Peaks and troughs: an FA Cup weekend full of high and lows

Plenty of people fail to understand football. The non-believers are flummoxed why a silly game dominates so many lives. They don’t grasp it so miss out on unrivalled highs but also dodge being sent to the depths of despair, often within the space of 90 minutes. 

This weekend had it all. Emotions ran away with themselves and passion burst its way to the fore without a care for perspective or hindsight. 

For me, it started at about 05:30am on Saturday when I woke up in a panic having heard the snow falling through the night. A glance outside confirmed my fears. We had had a good dumping and I assumed the game would be in doubt. This was a low. But within a couple of hours pictures surface on Twitter of the chief executive mucking in with a shovel outside the ground, battling to get the game on. I felt proud of my club and its principles.

Where else would you get that, I thought? Look at the dedication and spirit to get this game on and avoid a fixture backlog that the manager wants to avoid. A definite high point. Look at us, we’re unique.

Then reports resurface that our unique club – with its sense of what is right and wrong – wants to sign Kieron Dyer. “Kieron “flipping” Dyer” I walk around my flat cursing, much to the wife’s bafflement. 

The same Kieron Dyer who was ace about 10 years ago for Newcastle United. The same one who had a fight on the pitch with a teammate. The very one whose name has cropped up in all the wrong kind of rumours.

I thought we were building something, buying players who had the right attitude and hunger to complement our home-grown youngsters. We’re a club with a Teesside core. So signing Jonathan Woodgate is altogether different to handing Kieron Dyer any sort of contract. Perverse that we choose to ignore Woodgate’s past perhaps but that’s what we do: we’re football fans and he’s “one of our own”.

The game was on which was great. Lots of people were muttering and shaking their head about Dyer. He could yet come here and be key in the promotion push. Most of us have already made up our minds that he won’t though, that’s football.

Aldershot battled for their lives. They were well organised and weren’t in town to make up the numbers. Boro struggled and some individuals were a disgrace. The crowd got nervous and some probably expected the tie to be as easy as a game of computer football where a FIFA flick of a controller might muster a goal from nowhere.

The lowest point of the day came when Red Faction walked out after a kerfuffle in the South East corner. At this point I feel very little connection with my club as relatives and friends filed out in protest. I know they would only do this because of an injustice. Club employees are alleged to have been heavy handed. For some stewards our most passionate home supporters have become the enemy. These frustrations whirl around in my head as Boro look destined for a midweek replay at Aldershot.

Then Lucas Jutkiewicz scores, Red Faction don’t see it but the rest of us go wild until the visitors draw level and that annoying replay is back on the cards. Many walk out now, despondent, dejected and downbeat about their club.

I don’t blame them. I nearly joined them out of pure frustration. Most will have walked out because they care so much and couldn’t bare it any longer. 

Thankfully we stayed and Jutkiewicz poked the winner in. The biggest peak among a day of troughs. For a few minutes we can forget about Red Faction and the decisions that the club will have to get right or risk alienating hundreds more. We’re in the next round.

After a Sunday spent debating the previous day’s controversies all eyes were on the draw. It’s likely to be Chelsea. Emotions are stirred again. For the older generations it’s memories of the Battle of Stamford Bridge. For everyone over school leaving age it’s Wembley woe and Roberto Di Matteo. Beating Jose at The Riverside. Chelsea is a plum tie. Passion, if it’s allowed, would be all around.

Quite an exhausting couple of days really. Pride in the staff for getting the game on. Shock at a signing that goes against everything I thought we were beginning to stand for. Dismay at the club’s treatment of fans. Last gasp delight when egg was heading for face. Chelsea. Bloody Chelsea.

I turned the radio on and heard a Liverpool fan on the verge of tears. “Brendan Rodgers must go,” he said. I had a little chuckle but could sense his pain. For him and the rest of us it had been an emotional weekend. Thank goodness we’ve got a few days off.