Since my first game in 1967, I have witnessed many highs and lows following my beloved Brighton and Hove Albion.
And, like most clubs we have had our share of heroes and villains.
Kit Napier was the first of many heroes – far too many to name.
But the true villains in our club number just three: former club owners Bill Archer and Greg Stanley along with chief executive David Bellotti.
And as most readers will know, the 1996/97 season became one of football’s great displays of non-violent direct action, as we staged a desperate fight against these three men, who were stealing our club from under our noses.
That season included the first Fans United Day, when on 8 February 1997, supporters of clubs across the UK and Europe shared the Goldstone terraces in solidarity with the Albion fans.
We eventually succeeded in our battle to save our club. But the victory came too late to save the Goldstone Ground.
Over the ensuing years the story of asset stripping football club owners was replicated far too many times for comfort.
By the time I became involved in a similar battle, seven years had passed.
I was living 300 miles away on Tyneside and by a quirk of fate was unexpectedly thrust the mantle of Fans United organiser for Wrexham FC.
The supporters were battling their club owner Alex Hamilton, who had threatened to bulldoze their ground for a housing development. But they were facing an uphill battle for anyone outside North Wales to recognize their plight.
I guess with 20 years of PR and newspaper experience and family connections to North Wales, I had found a strange niche.
Weeks of phone calls, radio and TV interviews and bombarding other football clubs’ message boards (this was before the days of Facebook and Twitter), and another Fans United Day arrived.
Saturday 20 November 2004, was a football day I will never forget.
More than 1,000 supporters of other clubs descended on Wrexham’s Racecourse Ground that afternoon for a routine third tier match against Bristol City.
The weather was wintry and cold, but that did not dampen the shared spirit.
As part of a small group of Brighton fans I entered the famous old ground and made my way to seats on the left side of the home stand.
Wrexham’s average home gate had been 4,500 and even at 2.50pm it was clear that there were many more than the average.
Everywhere we looked fans were filling the seats – even the terraces at Wrexham’s Kop seemed full.
Our small group was soon augmented by more friends. We stood 16 strong and knew other Brighton supporters were elsewhere in the ground. Around us we met fans from Sunderland, Cardiff City and Swansea, Stoke City, Stockport County, Northampton, Everton, Wolves, Telford, Bury, Donny Rovers and even Chester City (Wrexham’s bitter rivals from 10 miles up the road)
Suddenly a chorus of “We love you Brighton” echoed from our left. A group of Wrexham fans were looking in our direction, singing and smiling broadly.
A chill ran down my spine, I looked around as thousands of people rose to their feet and applauded. More choruses of “We love you Brighton” rang from all sides of the ground.
I glanced at my good friend Ian. “Glad you’re here?” I asked.
“Too right, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything” he replied.
The ground was full as the first half passed in repeated choruses of singing and chanting.
Then a few minutes before half-time a senior steward told us: “You can carry your banner around the pitch at half-time.”
Dazed by the offer, a handful of us followed the steward down the steps as people stood and began applauding. This was unreal.
Around the pitch side we continued. The game was still in progress, but as we walked, each section of the ground rose to their feet and cheered and clapped – it was as if what was happening on the pitch was inconsequential.
Our collective hands were freezing but the adrenalin was rushing as we began a procession along the touchline – our Save the Racecourse banner held aloft to the crowd. Spontaneous “We love you Brighton” echoed again in our ears. Fans leant over the hoardings to shake our hands.
As we reached the Kop there was gathered on the pitch about 200 Wrexham fans holding their own Save the Racecourse banner. We walked past, spontaneously shook hands, embraced and shared smiles that will last many lifetimes.
I moved across to Ian and said: “This surpasses anything I have ever been to in football… only the last game at the Goldstone comes close”.
Ian smiled broadly. “It is simply amazing” he replied.
We made our way back to our seats, shaking more hands along the way. But as we approached the entrance at the end of the main stand a hefty and serious looking man in a red Wales shirt stood in our way. He looked menacing. I looked at him closely and there were tears in his eyes.
“I just want to say thank you,” he said.
He thrust his giant hand into mine and shook firmly, and proceeded to ensure he shook all our hands.
On the way back to the seats we stopped to ask a steward about the attendance. She replied: “At least 10,000!”
Wrexham lost the game 3-1, but that did not seem to matter to anyone.
Sometimes the bigger picture is more important.
Wrexham eventually won their battle, but not before the club was placed into administration and eventually relegated from the football league.
Twelve years later Wrexham FC are still languishing in non-league football, but the club is now owned by the fans as a community venture and never again will they be victim to a rogue or greedy asset stripper.