I have never forgiven myself for attending the 1991 FA Cup final. Tottenham Hotspur versus Nottingham Forest. I had broken my leg very badly playing football a year earlier, and a blazer-wearer I knew at the Football Association had kindly sent me a ticket to cheer me up. I am a fan of neither Spurs nor Forest but, having never been to an FA Cup final, I was excited to be there. Well, I was excited until the moment I took my seat, whereupon my feelings turned to something more like guilt or shame.
I was sitting between an ardent Forest fan and an ardent Spurs fan. Both were telling me of the lengths to which they had gone to score their tickets – and how many of their fellow fans were missing out. I felt terrible. As a neutral, I had no business being there. Football is no place for neutrals. If my team ever got to a major final, I would be livid to have to share the experience with someone who didn’t care either way about the result. I was deeply uncomfortable about being that someone. Spurs won 2-1; it felt like being at the wedding celebration of strangers or, in Forest’s case, the funeral of someone I didn’t know.
