Here we go again, we're on the road again.....

To most people it is just a normal Friday. To a small band of football supporters across the island, it is the first day of the season.

I can’t make the game, something which pains me more than I can even write about. Working on a project in Laois, a 7.45pm kickoff in the Brandywell and an exam at 9.30 tomorrow in Dublin meant something had to drop out and unfortunately it had to be the game.

I met someone wearing a Shelbourne scarf on Grafton Street this morning, there was an imperceptible nod and the fella shouted “Best of luck against the Langers” as he passed me by. It’s like a secret club, 99% of the population don’t know exist but for those of us that do, it is truly special.

Midway through a season, when you are driving home from getting hammered away from home you promise yourself you’ll get another interest. Something that doesn’t take over your life. Something that doesn’t mean you spend most Fridays driving hundreds of miles and meaning that your Friday night meal consists of a bag of chips from some terrible mobile outlet. Something that means that you’ll be able to answer “Yeah I’m free this Friday” instead of “Naw, I’m going to Longford for a game”.

But you know you won’t. You know that being there, to see it, means more than anything. Knowing that the craic on an overnighter in Cork is unmissable. Knowing that sure once you hit Ardee you will be home in two hours. Know that if you meet Tom the Gom and he backs your team for the League your f*cked.

This is the mental anguish of the League of Ireland fan. Once you are bitten, you can give it up. You can’t just give up on like an underperforming fantasy football team. You may be mid-table and it is an 12 hour round trip to Waterford, but fuck it you’ll go.

The first night of the season is what I imagine an addict feels when they relapse. The hit, the high and whole buzz. It has been building for weeks, you have seen snatches of the team in a friendly but this is the real deal. There may be only 500 there, but they are your 500. 500 people who feel the same way about the same thing about it as you.

It always reminds me of that scene in Fever Pitch

“Sarah Hughes: Paul, it's only a game!

Paul Ashworth: DON'T SAY THAT! Please! That is the worst, most stupid thing anyone could say! Cause it quite clearly isn't "only a game." I mean if it was do you honestly think I'd care this much? Eh? Eighteen years! Eight-teen years! Do you know what you wanted eighteen years ago? Or ten? Or five? Did you want to be Head of Year at North London Comprehensive, I doubt it. I'd doubt if you wanted anything for that long. And if you had, and if you'd spent three months thinking that finally, FINALLY you were gonna get it and just when you think it's there it's taken away from you... I mean I don't care what it is, a car, a job, an Oscar, the baby... then you'd understand how I was feeling tonight. But there isn't, and you don't, so...

Roll on 7.45pm and the start of the madness once again.