One thing about this country is that we know how to queue! Well, apart from when a new check-out till opens in Tesco, then it’s whoever gets there first. Right from our early days we have had to queue. We had to queue when we were in lines with our class, waiting to go into school. We queued for school dinners. We queued at the bus stop. We queue at supermarkets. Sometimes we have to queue at the bar – although usually, whoever is in the bartender’s eye line gets served next – not every barman can
be as aware of their customers as I was! ‘Sorry mate, the guy at the end of the bar is next.’ We are so used to queuing, we just do it, no-one complains.
Of course, we have to queue to get into the match, and no amount of tinkering with how we get in will change that. Before a big game in the 70s and 80s, we could queue for ages before the gates were open, just to make sure we got in. Because of course, it was a pay-at-the-gate kind of affair. Queuing for a bus used to be a bit of a social gathering, and if you stood in the queue for the same bus every day, you got to know somebody. The Hollies even wrote a song about it.
How many can remember the time when all you needed to get into Roker was a few coins, which you paid at the turnstile? Because it was the norm, you usually had the right money. If not, the gateman had his coins in little piles, so he knew how much change to give you. The queue in front of you would disappear quite quickly, and you would chat to the people around you in the queue – although I don’t think anyone wrote a song about that! I still remember the clicking noise as you pushed through the turnstile – and you were in! If sounds could be recorded from your past as a sort of historical diary – that turnstile clicking would be in my timeline. Then, if like me you went into the Fulwell End, you were faced with that bank of steps to climb, and once at the top you could look down at the ‘stage’ – the green arena. Well – green for early in the season – often it was just soil! But I mostly recall the beautiful green surface always gave me a buzz.
After I was older, and got a ‘proper job’ – I got my first season ticket book at Roker in 1989. There was a separate queue for season ticket holders, to guarantee you got in, and so also we didn’t have to talk to the plebs any more! This of course continued when we moved into our sparkling new Stadium of Light. We had a book of tickets, and you had to look up at the gate entrance to see what number match it was (I seem to recall they didn’t follow numerical order, less chance of counterfeits I guess, or being able to give it to someone else in advance). You’d tear the relevant ticket out and give it to the gadgie on the gate. This time you had your own seat as well, unlike my Fulwell End ticket, where I could stand where I wanted, although that wasn’t always where I finished up at the end of the game, due to the sway of the crowd. Happy days! The season ticket book used to arrive at the start of the season, with a little gift like a key ring, and a thank you note. I hoped I’d one day get an invitation for a pint or a cuppa round at the manager’s house – but it never happened! At the SoL, the early season ticket books came without a gift or a note anymore, but they were fancy looking things. A nice padded white booklet was the first one I seem to recall. I still have them in a shoe box upstairs.
Then things started to change. Paper became plastic – one card like a bank card, that you treasured in your wallet, as it was probably worth more than what you had in your bank account. Then came the ‘brilliant’ idea of tickets only on mobile phones. Instead of giving it maybe a trial at one or two parts of the ground, or with fans who wanted to try it, it was introduced and implemented before most of us knew what was going on. There was a bit of an uproar amongst some older fans, and they were granted an ‘old fashioned’ card, as long as they queued at the SoL ticket office on a particular day. In the rain I seem to recall. Still, we’re used to queuing. We were told it was going to become the norm everywhere. Fine, but why did it just happen? I have a Mag friend who didn’t even have a mobile phone, and he reported back to me that just like at the SoL, there were only two or three people on hand ready to help people. You could always talk to somebody else in the queue. I’m all for progress, and I wouldn’t count myself as a luddite, but I still maintain that for speed of entrance alone – I’d bet anyone that a queue of people with cards would go down quicker than a queue of people having to scan the code on their phones. And whilst I’m on this tack – if ever someone these days lost their mobile phone, contact numbers, bank cards et al. . . oh dear.
We still have to queue of course, and as I have just indicated, it isn’t any faster than the gadgie who used to collect our money at the turnstile. We still have to queue for a pint. I’m not sure you could call it ‘queuing’ to get into the bogs – but there is that still too. But when you walk into the arena – the sight is still a one to behold. The grass is always green, and for this season at least, it certainly isn’t greener on the other side!
