Football memories

International break. Time for Agatha to come clean: she's not an England supporter. So Bale 2 - Scotland 1 brought mixed emotions last night. What a corker of a goal from Bale. (She doesn't want to get into a discussion about the penalty, being more upset about Fletcher's disallowed goal). Expecting similar mixed emotions on Tuesday too, when Scotland meets Belgium, assuming Vertonghen and Dembele will be appearing for their country.  In truth, she doesn't really follow Scottish football much these days, and World Cup qualifiers are always painful for Scots. But it has got her reminiscing about the (really) old days ...

Photo:Neil Carnegie

This is where it all started - Ardrossan Winton Rovers. Winton Park shared a wall with my first primary school (that's it in the photo). Watching games on Saturdays, wandering freely around the ground to get different vantage points, swinging on the rails, out in the elements, squashing into the enclosure when it was really pouring. (The Stand was for the posh folk). Me, my sister, and the girl cousins watching the first half of the game from Cannon Hill next to the ground, and getting in for free at half time. (The boy cousins' entry paid for? I don't recall. Hrrumph). My Uncle Jackie cut the grass and helped count the takings. Loved the action - the closeness and immediacy of it - and the sense of attachment and belonging. And going about with my dad and the grown ups.

Moving to the newly built primary school up the road, I was asked in the playground "Who do you support - Rangers or Celtic?" "Winton Rovers" says I proudly. "Naw. That disnae count. Rangers or Celtic? You've got to say". I didn't know the answer, so asked my dad. "Just say you support Kilmarnock". Somehow that did count, or at least the boys stopped bothering me in the playground about it. It wasn't until years later that I understood what the question was all about and appreciated the wisdom of my dad's suggested response. I really hope that question is not asked any more in playgrounds in the West of Scotland. It's an embarrassment we've lived with for too long.

Later still, in my teens and having moved to Glasgow, I would have responded to the playground question with a different answer  - Partick Thistle. Or, should I say: Partick Thistle FC. (As Billy Connolly rightly points out - you have to give them their full title otherwise folk think they're called "Partick Thistle Nil").  One Boxing Day, we took the young daughter of a friend to Firhill for her first football match. It was a 5 goal thriller against Motherwell, 2 goals scored from the penalty spot. Come on you Jags! We had to explain the nickname: Partick Thistle, thistles are jaggy - the Jags! Back home, recounting the excitement of the experience she told her mum - "And they've got a nickname ... emmm ..." [thinks] "... the Pricks!"

Having defected south of the Border in the 1980s, and pitching up initially south of the Thames, I skirted with Wimbledon for a while. Then, in 1990, visiting White Hart Lane for the first time (with new boyfriend Norman) I witnessed close up from the lower tier of the West Stand the genius of Paul Gascoigne and the skill of Gary Lineker.  I remember the frisson to this day. Smitten.

What are your early football memories?

Agatha and Mildred