I remember my formative years as a Gashead as if they were yesterday. Going with my Dad in his Escort estate (with the D.E.R. logos removed from the side window) to Eastville, parking up by the park, walking through the underpass below the M32 and across the muddy car park to reach the North Enclosure. Wearing my treasured blue and white scarf that my Nan had knitted for me, I sat on the wall surrounding the dog track and watched the teams come out and warm up. Pre match entertainment was a few old 45s, usually supplied by Replay Records, and Ray Kendall reading out any team changes from the sides printed in the programme. Halftimes were a few more records (often repeated from before the match) and watching someone stick up numbers on the half time boards situated behind the goal. Goals were celebrated by a cheer and a chorus of ‘Goodnight Irene’. And do you know what? As a 9-year-old, it was fantastic! The roar and singing of the Tote End on my right, a smattering of away fans to my left and the wit and repartee (although I had to ask Dad about some of the words on the way home!) of the North Enclosure behind. I could have stayed for hours.

Now I’m probably seeing all of this through rose tinted glasses but I, nearly 30 years later, fail to understand why British Sport has to adopt the Americanisation of our games. Football is by no means the worst offender (that prize has to go to Rugby League post-Murdoch), but every game now has to appeal to a ‘family audience’. As a kid I got enjoyment from the atmosphere and the 11 men in Blue and White shirts and I’m pretty sure that for a majority of youngsters it would be the same today.

Football does not need the following:

• Mascots - A bloke dressed in a funny costume is not the smiling face of the football club or something the kids can relate to, it is still a bloke in a funny costume. I have yet to see a single ground where the mascot actually adds any value to a matchday experience. It doesn’t help that at Rovers Captain Gas has usually (with the honourable exception of Che Wilson’s sister) resembled Mickey Evans after 12 pints and a curry. Thank God that he’s never been at the mascot Grand National! In other parts of the country, most notably at Swansea and Hartlepool, mascots are bordering on local celebrities. For the love of God, why?
  
• Music played after a goal – Thankfully this abomination has yet to materialise at the Memorial Stadium. Let us all hope that it never does. When the goal hits the back of the net I do not want to hear ‘I Feel Good’, the woo-hoos from ‘Song 2’ and especially Tom bloody Hark. As an aside, when it came out, Tom Hark was cack compared to The Jam or The Specials. It hasn’t improved with time. No, I want to hear a roar from the crowd, Nick Day calling out the name of the scorer and that’s it. In a masochistic kind of way I enjoy hearing the opposition fans celebrating when they score. It helps me to wallow in pity a little longer.
  
• Cheerleaders – Sorry Blue Flames but compared to the stuff dished up in the USA it’s a bit, erm, amateur. And I mean that in every sense of the word. A dozen post-pubescent girls with a couple of pom poms wearing outfits that, quite frankly, are kind of dodgy. If we must have that kind of thing at the Mem can we please have a stipulation that any participants are at least 18 years old?
  
• Half Time ‘Entertainment’ – Some of the stuff we have witnessed over the years beggars belief. For example, that bird who finished 6 th in Fame Academy, those two twats from Big Brother and, most memorably, Michelle Thorne. All have one thing in common – in the words of a well-known member of the West Enclosure; ‘You’ve never made it!’, although in Michelle’s case she made it in a different field of ‘entertainment’. Get an ex player or a ‘proper’ celebrity to do the Helpline and/or the 50-50 draw by all means but let’s leave it at that please.