My love of American football is similar to thousands of others of a similar age in Britain. Born in 1975, I turned eight just after Super Bowl XII in 1983 and the sight of these bizarre looking sportsmen looking like Lego astronauts running around on the telly was an instant hit. At home in rural Norfolk, the dose of American football shown on Channel Four at 6pm became a regular part of Sunday teatime.Family members were given lists approaching Christmases and birthdays and would send items over from the US or parents would use mail order coupons in the magazines we picked up from newsagents.
In the days before Sky, it was the big Sunday night draw and the big playground talking point the next day. We would pretend to play at being Dan Marino and Joe Montana – playground quarterbacks looking to pass a flat orange Wembley Trophy football to whoever wanted it.
Each January we would brag about staying up and watching the Super Bowl, though how many nine and ten year-olds actually had the will power to stay up until 3am in January with the heating probably turned off I don’t know.
Like most boys I changed the team I supported almost every week. Most football fans in Britain have their team chosen for them by family history or where they live. Though of course, we could choose any American football team we wanted.
Due no doubt to Miami Vice and the fact that it was a popular holiday destination, Miami Dolphins were a common favourite and I had a soft spot for them too.
My bedroom was typical of those across the country. Mixed in with football posters, my walls had a Dallas Cowboys poster I got one Christmas, I slept in a San Francisco 49ers top that was sent over from a family member in the US and I got books on it every Christmas and every birthday.
I used to pretend to be Dan Marino on the landing of my parent’s house. I’d take a big ball of rolled up socks, pump fake to Nat Moore and then complete a dramatic fictional pass to Mark Duper. The whole play would end with me jumping head first onto my bed into an end zone made of pillows and teddy bears.
That brief Dolphins spell ended in the summer of 1985. I lived in Hingham, Norfolk and just before the new season started in September a party of teachers and other important people from the village went over to the US.
Their destination was Hingham, Massachusetts which was celebrating its 200th anniversary. A descendent of Abraham Lincoln had come from Hingham, Norfolk and the party were welcomed like royalty over in the States.
Our headmaster, Paul Planken, returned from the US with softball bats, books, photos and above all, a list of pupils from a school in Hingham, Massachusetts for us to write to.
During that 1985 season I wrote to my pen pal, Michael Ditullio who, like the rest of his class, was a big New England Patriots fan. Michael sent over Patriots posters, newspaper clippings and trade cards.
The rest of my class received similar items and as one we followed the Patriots through the autumn of 1985 as this team with a pretty dismal recent record advanced to the play-offs.
When they beat the ever-popular Dolphins in December ’85, it was like a changing of the guard for most of us kids. ‘Wow, they beat the Dolphins!’ we collectively thought in astonished amazement. We knew the Dolphins were a good team. They had Dan Marino. They were in the Super Bowl the other year.
What did that make the Patriots?
And so in late January 1986, three days before the Challenger space shuttle blew up over Florida, a little corner of Norfolk was cheering on the Patriots as they were humiliated in Super Bowl XX by Chicago Bears.
I followed the Patriots through the grim late 1980s and the dreadful early 1990s, attended the American Bowl game at Wembley in 1993 and as the sport moved into the 21st century developed a new found love of the game which has included NFL games in the US, London and plenty of British American football action.
