Post by Budleigh on Oct 18, 2009 19:25:07 GMT
Somewhere back in the mists of time (1987) I got married, far, far too young and certainly not ready for the ordeal….
Living in Tonbridge, Kent, having moved from South London, my football consisted of Charlton Athletic (as previously stated) and trips to Dartford to watch the re-housed Maidstone United attempt, and ultimately succeed, in gaining promotion to the football league. As well as Torquay’s visits to my part of the world.
Being in North Kent, and being fairly close to the Medway towns, meant having a cross-section of football supporting friends, including one particularly fine fellow whose only fault was an obsession with Gillingham. So much so that he struggled to retain common courtesy whenever I mentioned that I was popping up to watch either the Stones or Tonbridge play, despite my insistence that it was through no allegiance to the clubs, I just a need to watch a game of football locally.
Going back to the marriage aspect, it was that after a year or two things weren’t going as well as hoped. Indeed, my young wife and I were going through a divorce, and although fairly amicable as we both realised our future’s lay elsewhere, it was non-the-less a difficult time.
My Gillingham supporting friend was proving to have a wonderful shoulder as my woes increased and he would sit in the garden of our local, The Man of Kent, listening to me whilst nodding, agreeing and generally being a rock. On one particularly difficult Sunday (the Decree Nisi was due the next day) he insisted that I needed to get my mind off things and suggested that as I had been following the fortunes of Maidstone for the previous few seasons perhaps I’d like to jump in the car with him that Tuesday evening to journey across to Stroud so as to watch a Kent Cup game between his beloved Gillingham, as the home side, and Maidstone. An excellent idea I thought.
We met early evening at the end of my road and spent the shortish ride discussing the why’s and wherefore’s of my now defunct marriage and the way forward for my life. I admit too feeling quite low and struggling with it all but as usual he was the perfect listener and said all the right things at the right times, offering sage advise and perceived wisdom.
We arrived at Priestfield with time to spare and met some friends of his for a pre-match pint, at which point I decided to sit in the stand and not join them at the Rainham End (I still do not know why? I think perhaps I just wanted to have some time alone to think…) Anyway, off they trotted whilst I took my seat and waited for the game to start. The atmosphere was good, Maidstone had brought a large following and there was all to play for.
There were the usual ‘local derby’ chants, the banter between rival supporters and the support for the respective teams.
Then just before half-time a new chant rang out, with a few arms pointing in the direction of the grandstand, seemingly started by just a small section of fans in the home end but increasing by the second… Until it seemed the whole mass of Gills supporters had joined in….
‘You’re not married, you’re not married, you’re not married anymore…. You’re not married anymore!’
Absolutely brilliant….
Living in Tonbridge, Kent, having moved from South London, my football consisted of Charlton Athletic (as previously stated) and trips to Dartford to watch the re-housed Maidstone United attempt, and ultimately succeed, in gaining promotion to the football league. As well as Torquay’s visits to my part of the world.
Being in North Kent, and being fairly close to the Medway towns, meant having a cross-section of football supporting friends, including one particularly fine fellow whose only fault was an obsession with Gillingham. So much so that he struggled to retain common courtesy whenever I mentioned that I was popping up to watch either the Stones or Tonbridge play, despite my insistence that it was through no allegiance to the clubs, I just a need to watch a game of football locally.
Going back to the marriage aspect, it was that after a year or two things weren’t going as well as hoped. Indeed, my young wife and I were going through a divorce, and although fairly amicable as we both realised our future’s lay elsewhere, it was non-the-less a difficult time.
My Gillingham supporting friend was proving to have a wonderful shoulder as my woes increased and he would sit in the garden of our local, The Man of Kent, listening to me whilst nodding, agreeing and generally being a rock. On one particularly difficult Sunday (the Decree Nisi was due the next day) he insisted that I needed to get my mind off things and suggested that as I had been following the fortunes of Maidstone for the previous few seasons perhaps I’d like to jump in the car with him that Tuesday evening to journey across to Stroud so as to watch a Kent Cup game between his beloved Gillingham, as the home side, and Maidstone. An excellent idea I thought.
We met early evening at the end of my road and spent the shortish ride discussing the why’s and wherefore’s of my now defunct marriage and the way forward for my life. I admit too feeling quite low and struggling with it all but as usual he was the perfect listener and said all the right things at the right times, offering sage advise and perceived wisdom.
We arrived at Priestfield with time to spare and met some friends of his for a pre-match pint, at which point I decided to sit in the stand and not join them at the Rainham End (I still do not know why? I think perhaps I just wanted to have some time alone to think…) Anyway, off they trotted whilst I took my seat and waited for the game to start. The atmosphere was good, Maidstone had brought a large following and there was all to play for.
There were the usual ‘local derby’ chants, the banter between rival supporters and the support for the respective teams.
Then just before half-time a new chant rang out, with a few arms pointing in the direction of the grandstand, seemingly started by just a small section of fans in the home end but increasing by the second… Until it seemed the whole mass of Gills supporters had joined in….
‘You’re not married, you’re not married, you’re not married anymore…. You’re not married anymore!’
Absolutely brilliant….
