My Dad wasn’t a Blade. He was a Crystal Palace supporter from Croydon, who joined the Navy at 15,and he met a wren from Sheffield, got married to her, left the Navy and moved to Sheffield and had kids and I was the eldest. When I was a kid I used to on occasional visits to Selhurst Park, and saw Palace at quite a few games up north when they played away. My first visit to Anfield drubbing and my first visit to Wembley was decorated in red and blue for the 1990 cup final. I was also subjected to my next door neighbour in High Green attempting to corrupt me by taking me to a handful of games when I was at an influential age but thankfully his efforts were thwarted.
Thankfully the maternal side of the family was all staunch Blades, my Grandad and three uncles in particular, and I was weaned on tales of Jimmy Hagen, supplanted by trips to Bramall Lane, my first visit coming when my Grandma had arranged for him to babysit for me, on the same evening she had an important engagement to fulfill at the Bingo Hall on Barnsley Road so the 4 year old Brownie was taken to the night fixture against Northampton Town in the old 4th Division,
Being a father has been challenging as well. My lads mum is a Wednesdayite and grows up in the pig stronghold of S35, which under normal circumstances would be too much to overcome, but I’ve made him aware that any football trips with me will be watch United only, he has had dalliances with Man Utd and Liverpool but his heart is now firmly with the Blades. I knew the war had been one when we left Hillsborough with smiles as wide as our faces on a sunny Sunday September afternoon, and he confided in me that he was very happy that all the annoying Wednesday fans wouldn’t have anything to shout about at school the next morning.