Some say your are born Blue. I wasn’t. I was made. In the cold, in the chaos, in the middle of a match I didn’t even want to be at. This is my story.

I’d never had any interest in football. Boyfriends tried, mates insisted, so many promises of being won over by atmosphere that all fell flat. I went to games at different grounds over the years, but I just didn’t get it. I didn’t get the passion, the shouting, the standing in the freezing cold.

I’d just sit there yawning, rolling my eyes and shrugging my shoulders wondering how long was left. 38 years of ‘meh’.

It’s often said: “You don’t choose Blues. Blues choose you. Usually when you’re too young to know better.”

Not me. I didn’t inherit it. I wasn’t raised on heartbreak and half-time pies. I didn’t grow up with it as part of my world. I tuned football out as background noise.

But on 11 January 2025 and the FA Cup match against Lincoln City, things suddenly changed.

I again got pulled to St. Andrew’s. I was there to stop my friend constantly committing GBH on my ears, nursing a pretty solid hangover from the night before. I thought this would be like any other time I’d been dragged to a stadium to watch some blokes kick a bag of wind about.

38 years of rolling my eyes at this sport. 38 years shrugging my shoulders. 38 years yawning.

Then in a frozen St. Andrew’s stadium, nose running and fingertips numb, I fell in love.

The roar of “WHO?” as the opposition player names are announced with a confused tone. “WHO?” is not a question; it’s a statement. “We don’t care who you are. We are Blue.” Honestly, God himself could walk onto that pitch and be met with a deafening roar of “WHO?”

I wasn’t born Blue. I was made. In the cold, in the noise, in the middle of a match I didn’t even want to be at. Now I’m forever Blue.

KRO ????

Lisa B