Family memories at Roker.

[jonboy]

Originally Posted by LBW

My Dads been cracking on with Heavens greatest football legends for 10 years now, and ive been sitting here in an emotional state with a few cans of export ( my old mans tipple ) and thinking of the games I used to go to with him.
He once turned to me in the Roker End against Grimsby during a midweek game and said Son ive stood here and laughed, ive stood here and cried, ive stood here and swore ill never come back, but I mean what I say this time, if that Twat behind us doesnt stop booing Im going to squeeze every last breath out of the Bastard.
He never even turned around to see who it was that was booing, it didnt happen again for the rest of the match and when we walked out he turned to my uncle and said what a pile of shite Ken we are in trouble this season.
I couldnt stop smiling all the way home, Mad as a Hatter my dad.
RIP Dad 10 years tonight think of you everyday.

Can't match that mate, my dad stopped going to Roker before i started to support the lads, he said football was never the same since teams started playing without wingers. (Alf Ramseys fault apparently)

Anyhow could i fuck get him to go back to Roker Park for a first team game, then one night he i got him over there for a reserve team match against Liverpool, he took one look around the ground and turned to me and said, 'Where the hell has the Roker End gone son'? I swear he had a tear in his eye, it was about half the size he could remember it.

[Masterplan]

Top post LBW.

[jonnie_makem]

Originally Posted by LBW

My Dads been cracking on with Heavens greatest football legends for 10 years now, and ive been sitting here in an emotional state with a few cans of export ( my old mans tipple ) and thinking of the games I used to go to with him.
He once turned to me in the Roker End against Grimsby during a midweek game and said Son ive stood here and laughed, ive stood here and cried, ive stood here and swore ill never come back, but I mean what I say this time, if that Twat behind us doesnt stop booing Im going to squeeze every last breath out of the Bastard.
He never even turned around to see who it was that was booing, it didnt happen again for the rest of the match and when we walked out he turned to my uncle and said what a pile of shite Ken we are in trouble this season.
I couldnt stop smiling all the way home, Mad as a Hatter my dad.
RIP Dad 10 years tonight think of you everyday.

Class story Can't think of many seasons when we haven't been in trouble at some point!

[Occam's Razor]

After much pestering, my dad took me to my first match in 1976. Aston Villa, I was seven years old. I can remember the walk to the ground extremely clearly; the excitement building as the number of people on the street grew with each corner we turned.

I was sent to the ‘Boys’ gate (40p) to wait for my dad as he queued to get in. That mixture of terror and anticipation is something which has always stuck exactly in my memory. Then, after what seemed like an age of suffering the bedlam, the smells and the noise, my dad grabbed my hand and I was swept up the stairs, out into the Roker End (somewhere near the floodlight, Main Stand side) and the sight of the green pitch, the sky, the crowd and the noise just about blew my mind away.

I wish I could experience that feeling again, just once, tbh, though I can remember almost nothing of the match itself.

Another of my best early memories of a game is from about 1978, when some bloke next to us incessantly slagged off Joe Bolton for the whole match, and eventually my dad turned to him and let loose the most extraordinary tirade of foul mouthed angry abuse my young ears had ever heard. It was fucking magnificent.

[LBW]

Originally Posted by Occam's Razor

After much pestering, my dad took me to my first match in 1976. Aston Villa, I was seven years old. I can remember the walk to the ground extremely clearly; the excitement building as the number of people on the street grew with each corner we turned.

I was sent to the ‘Boys’ gate (40p) to wait for my dad as he queued to get in. That mixture of terror and anticipation is something which has always stuck exactly in my memory. Then, after what seemed like an age of suffering the bedlam, the smells and the noise, my dad grabbed my hand and I was swept up the stairs, out into the Roker End (somewhere near the floodlight, Main Stand side) and the sight of the green pitch, the sky, the crowd and the noise just about blew my mind away.

I wish I could experience that feeling again, just once, tbh, though I can remember almost nothing of the match itself.

Another of my best early memories of a game is from about 1978, when some bloke next to us incessantly slagged off Joe Bolton for the whole match, and eventually my dad turned to him and let loose the most extraordinary tirade of foul mouthed angry abuse my young ears had ever heard. It was fucking magnificent.

The funny thing is mate I never ever heard my dad swear, he clearly lost it that night but what made me laugh about it was we were terrible at the time and he knew it. But he would only ever have a moan to my uncle Ken about the team, if anybody slagged the team of he would back them to the hilt but secretly under gritted teeth he knew that person was right.
What a character.

[holmes]

My dad tried to stop me going to roker. Took to to a few games as a little kid, once i started going with mates he wasnt having it. Used to have to tell him i was going to a friends house