What would my dad have made of it?
On Tuesday I experienced a couple of emotional moments, when I thought of how he introduced me to a life following this beautiful team, and how far it has come, taking me along for the ride in the process.
My father started watching Wrexham as a child during the Second World War. Indeed, it must have given him a very false impression of what he was getting himself into!
With very relaxed registration rules as a matter of necessity, teams were allowed to select anybody they chose as long as they named them that morning.
The league, of course, was not officially recognised: essentially it was a massive friendly tournament, not only because the lax ruling on eligibility, but because it was clearly impossible to guarantee a full programme of games.
Fuel rationing was a part of this, but there were also grimly prosaic reasons: Old Trafford, for example, was bombed and unusable.
Wrexham benefitted massively from the possibility of selecting anyone based locally if fancied a game. That was because the Hightown barracks was a major training post for the army, so many of England and Wales’ great players were based there for a time, and we could take our pick!
My father, who would complete the circle by living in Hightown for seven decades himself, therefore got to watch a remarkable, free-wheeling side which featured the likes of Sir Stanley Matthews and his compatriots.
As a consequence, he would see us beat the likes of the Manchester and Liverpool clubs on a regular basis. He would a heck of a shock when the real football started and he found himself watching a mediocre Third Division North team!
My thoughts flew to him as I walked into the spectacular Pele Soccer store on Times Square yesterday.
Wrexham had launched our new home kit there that day, and walking into the store I was greeted by an astonishing sight. The entire entrance hall, a substantial space, was given over to us!
On the wall, a video played which featured faces from the current men’s, women’s and powerchair teams, fans and ,wonderfully, Wayne from The Turf. It also featured nostalgic shots from the past, and one caught my eye.
It was black and white footage of The Racecourse from the air: it looked like it was from some time in the 1950s. I couldn’t help reflecting on my father.
What would he have made of all this glorious insanity, of how far our little club had come?
The stadium he fell in love with, a love passed on to me and then my son, a venue he spent countless hours in, was flashing up in New York City, and the world loved it!
You could step straight of Times Square into a store given over to Wrexham! Remarkable!
I thought of him again that night at an excellent event hosted by the Fearless in Devotion podcast. As the evening drew to a close, the Declan Swans blasted out their anthem, and “It’s Always Sunny in Wrexham” took on a new, nostalgically emotional meaning for me.
Hearing Scoot singing about “Moss and Brynteg” in the heart of Manhattan wasn’t just a crazy, mind-blowingly moment.
He was bringing the latter, my father’s birthplace and home as a child, to the Big Apple.
Again, what would dad have made of that? What was I supposed to make of it? The world has gone gloriously batty, and it moves me enormously and helps me to understand my journey, my life, and what is important to me that little bit better.
And I was there to see it, and to share it with the most happily eclectic mix of special people. My cousin’s son, Leighton Cox, who chronicles our adventures for “Welcome to Wrexham”; my co-commentators Mia Roberts and Andy Morrell, two of the best people you could dream to share anything with and wise counsels for me as I continue my life-long endeavour to learn all I can about the game; a mixture of the loveliest people you could imagine, united by a love of Wrexham.
What would dad have made of it? What would he have thought about me flying to Poland sat next to Mickey Thomas, who scored the first goal I was ever present for, although I didn’t see it because my dad’s love of cutting things fine meant we were walking up the steps of the old Mold Road Stand with our backs to the pitch when he struck in the first minute?
We’re fortunate to have poets like Scoot and auteurs like Rob and Ryan to put words and images to this incredible time in our lives. Throughout my dad’s support of Wrexham, that sort of history hasn’t been collated in the same way.
The feelings I experienced in New York were the point of “Welcome to Wrexham”. It mines those deep connections between place and self.
It invites you to embrace optimism, to understand the shared qualities we have with others, and accumulate good people around us to share that journey.
Sociologists point to how football fans see themselves as representing their club, and vice versa. That concept was writ large in Manhattan.
How could I not think of my father when I was confronted with so many links to a fine man who shaped my values and ideals.
He even condemned me, unknowingly, to four decades of misery, interspersed with occasional glory, although that is all being made more than worthwhile now!
That idea of representing Wrexham, my family, my identity, surged to the surface when I experienced New York’s love of the thing I feel such passion for.
I’ll feel it again when we take the field at Yankee Stadium to face Liverpool.
What would my dad have made of that?
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