Why I Am Proud To Be a Lower League Fan

Like any outsider looking in, it is hard not to be more than a little envious of the Premiership.

The wealth, the glamour, the constant adoration—it all looks like a rather enjoyable party, one you would not want to miss. As a fan of a lowly Championship side, however, it is exactly that nightmare I have had to face most of my life.

As a result, it was perhaps inevitable that my jealousy would spill over to the many fans of clubs in England’s top league. After all, they get to see the team on TV every week, hear about the latest club news every hour of every day, and enjoy the anticipation of that next big-money signing until their heart’s content.

I, on the other hand, have to trawl the web in search of a story about my team, do a jig of delight when their name makes it into the paper, and think £20 000 is big money for any player (which, to be fair, it is in this current financial climate).

What makes it worse, almost painfully so, is that I have savoured the Premiership experience on more than one occasion. I am familiar with that sweet taste of success, I have lived and breathed it.

But if a Crystal Palace fan knows anything, it is that the good times never last.

For, as fleeting as that moment in the spotlight lasts, it really is enjoyable. The constant attention, the high-profile signings (Nicola Ventola? Unbelievable!), and undeserved put-downs from Alan Hansen all make for an exciting year.

The inevitable relegation, however, does manage to put a real downer on things. You feel like a recently eliminated X Factor contestant—what is there to live for now?

Championship sides seemingly have very little going for them—the rest of the world only care about them when the Playoff final rolls around, after all.

The adage about a trip to The Valley not being quite the same as a visit to Villa Park is—like all over-used clichés—based on more than a little truth. And, perhaps most damningly, the majority of games still kick-off at 3pm on a Saturday.

I mean, what self-respecting team does that anymore?!

I still loved it though, don’t get me wrong. I embraced the atmosphere, I saw its own unique charms. I thought the Championship was where the real work was done, where good honest professionals went out and gave it all for their club.

Let the big boys have the glamour and wealth—we had real football.

However, after the unfortunate events of the summer, where Tottenham ruthlessly stole the prodigiously talented John Bostock away from us, I really began to reconsider my beliefs.

After investing a fortune in our much-vaunted youth system, Premiership clubs were now coming in and taking our greatest prospects—for a fraction of their potential wealth.
It didn’t seem fair.

I had followed Bostock’s career since he was 13, felt the anticipating build as he neared the first-team. And just as he began to reach that milestone, he packed his bags and headed across to the supposedly greener pastures of North London.

Now he sits in Spurs’ “development” squad, years away from unleashing his formidable talent on the Premiership. And, worst of all, most Spurs fans won’t even give him a moment’s thought until he does.

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