It’s a Saturday towards the end of summer, and an important cricket contest is underway nearby. Absolutely fantastic. Cricket is something I truly appreciate. However, I’m not present at the match.
Instead, I’m travelling by train to London, a train deficient in both cooling and adequate seating, to witness a practice match before the season begins.
I have little enthusiasm for these pre-season games. I grasp their value but tend to avoid them much like a politician avoids a straightforward response.
The lack of intensity and the absence of real stakes are unappealing; would anyone willingly attend a motor race at Silverstone that consists primarily of safety car laps?
Yet, here I am, with the fields of west Cheshire fading behind, anticipating a day filled with city grit, navigating escalators, and avoiding eye contact.
And to add to it all: I’m not even watching my own favored team. Newcastle United is playing far away.
So why am I doing this? Because I am joining my partner for a match between Leyton Orient and Watford. We will be meeting her father, an acquaintance named Chris (creative methods to connect with friends become vital with a young child) on location.
Her father is a lifelong Watford supporter. He also has a fondness for spreadsheets.
These two elements frequently come together in detailed records tracking which of the Football League clubs have been visited alongside Watford, and when these visits occurred.
Orient marks the 74th club for him (including non-league trips, as he is detail-oriented), while my partner will reach her 63rd.
But there is added importance: a brand-new milestone, with a separate record being started as the baby is marking her initial ground visit.
I try not to be envious, but the shared passion between my partner, her father and Watford F.C. triggers some slight jealousy.
Simon, originally from Hemel Hempstead, relocated to the northwest for work and introduced Becky to the football culture through visits to places like Tranmere on Tuesday evenings and weekends in West Bromwich.
As she got older, they consistently visited Vicarage Road every other Saturday, stopping at his parents’ for a traditional, home-cooked lunch.
On those trips, Simon introduced Becky to different music styles, and knowing Becky, she likely kept him talking constantly.
There were probably very few silent moments during their travels.
Watford is their special connection, their comfort zone. Although they still hold season tickets for the Rookery End, life now sometimes makes it difficult to attend regularly.
However, when a game happens, they’re constantly communicating about Watford via messages.
They make fun of the TV channel’s clumsy attempts to display the starting lineup, and Simon affectionately sends her match updates, despite those updates appearing on her smartwatch almost immediately.
Their bond, centered around football, is precious to both of them. It’s a beautiful, lasting connection. Now a third person is sharing it.
Upon arriving in Leyton, we visit Deeney’s café.
I send my appreciation to Andrew, an Orient expert who assisted with the special arrangements.
He suggests I try the well-known haggis toastie, and I don’t have the courage to say that I prefer a panzanella salad.
Then, we proceed to Brisbane Road for the genuine fun. Simon is wearing a Francisco Sierralta shirt I purchased for Becky during our early dates, while she has on the shirt we purchased for our daughter last season – the year she was born.
A gentle touch of affection from Simon on Becky’s shoulder communicates, “I cherish you both, and this moment.” Wonderful.
It will be given to her when she turns 18.
Orient’s media representative Tom arranged for his colleague, April, to show us around, and our arrival coincides with the players starting to come in, like a perfectly timed entrance.
Together, the two women in my life and their father/grandfather walk from the players’ tunnel to the pitch, each smiling with genuine delight as they step onto the grass.
Then, a notable moment occurs. It is subtle, and may be easily overlooked, but it carries profound significance.
A gentle touch of affection from Simon on Becky’s shoulder communicates, “I cherish you both, and this moment.” Wonderful.
Team leader Mattie Pollock and experienced player Moussa Sissoko agree to pictures (fulfilling my Newcastle connection), although I notice I’m lingering awkwardly in the photo, similar to a footballer at a less-than-successful stint at a foreign club.
Orient have organized for Hector Kyprianou – who recently signed with Watford after playing 79 games for Orient before joining Peterborough – to talk with them.
He is friendly and gives generously of his time.
While chatting with his fans, he seems genuinely interested and is not rushing to leave. He answers their questions and asks questions too.
He represents the best in football, and it’s not surprising he’s greeted warmly by a member of the home team’s staff.
Next, April guides us to the gallery and the announcer’s area in the Justin Edinburgh Stand.
On the way, we enjoy a few refreshing moments in the cooled announcer’s room before admiring the London panorama from the top.
It’s not a place for those afraid of heights.
Our child is content. She’s not aware of what’s happening but is interested in everything and everyone.
Her happiness makes me feel wonderful, and she laughs a lot here.
April provides a tour, giving us thirty minutes of her attention, which is especially generous given how busy she is.
It reflects Orient’s spirit, as they’ve made us feel incredibly welcome.
When we initially inquired about bringing a baby, they were accommodating and offered assistance with anything needed, like storing the pram.
Those small details make a huge difference.
As a Premier League follower, I’ve spent years lamenting the lack of matches starting at 3 p.m. on Saturdays.
Here, it is troublesome as it conflicts with the baby’s rest schedule.
Since I’m the visitor, I spend the first half-hour pushing our daughter around the nearby Coronation Gardens, where the Laurie Cunningham statue stands – recognizing Orient’s and England’s first black player.
From Brisbane Road to Real Madrid in five years – a memorable journey.
I have a confession (but I don’t want my partner to know), I slightly disobey protocol before the break by attempting to rouse our daughter from her sleep.
It works, and we soon enter the stadium.
She’s greeted with smiles, though one grumpy man comments that football is unsuitable for infants.
Most are supportive and offer compliments.
We are called “legends” for taking her to games at such a young age, but I clarified to one gentleman that the drink container was empty when the baby held it!
Thankfully, our daughter, who usually refuses them, keeps the earmuffs on. Given the loud fans and colorful language, it was necessary.
During the break, an acquaintance of the family comes to greet us, before I go to a more quiet location to meet another family who follow Watford to every game.
They are incredibly kind to her, treating her like family. I guess everyone in that section feels that way, right?
Sissoko scores the first goal that our daughter sees in person.
He no longer possesses the blistering speed, but it is a well-executed goal.
The little one is more confused than happy. The game ends in a tie, but it’s not important.
We have memories we can cherish and many photographs to remind us.
Am I somewhat sad that my daughter and I may not develop the same special connection to football that her mother and grandfather share?
To be honest, yes. I’ve been trying to convince myself that giving up my prime spot at St James’ Park for less ideal seating wouldn’t be worth it, but perhaps that’s not true. I need to be honest with myself.
However, my happiness comes from knowing the significance of this day for Becky and Simon. That’s priceless.
I hope one day our daughter looks back on this with the same fondness. We return home tired but happy on another crowded train.
It was a special day, mainly thanks to Orient.
91 to go.
