Neil Dawson
UTC Legend
My dad went to the big stadium in the sky tonight, fittingly just as Solanke scored to put us 2-0 up. I’d been with him all day in end of life care but handed over to my sister so we could attend the match in his honour. We got the dreaded text on the half hour mark. To anyone wondering why three people were crying at the final whistle it wasn’t a huge hatred of QPR… to some people it’s an odd way to be come the end but most of you will get it 100%. A fitting brilliant game to end on that dad would have loved (and a crap Ref to whinge at just to put the icing on the cake)
Some of you know my dad as he was always with me. Our first game was Exeter at home in 1983 and I always loved the fact that his last was a win over Man Utd in 2019. He kept threatening to come back in a wheel chair but didn’t and I was glad in a way as I didn’t want his last game to be a home defeat to Preston or something as it would have ruined the story!!
Every big home game he did in that time and every big away game up until Burton Albion when he stopped travelling other than to Southampton. Player wise he loved Sean O’Driscoll, Colin Clarke, Jermaine Defoe and Eddie of course - whose debut he always referred to as a work of art. We had endless arguments about Supa Fletch who I liked but dad being of a certain generation couldn’t get his head around a forward that couldn’t move forward with a ball at his feet. Manager wise none of them had a clue… with the exception of Harry and Eddie, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Being Scottish and military my dad was not one for emotion and the only time I ever saw him with tears in his eyes in his life was at the final whistle with Bolton and the Premier League miracle confirmed. It was his only pitch invasion too. I remembered those final whistle tears tonight as I shed mine at the same moment.
The bonds of football are immense, passed from generation to generation…the crap seasons as entertaining story wise as the great ones… because at the end of the day we don’t go to win do we, we go to be together.
Sleep well dad. Up the cherries.
Some of you know my dad as he was always with me. Our first game was Exeter at home in 1983 and I always loved the fact that his last was a win over Man Utd in 2019. He kept threatening to come back in a wheel chair but didn’t and I was glad in a way as I didn’t want his last game to be a home defeat to Preston or something as it would have ruined the story!!
Every big home game he did in that time and every big away game up until Burton Albion when he stopped travelling other than to Southampton. Player wise he loved Sean O’Driscoll, Colin Clarke, Jermaine Defoe and Eddie of course - whose debut he always referred to as a work of art. We had endless arguments about Supa Fletch who I liked but dad being of a certain generation couldn’t get his head around a forward that couldn’t move forward with a ball at his feet. Manager wise none of them had a clue… with the exception of Harry and Eddie, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Being Scottish and military my dad was not one for emotion and the only time I ever saw him with tears in his eyes in his life was at the final whistle with Bolton and the Premier League miracle confirmed. It was his only pitch invasion too. I remembered those final whistle tears tonight as I shed mine at the same moment.
The bonds of football are immense, passed from generation to generation…the crap seasons as entertaining story wise as the great ones… because at the end of the day we don’t go to win do we, we go to be together.
Sleep well dad. Up the cherries.