“I was fanatically pro-German when the Germans were here to protect us against the Americans, and now that Americans are here to protect us against the Germans, I am fanatically pro-American … you and your country will have no more loyal partisan in Italy than me – but only as long as you remain in Italy.”
This passage from Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 – as an old Italian man explains the logic behind his fickle wartime expedience to a naive American soldier – plays with the question of what constitutes true strength. Universally perceived as weak, Italy are in fact the strongest nation in the second world war, according to the old man. And that, sort of, explains my feelings on football fandom.
My dad was passionate about cricket and chess. But I was a football-mad kid, and he dutifully escorted my brother and I to watch West Ham v Nottingham Forest at Upton Park in November 1987. Dad naturally knew about Brian Clough and correctly predicted it would be an entertaining game: the hosts won 3-2.
After that ridiculously exciting day as a 10-year-old, and despite living in south London, I became a Forest supporter, despite photos existing of me in Everton and Tottenham kits earlier in childhood. My mid-1980s decision to support Everton, for clarity, had been pure, unadulterated glory-hunting. Why I then decided to switch to Tottenham, I don’t recall, but it may have had something to do with Paul Gascoigne’s unique ability.
Geographically I should have supported Crystal Palace or Millwall given I was brought up between their grounds: I vividly remember visiting the Den with a Swindon-supporting schoolmate during the era of Terry Hurlock.
As a cricket fan, I have stuck with Middlesex since childhood, but there was never any familial impetus to support a football club. My brother became an Arsenal fan and when I was old enough to regularly attend games alone I started following Forest around London, including a draw at the Den in 1993-94 marred by post-match violence after a Stan Collymore equaliser ended Millwall’s playoff hopes.
When Forest sank into the doldrums after the magical mid-90s, I started to pay less attention to them in classic fairweather-fan fashion. Recently, when living in Somerset, I dabbled with being a Yeovil supporter. Now back living in London I am a regular patron at the Den and have begun to follow Millwall’s results more than Forest’s.
It’s not unusual to support an overseas club either, and after a formative experience watching Napoli lose to Chelsea in 2012 a passion for the Italian club emerged. I’ve visited Naples several times, made good friends there and seen a few games. The most memorable trip was in May 2023 when the Serie A title was sealed under Luciano Spalletti. I didn’t have a ticket but ultimately didn’t need one: the entire city was electrified by their (our) third scudetto.
For some people switching, or even mixing, football allegiances remains taboo. Devoted supporters of a single club may regard my experience as a sign of weakness, or at least exceptional fickleness. But “fan” is short for “fanatic”, and I am no longer convinced so much emotional energy should be invested in supporting any club. Why, after all, would I associate my happiness and sense of fulfilment with something I can’t control? Was the obvious and sustained misery of Arsenal fans as they edged nervously to the Premier League title worth the payoff? Perhaps it was, but there is clearly something unhealthy in that level of obsession.
It is possible, after all, to be too emotionally invested in a certain outcome for your own wellbeing. As an avid teenage follower of Forest, I felt my personal fortunes were linked to the club’s. I regarded one particularly inept late-90s defeat by Wimbledon as a personal tragedy that raised serious questions about my future happiness. I still love football – I am just more ambivalent to its outcomes.
Not only is it acceptable to switch allegiance, it actually makes more sense to base your support on what’s going on in your life at the time. If professional athletes can represent more than one country, let alone several clubs, why shouldn’t fans switch teams?
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The disparity between mercenary players and loyal fans grows ever bigger and more grotesque. The players earn obscene amounts of money, and wield a disproportionate amount of power, but often show zero loyalty to a club and its fans when a better offer appears. How can any of this make sense for the lifelong supporter?
And being a diehard fan can be a compromising position in so many ways, frequently leading to defending the indefensible, from unethical petro-state sportwashing and financial doping to obvious on-field foul play and even spying. If you are a glory-hunting Manchester City devotee with a hidden Manchester United-supporting past, or have ever done a football-supporting switcheroo of any kind, do not be ashamed. There is help available. There are people who understand.
Since becoming a regular attendee at Millwall, I’ve enjoyed watching matches with one of my oldest friends and his son. A tight, noisy, old-fashioned ground, no video assistant referee, close to home … have I finally become a real fan?
As long as I live in London I will enjoy following Millwall … with Forest and Napoli thrown in. Not forgetting Dulwich Hamlet. Should I ever return to Somerset, though, I’ll be Yeovil till I die.
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