GibbosEmpire
Well-known member
Year after year, season after season, the amount of money you've given to the club, why do you support the Boro, what makes you come back for more?
Why do you support the Boro?
- Thread starter GibbosEmpire
- Start date
Boro
Well-known member
Well I live the other side of the world so by the technical definitions debate we had a while ago on here I am a follower apparently not a supporter. My financial support was given when it was a few quid to get into Ayresome Park at 2.55pm many years ago and the whole experience of match day was great fun and a bit dodgy. For me following a club is an emotional tie that you can't get rid of even if you wanted to, like a wayward relative.
Having said that I'm really not sure how much I'd invest if I lived there. There's the strong connection, love and hope but it'd be interesting to see if the drive to 'support' every week was there at today's prices.
On the emotion point, I've tried picking a second team to follow in the PL from time to time to get more immersed in the amazing football played at that level but it just doesn't work, my heart's not in it the same as Boro so I stay as a watcher of PL highlights on TV with no emotional connection to it. I'm stuck with the Boro...
Having said that I'm really not sure how much I'd invest if I lived there. There's the strong connection, love and hope but it'd be interesting to see if the drive to 'support' every week was there at today's prices.
On the emotion point, I've tried picking a second team to follow in the PL from time to time to get more immersed in the amazing football played at that level but it just doesn't work, my heart's not in it the same as Boro so I stay as a watcher of PL highlights on TV with no emotional connection to it. I'm stuck with the Boro...
r00fie1
Well-known member
When I went to the Poly as a legally defined adult, I fell in love with the smell of ICI, the odour of burning gas, Newbolds pies, The Empire, and the Nops. Boro folks - were rough round the edges, straight as a die, no bullschitt and generous to the last penny.
At the end of the love was this red shirt with a white band and a tin shed where passion, joy, heartache and a queue for the bogs occupied every Saturday.
That sealed it. Took about a week
At the end of the love was this red shirt with a white band and a tin shed where passion, joy, heartache and a queue for the bogs occupied every Saturday.
That sealed it. Took about a week
coluka
Well-known member
You are a supporter, Boro, don’t listen to anyone else labelling you otherwise.
NorthumberlandBoro
Well-known member
That's it!
Wiseman_Vaughn
Well-known member
There is no other option. It is not about winning or success. There is much more to it than that.
Dirtyderekbracken
Active member
hometown club and 3rd generation Boro fan. My son carry’s the torch of misery into the 4th generation.
atypical_boro
Well-known member
My local club/Dad’s club. I remain an attendee at matches simply because I hate it when we’re playing and I’m not able to witness it in person. I’ve felt that way for well over 30 years.
coluka
Well-known member
I was told I was kidnapped from the old maternity unit near the park in Middlesbrough In The North Riding of Yorkshire straight after birth by a couple I’d never previously met and held hostage in a Borough called Scar. They were kind though and looked after me, giving me food and water. I went to a school where all the other nasty boys and girls supported a team called Leeds United eveyone was a bully. Dirty Leeds, who were managed by one of my kidnappers cousins husband. He was not liked at all in the basement I called home, never welcome as he was not a nice man. If I even mentioned the name of that club I was tied to a chair and shown a slipper or a belt and thankfully just the site of those vicious weapons was enough to silence me.
When I was around 10 I was tied up and blindfolded and we drove for an hour and a quarter roughly, before the engine fell silent. I was told that what I was about to witness was for my own good. I was gently shoved toward a place called Ayresome Park, great I thought I can play on the swings and roundabouts and have fun like I once experienced many years earlier. At the entrance, I was squeezed through a small red space with my kindnapper as I grew to call him. We walked up some concrete steps and into a throng of people smelling of bovril and pork pies and I was carried to the front wall to see an open space of grass with no swings or anything to have fun with. The park was surrounded on all sides, but I noticed one corner everyone was wearing blue and white whereas all around the rest was a sea of red and white.
