Mark Pougatch, the third generation of his family to grace the stands in SW6, reflects on the unique attitude of Fulham FC fans.
24 August 1991. A blazing hot day at the Cottage, and the sense of excitement and optimism that’s always prevalent at the start of a new season. For this 23–year–old rookie radio reporter it was also the first day in a career covering football that he hoped would promise much, that just might – with a fair wind and a lot of hard work – take him from the banks of the Thames to the great football arenas of the world.
It hasn’t disappointed. Wherever I’ve subsequently been in the past 33 years I’ve often thought back to that day to where it all started, and as a result have always looked out for Fulham’s results. My job is often one of associations and links – the team you support because of your dad or family friend, the first game you went to, the first time you went without a responsible adult – and there’s an umbilical cord taking me from the Euros in Germany this summer for ITV that can be traced directly back to walking through Bishops Park on that lovely summer afternoon to see Alan Dicks’ team start a new season at home in the Third Division.
Wherever I’ve subsequently been in the past 33 years I’ve often thought back to that day to where it all started, and as a result have always looked out for Fulham’s results.
My dad wasn’t a massive football fan, but as a Londoner growing up in the 1950s he was certainly interested enough to flip-flop with his own father, watching Chelsea one week and Fulham the next. My grandfather was born in Ukraine and raised in Paris before coming to London as a teenager and, like so many before him, took on the hobbies and pastimes of what he regarded as “particularly English” – and that meant being interested in cricket and football. As they lived in Bayswater, Stamford Bridge and Craven Cottage would have been their obvious hunting grounds, and although the 1950s weren’t an especially successful time for Fulham, spending seven seasons in the old Second Division, their attendance wasn’t really anything to do with a partisan, besotted love of a club; it was about watching sport, together, as a bonding exercise, a father with his only child – and watching purely for the sake of it.
I need to tread carefully here, for it would be very easy for this to sound patronising, but that’s what I’ve always loved about Fulham. As I get older I increasingly view football clubs through the prism of my friends who support them, and my Fulham pals love the game, particularly love the experience of their season tickets at the Cottage – but, more than any other fan base I know, they have it in such great perspective. It’s as if football is just one beautiful, vivid colour in the palette of their lives, but it’s no more or less important than other wonderful distractions they enjoy. They relish whacking the big boys on the nose, like Arsenal on New Year’s Eve, and having a proper cup run, but as my pal Rob said to me once, “I’d much rather be in the Championship winning every week than limping to 17th every season in the Premier League. Where’s the fun in that?” Rob is enjoying being spoilt now as Marco Silva’s talented squad can aim even higher.
It’s as if football is just one beautiful, vivid colour in the palette of their lives.
Think about some of the London clubs for a moment and what their fans say, or should we correct that to “demand”, of them. Arsenal fans: “When are we going to win the league again?” Chelsea: “When are we going to compete again?” Tottenham: “When are we going to win a trophy again?” West Ham: “When are we going to be entertaining again?” There’s a level of angst and stress – and an expectation that can never really be consistently met.
I’ve always felt with Fulham fans it’s more: “When’s our next game at the Cottage? Can’t wait.” If that does sound patronising and you want to throw darts at me, then I’ll take one in the bullseye because it sounds like a brilliant attitude to me. Football in its rightful place; no more and no less.
Maybe because he went with his dad, mine did take me once to the Cottage: 11 December 1982, and Malcolm McDonald’s vibrant team were making a serious push for promotion to Division One. Fulham beat Derby 2-1 – in the gloaming, Andy Thomas scored the late winner before the ground staff immediately started getting ready for the rugby league the following day.
Fulham didn’t go up, as many of you, painfully, will remember – losing four of their last five games before going down at Derby 1-0 on the final day when the referee blew up 78 seconds early because of utter mayhem with fans invading the pitch.
I’d much rather be in the Championship winning every week than limping to 17th every season in the Premier League. Where’s the fun in that?
So a few snapshots of covering Fulham with a media hat on: going to the Cottage in the days of Mohamed al Fayed always meant a Harrods pie in the media room; the loos in the Johnny Haynes stand are probably the smallest in the Premier League; interviewing Kevin Keegan one Friday night after another exhilarating home win, he beseeched, “Be quick, I need to get to Kings Cross in time to get the last train home to Newcastle”; Brede Hangeland sitting in the front row of the Cottage itself watching a game after signing, and presumably wondering, “THIS is English football?”; and then the Europa League final in Hamburg, David Hamilton up his extendable crane behind the goal imploring the Fulham faithful to make more noise. That was an unforgettable day and night for anyone with black and white in their veins.
And the result that sunny day in August 1991? Birmingham City won 1-0. Recently I saw Simon Morgan, who played – and he remembered the game. Alan Dicks didn’t last the season, replaced briefly by Ray Lewington and then Don Mackay. Andy Cole made his debut and scored three goals, Gary Brazil by common consent was player of the season, and Fulham finished ninth. But, as ever with Fulham, it was always about much more than just goals, results and football.
Mark Pougatch presents ITV’s football coverage.
