Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...sort of

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...sort of

Well they do say blondes have more fun.

Well, I've just returned home from my very first trip to the seaside city of Brighton.

What we had hoped last July would be a celebratory trip, basking in the May Day Bank Holiday sunshine with Wolves reclaiming its rightful spot amongst England's footballing elite, turned out to be cold, drizzly and quite frankly miserable.

Football, like religion, is completely illogical. As an atheist, I can dismiss the latter - but for some unknown reason the faith and belief in the former is unwavering and defies logic. With the one I can dismiss it through lack of empirical evidence - yet despite years of soul searching, anguish and torment, my devout following of my football club remains steadfast. Years of evidence points to little but disappointment, angst and emotional dishrevellement ahead. But year after year, disappointment after disappointment, I turn up at the holy golden shrine week in week out.


You stupid boy.
One down - nine to go. Decent pie at the AMEX too

I - as with all Wolves fans, am stupid. For you see Einstein famously defined stupidity as "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Albert had clearly been to Molineux on a Tuesday night after a bore draw against Swindon Town.

Our season has been pitiful from start to finish. There's something toxic running through the heart of the club. The fans are bewildered and shellshocked. Twelve months ago today we were lining up to face Everton in the Premier League - by August we'll have pencilled in away trips to Crawley, Leyton Orient and Yeovil. Never in my living memory have we been in the third tier of English football.




I was honoured to meet Steve Morgan
and Jez Moxey prior to kick off

Much has been written about Wolves' demise - reality is I don't think anyone knows what's happened. The fans are split between blaming the owner, the Chief Executive, successive managers, the players - and dare I say this, we fans have probably played our own small part too. A whole catalogue of disastrous decisions has led to this - and where we go from here, I'm not sure anyone knows.

On the positive side - I got soaking wet and spent the coldest night of my life in a tent.

Yet despite the agony of a second successive relegation I witnessed something yesterday which gave me hope. Not particularly in Wolves - but in Brighton & Hove Albion.

What a wonderful club it is. A lovely new stadium, a good team and manager, and a club which has a real feel of the community about it. I really hope they reach the Premier League this year - it feels like a city which deserves it.

I read a really interesting article this week by the Secret Footballer. If Brighton secure top flight football this season perhaps the taboo subject of gay footballers will finally come to the fore. We're in 2013 and yet there are no professional footballers who are out. Of 92 football league clubs-  each with a squad of around 30 - statistics dictate that there must be a sizeable gay community. Yet, in the shadow of poor Justin Fashanu, footballers are still not ready to come out. Brighton is a city which appears to wear its reputation as the gay capital of the UK as a badge of honour. If they reach the top - perhaps the issue of homophobia in the game will finally be addressed. After a sad week as a Wolves fan - I was pleased that I didn't hear any homophobic abuse towards the Brighton crowd...gives me hope that our club isn't completely poisonous after all.

But all is not lost - I managed to visit a new football league ground - only 9 more to go until I complete #28 on my list.

So despite ruining my weekend (or indeed entire season), tomorrow I shall forgive them. In fact, I shall once again be in awe of that club. For tomorrow I shall attempt to achieve number 19 on my list: Score a goal on the pitch at Molineux.

At 1pm I'll set foot on the hallowed turf for the first ever time. I'll line up alongside my brothers, Ian and Alex, to play in a friendly match against a group of other fans. The cynic in me says it's the club's final chance to squeeze a few quid out of the fans before the season ends. But I'll park my cynicism for a moment - this could be my chance - my chance to step over those white lines and plant the ball high into the roof of the net. It will be a childhood dream come true. Ok - I won't have 28,000 home fans screaming my name in adulation as I jump over the advertising hoardings and into the South Bank, kissing the badge - but I'm sure my mom will be ever so proud.

However much pain and angst the club causes - and as a fan I've never felt so disconnected with my club as I do right now - I know that most will be forgiven as I set foot inside that famous ground tomorrow.

I'll let you know how it goes.

But in the meantime - I'll leave you with this - from Brighton's most famous musical export...

turned out to