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Football & chain!

Would my footie-obsessed fiance ever make it down the aisle?


Published by: Fiona Ford
Published on: 25th May 2010

With a grin, I opened the door to my new fella. ‘Nice to see you’re wearing red and white to show the Saints your support,’ grinned Paul, 43.
I bit my lip. I’d only worn this old top because football grounds were grubby. I didn’t confess, though – he was so impressed!
From our first date, just weeks earlier, Paul had gone on about the beautiful game. ‘I’ve held a Southampton season ticket since I was 10,’ he’d beamed. ‘I follow them around the country when I can.’
‘Never been a fan,’ I’d shrugged.
He looked like a kicked puppy. ‘Saints are my life,’ he’d whimpered. Well, that had set me off panicking!
Divorced with three kids, Christopher, now 22, Jon, 19, and Hannah, 11, I hadn’t had a decent date in years, so I’d joined an internet dating site. But I hadn’t met a single bloke I was interested in… until Paul, a cable engineer.
Like me, he was divorced and had three kids, Emma, 24, Adam, 17, and Jack, 13. With his rugged good looks, I was smitten.
So I’d quickly realised if I wanted to see him again, I’d better give football a try. ‘I wouldn’t mind learning about it,’ I’d added.
Over our next few dates, Paul explained tackles, penalty kicks, and the offside rule.
At the stadium, he was up on his feet cheering and shouting throughout the game.
I’d only ever seen him that red in the face after a bit of how’s your father.
I tried to get into the spirit of it, too. ‘Go Saints,’ I called.
Truth was, my only interest was looking at the players’ bums. But that got boring.
Finally, it was over and the Saints won. ‘Shall we go to the pub to celebrate?’ I asked.
‘Brilliant idea,’ smiled Paul.
What a mistake! He spent hours going on and on about the match.
Yet Paul was perfect in so many other ways. He’d think nothing of running me a bath after my long day working with kids with additional needs, or buying me flowers. I couldn’t blow the final whistle on him.
So when he suggested moving in two months after we’d met, I jumped at the chance.
With our kids we became one big happy family, spending lazy weekends together – when the football wasn’t on.
‘Fancy going out on Saturday afternoon somewhere?’ I’d ask.
‘Can’t love,’ Paul replied. ‘The Saints are playing away.’
It was frustrating, but football meant so much to him. So I got used to spending my Saturdays shopping with my mates. Paul didn’t mind.
‘I’m just grateful you never moan about football like my mates’ wives,’ he shrugged.
To be fair, he’d been up-front about his passion for the club right from the start. And there were worse qualities in a man. As if to prove me right, to celebrate our nine-month anniversary he took me back to the pub where we’d had our first date – and proposed!
Soon, I was planning the perfect day, while Paul watched the footie. All he said was the date had to be February 13, 2010. ‘Southampton aren’t playing,’ he told me. ‘And, believe it or not, my wedding day comes first.’
But getting home from work six weeks before our big day, Paul’s face looked like someone had died. ‘What’s up?’ I gasped.
‘Well it’s amazing news, love,’ he said, slowly. ‘Saints are playing Portsmouth in the FA Cup draw.’
‘Wow,’ I smiled, understanding the rivalry of this local derby. ‘That’ll be a big game.’
‘One in a million,’ he agreed. ‘To miss it would be a crime.’
‘A real shame,’ I nodded. The penny dropped. ‘The game’s on our wedding day, isn’t it?’ I hissed.
Guiltily, he looked away. ‘I-I can’t miss it,’ he whispered. ‘The match is at 12:30pm, three hours before our wedding.’
Enough was enough. ‘If you’re even one minute late for our wedding, it won’t be just the player’s tackle you have to worry about,’ I said, menacingly.
Over the next six weeks, Paul reassured me. ‘The match will be over by 2:20pm,’ he explained. ‘Then I’ll go to the hotel, shower and go to the register office.’
Even so, on the morning I was beside myself with worry. ‘What if there’s extra time?’ I wailed to the hairdresser. ‘Or penalties?’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be there,’ she laughed. ‘No one’s so footie-mad they’d miss their own wedding!’
Really? I wasn’t so sure. Arriving at the register office just before 3:30pm… there was no sign of Paul! ‘I’ll kill him,’ I roared.
At that, he raced in. ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ he called, breathlessly.
I was so relieved. ‘How did Saints get on?’ I asked.
‘Lost 4-1,’ Paul shrugged.
Wow, and he was still smiling?! He really must be happy to tie the knot with me if he could smile through the pain of defeat.
The rest of our day was a football-free zone. As was our honeymoon in Kenya. It didn’t last, though. As soon as we were back, Paul was talking about the World Cup. ‘Just think, love,’ he smiled. ‘Wall to wall football for a month.’
Great, I can hardly wait… The life of a WAG is never easy – ask Cheryl Cole!
Julie Bailey, 47, Romsey, Hampshire