I was hurt on Saturday, and could not explain why to myself. And then I worked it out. Good friend and TMFD editor Tim was reticent to talk about the football game we had both been to, down different ends, which was remarkably unlike him. At the time I thought perhaps it was the come down of a big week with two losses, perhaps he felt hard done by with the 1-0 Barnet win over Exeter (which would probably been fairer as a draw). But I had to remind myself that football was much more of his life, and as a fairweather fan (as I like to always remind punters) my schoolboyish carping was probably beyond the pale.

I worked it out yesterday why I felt so bad. It was not really the game that Tim was unhappy with. It was my club – so me as an extension of my club. And when I say my club, it was not even the players. And I was embarrassed for my club being so crap and saw his side. Firstly lets say that the state of affairs at Exeter, the blood-sweat and tears expended by the fans to keep it alive – is not the case at Barnet. Blood you will get on the pitch, and sweat: but even when we went down three years ago there were not a lot of tears. We are doing well, we are doing remarkably well and we do not really deserve it. A quiet bunch of fans, with a pretty tiny gate with a less than exceptional degree of fan fervor. All these are contributing factors, but probably not the main rez for Tim’s.

On Saturday we only opened one turnstile for the away fans. Exeter are well known for having considerable traveling support, and this was the week after their big televised game. And yet we only had one gate to accommodate them. In the home end I got in a good three or four minutes before the game started. Apparently the rest of my party in the Exeter end missed the first five minutes. Considering we are fleecing the away fans at eleven pounds a pop, this is bad form.

I suppose in hanging around with Exeter fans and AFC fans I am used to the principled end of the football world. But you do still identify with your club, no matter how crap. An insult to my club felt like an insult to me – which it clearly wasn’t. And it was an insult deserved. My club is by no means the worst, but it does coup away-fans in a tiny corner of the ground with rubbish sightlines and one turnstile. I doubt a supporters trust could ever really take off at Barnet, the fans are not numerous or passionate enough. I just wonder if I had drifted to another club, an AFC or Exeter type club when I was fourteen, I would not be such a lip-service, fairweather fan? It was a bit like realising your Dad was a Nazi in WWII.

(Tim will of course now post that all of this is nonsense and he was just looking forward to eating some faggots.)