NOW THAT’S A SPENT YOUTH!

It’s on for young and old, as American commentators are wont to exclaim. However, it’s hard to think of a more cross-generational sport than good old-fashioned Association Football. Rarely was this more evident than during my recent trip to Brackley Town, accompanied by not one, not two, but three pre-pubescent urchins.

As mentioned here before, via a concerted campaign I have successfully indoctrinated my son into the noble custom of supporting Chester FC, arguably abetted by the club increasingly using him as a social media poster boy. After years of misery, he now loves an away day, the experience only sullied by having to stand with me and a rotating cast of embittered Real Alers banging on about the good old days.

What he really wants to do is muck about with some kids of his own age, something I generously facilitated for our nearest National League North fixture, allowing him to handpick a brace of schoolmates to accompany us to the promotion clash. Briefed not to embarrass him with ribald singing in the car – akey part of the match day experience – we tore up the M40 in a monsoon, the kids transfixed by a smartphone, checking Bitcoin and Apple stock. The innocence of youth…

Hitting one of Brackley’s remaining pubs for a pre-match scoop, I sat them outside in front of a wall of sport, with The Boy paying little attention to Tottenham’s FA Cup tie despite notionally claiming to support them. As for his Arsenal and Chelsea supporting mates, they managed to enjoy a drink without beating each other senseless.

Keen to get going, we arrived at St James’ Park in good time, with the two Non-League debutants visibly shocked at the rudimentary facilities and wildly sloping pitch. Taking a prime spec behind the goal, more amusement was found in the six-yard box, home to a bubbling abyss of mud, a world away from the billiard table pitches of the Premier League. So low were their expectations that one of the kids expressed concerns as to whether the players would actually be able to pass the ball. Seven shirein 2023. minutes in, a slick passing move cut Brackley open to give us the lead, the goal greeted by 245 voices of all ages shouting “Yes!” in unison.

THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT: Our trip to Brackley with Chester proved a big hit with the youngsters, inset left to right, Mylo, George (aka The Boy) and Gilbey

Verbal tic

Another relic from the distant past is alive and well, as whenever a Brackley player had the ball, The Boy intermittently shouted, “Snap him!” It’s a verbal tic that I acquired from an anonymous donor back in the Sealand Road days and unwittingly appear to have passed down, traversing the decades in the tradition of ancient folk songs, albeit more brusque.

Mud pit

No away day is complete without a bit of scran, and it wasn’t long before my debit card was being battered for three outsized hotdogs. With their delicate North London palates unaccustomed to such

Among the assembled throng were three generations of Hills, my younger brother bringing the old man up from the south coast for a rare outing, one that he marked by slipping on his arse. Wild to think that he was much younger than I am now when he took me to my first Chester game (also his first), a decision that directly led to us all standing in sideways rain bellowing at a hapless ref in a market town in Northampton- hearty fare, it was sadly three thumbs down, The Boy dismissing his meatytreat as “rankand uncooked.” For the sake of balance, I polished it off with no ill effects.

Amazingly, our intrepid trio managed the 90 minutes without looking at TikTok, the gloss slightly taken off by a Brackley equaliser, but somewhat restored by their keeper planting himself in the mud pit. What a shame then for the ref to award the home side a dubious injury-time penalty, ruining the day for us all. Or at least it would have done had the taker not absolutely ballooned it over the bar! Cue three feral kids leaping up and down in unfettered glee.

Both newcomers have since installed Chester as their second team and pleaded to come again. Dreams can come true.

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