe, even Hull, don't threaten Town's existence. Our real antipathy should be reserved... not even for the Man Uniteds but for the way football as business has made the Man Uniteds a real risk to our existence. This is about local pride. It matters – anyone calling it a game like any other is a bloodless bean counter – but our lives don't depend on it.

Unrealistic to think hostilities can begin and end at kick-off and the final whistle? In the 2005 play off semi-final, Gary Jones was sent off for a foul on Gareth McAuley. The red card would have meant him missing the final. However, both McAuley himself and the Lincoln manager Keith Alexander provided evidence to support Jones's successful appeal. Once again, let Big Keith provide the lesson.