I was given a wooden toy to play with that made a loud clicking noise when used and a fancy rosette was pinned to my coat by a man stood next to my kindnapper. 25 men walked out of a tunnel to loud music and clapping, 3 in black, 11 in red and 11 in blue. They were kicking a leather ball around and apparently trying to kick or even stupidly head it into a net. I was told to cheer the red team or else, so I did. The blue team though were triumphant i think and a lanky bloke put the ball in the net with his head.
I grew to look forward to these visits away from the basement and my captivity and as I began cheering and talking about the men in red a lot, my kindnappers began to give me more freedom and one winters day i was given a red and white suit that i could call my own. At that point my conversion to this new cult was born and I was forever indoctrinated into its hypnotic methods. Every Saturday my mood would change and I was more and more addicted to this cult until I was even allowed as an adult to go on my own. I realised resistance was futile as, if I didn’t go through illness, I felt much much worse. I have sought medical and psychiatric assistance from world leading experts, but the diagnosis was that there is no cure and alas never will be, so I am resigned to my fate forever visiting like some fortnightly cruel groundhog day.
When I was around 10 I was tied up and blindfolded and we drove for an hour and a quarter roughly, before the engine fell silent. I was told that what I was about to witness was for my own good. I was gently shoved toward a place called Ayresome Park, great I thought I can play on the swings and roundabouts and have fun like I once experienced many years earlier. At the entrance, I was squeezed through a small red space with my kindnapper as I grew to call him. We walked up some concrete steps and into a throng of people smelling of bovril and pork pies and I was carried to the front wall to see an open space of grass with no swings or anything to have fun with. The park was surrounded on all sides, but I noticed one corner everyone was wearing blue and white whereas all around the rest was a sea of red and white.
I was given a wooden toy to play with that made a loud clicking noise when used and a fancy rosette was pinned to my coat by a man stood next to my kindnapper. 25 men walked out of a tunnel to loud music and clapping, 3 in black, 11 in red and 11 in blue. They were kicking a leather ball around and apparently trying to kick or even stupidly head it into a net. I was told to cheer the red team or else, so I did. The blue team though were triumphant i think and a lanky bloke put the ball in the net with his head.
I grew to look forward to these visits away from the basement and my captivity and as I began cheering and talking about the men in red a lot, my kindnappers began to give me more freedom and one winters day i was given a red and white suit that i could call my own. At that point my conversion to this new cult was born and I was forever indoctrinated into its hypnotic methods. Every Saturday my mood would change and I was more and more addicted to this cult until I was even allowed as an adult to go on my own. I realised resistance was futile as, if I didn’t go through illness, I felt much much worse. I have sought medical and psychiatric assistance from world leading experts, but the diagnosis was that there is no cure and alas never will be, so I am resigned to my fate forever visiting like some fortnightly cruel groundhog day.
Wiseman_Vaughn
Well-known member
I’ve said this here before but a few years ago a Man U supporting mate (from Salford) said to me “how do you support a team who has very little or no success?” I thought: all you have is success, I pity you.
the_dormouse
Well-known member
Sometimes when I walk to the ground I think these are my people and this is one of the things we have in common.
Corcaigh_the_Cat
Well-known member
They were and still are my nearest league club.
GibbosEmpire
Well-known member
I was born in South Bank, I never really liked football till I was about 10, and my uncle was watching the Boro v Chelsea cup final on tv, I don't even live in Boro anymore. I guess for me I've always wished our little club, to be the best it can be, to punch above its weight with the big boys.
I think for years fans have always wanted the team to be made up of a few players from the area, that it's possible for anyone to make it, they just have to have the talent and show hard work, for a former industrial town like Boro, I think that's what any kid dreams of when they kick a ball about with their mates.
I think for years fans have always wanted the team to be made up of a few players from the area, that it's possible for anyone to make it, they just have to have the talent and show hard work, for a former industrial town like Boro, I think that's what any kid dreams of when they kick a ball about with their mates.
HarryVegas
Well-known member
Born in Boro, lived in Teesside until I was 40.
