For Patrick

Words: Liam Walsh

Images: Liam Walsh

It’s Swindon Town v Birmingham City tonight. I’m not going. And not because it’s only the Football League Trophy. 

Because Patrick, it’s five years ago tonight that you went to Tottenham v Middlesbrough in the FA Cup because you could. Wearing a coat that wasn’t suitable for Storm Brendan in the middle of January because you were 15 and because you could.

Nobody should go to football and never come home. And still, we have no idea why you died.

It’s called the Vertu Trophy now. Not the Johnstone’s Paint or Checkatrade or Papa John’s Pizza. Time drifts on. It’s 13 years now since you hid your tender Wembley tears under a Paolo Di Canio mask when Swindon lost to Chesterfield in the final.

I wrote a book Patrick. I didn’t really mean to, but I had to preserve everything so vividly. The sheer despair of losing you as much as the magic of loving you. Our stories.

Even if they didn’t always feel it, those 295 Swindon games we shared were our magic. Three trips to Wembley memorable for their neatly incremental misery: 0-1, 0-2, 0-4.

A ginger cat roaming through empty seats in the Don Rogers Stand. Winning at Leeds feeling routine. Losing at home to Bury being routine.

The pain and the passion and the mediocrity and the pride of being a proper lower league fan. You got it.

And supporting Swindon, well you deserved some excitement elsewhere of course. Millions may match your Lionel Messi shirt collection, but few will have said ‘Ronaldinho’ as one of their first words.

You loved going to the San Siro and the Mestalla, although you were as happy at Brunton Park and Blundell Park.

And most of all, there was your raw obsession with Hibernian and forever there was Liverpool, even if you saw a game at neither.

We sang ‘Sunshine On Leith’ and we sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ at your memorial service Patrick with broken hearts and fierce devotion.

We made you a logo, a heart made up of some of your favourite shirts. You spent half your time designing kits, so we did one for you.

We played a game, your mates and mine; it was unbearable without you, but I guess that’s what you’d have wanted.

Everyone was number seven. I would give anything to see you in that shirt, or to live one of those moments of being your dad again.

Going to football without you has sometimes been OK, and often not so much. Maybe I still go to find comfort rather than in genuine engagement. Or maybe 50-year habits are hard to break.

And anyway, I still howl at refereeing injustice and moan as an opponent creeps up the touch line to take a throw in. Your brother tells me to stop, it doesn’t really matter dad.

Your mum even comes to the Swindon game nearest her birthday each season. She doesn’t like the coffee much. Your sister has just taken flowers to the spot in London where you left us.

Wherever I go, I leave one of your Sunshine On Leith stickers. Hey, I finally made it to St Pauli in Hamburg; rebels in brown, outsiders with a bold identity. You would love it there. I’ve been drenched in Essen and close enough to hear the warming up substitutes breathe in a scorching Dortmund.

I’ve held my tears revisiting your last evening at Tottenham and let them fall writing ‘Red Balloons’.

Swindon played Crewe again on Saturday, five years to the day since I crawled on the road to take a picture of a ginger cat hiding under a car. That was such boisterous, life-affirming warmth on a shivering January day, wasn’t it? What a team and what a connection we felt. Some Town game for your last Patrick.

For you, that top of the league Richie Wellens team were champions in eternity. For the rest of us it’s been a desperate, tough slog. We’re fighting to stay in the league.

So sure, I’m less inclined and motivated to go. When I do, you’re with me for every corner that hits the first man, each misplaced pass that reaches no man.

For every scrambled goal and each occasional victory. For every time you’re not here to announce the team and for each ginger cat I see.

I know the 15-year-old you would have nagged me to go tonight. Whatever the cup was, whoever Swindon were playing, wherever it was.

Tonight though, forgive me, and we’ll light a single, futile firework for you instead.

One day, we’ll get to Anfield, with hope in our hearts.

One day, we’ll get to Hibs, and there’ll be sunshine on Leith.

You can find Liam on X: @liampw

Liam’s book “Red Balloons”, which is about working a way though the grief of losing his son, is available to buy here

Liam is running London Landmarks Half-Marathon in April for Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood UK.

You can donate here