Deniz’s First Team

This weekend I did something I had been putting off for years.

I went to a match of Stockport County, the local team of Stockport, where I have lived for six years.

My aim was simple: to see what a matchday is like in the lower leagues in England, the place they call the heart of football; to enjoy a few hours with my friends; and to compare Germany, Turkey and England a little in that respect.

But at the end of the day I went home with more than a football match.

With my friend Türker, who talked us into going to the match, and Recep, who is like a big brother to us, we went to the fan zone first. There were people of every age. Families, groups of friends, old boys whose shirts looked older than they were, children… We even shared our table with two little supporters.

Luckily for us, the weather was nice too.

The beer was reasonably priced, the mood was cheerful.

In short, whether it was the nice weather or the good atmosphere, who knows, people were happy.

At one point the member of staff selling the beer even asked, going by my accent, where I was from. On hearing that I came from Turkey, they gave me such a warm smile that in that moment I felt a little less of a foreigner.

Belonging to a city is not just a matter of paying your taxes; you have to be human and accept that you are a part not of the city but of the universe.

Sometimes, when someone looks at you as if to say “Welcome”, you can feel very much a foreigner; sometimes, when someone doesn’t care that you are there at all, you can feel that you are in the right place. That is down to you.

Just before the match started, that is, after the beers — I’ve made a promise, mine was alcohol-free; no drinking until the birth — we went into the club shop.

There I thanked Türker and shared an important decision of mine:

Deniz’s local team has been decided.

He hasn’t arrived in the world yet, but we have decided to go to a match with him next year. I bought a kit in size 12–18 months. I chose blue, the home colour.

I think it’s a pretty smart kit.

I could even say it has more character than the shirts of many Premier League teams. I’m trying to be impartial, but that’s not really possible any more.

I didn’t want to forget this moment.

I recorded the whole day in the app I designed myself, which is still a prototype for now. I also added a reminder for next year:

“Take Deniz to his first Stockport County match.”

I know technology more closely these days; I’m interested in more than the features of a phone or the chronic faults of a car. I’m exploring what can be done with artificial intelligence and pushing past my limits, so that one day, when I start struggling to keep up with Deniz, I can at least understand what he is talking about.

Anyway...

We won the match, too.

But the best part of the day wasn’t the score.

At half-time, while people chatted and weighed up the match, over on the other side, in an area set up for children, two members of staff were running activities for them and making sure they had fun, doing their best to make the atmosphere they were in more unforgettable for them. The parents were right there, proudly watching their children, witnessing their excitement, thinking of the new memories they would make in this stadium in the future; or so I assumed, looking on from a distance.

The mums might just as well have been saying “How did we end up here?”, or the dads, “We’ve got one match, leave us that at least and let us watch it on our own.”

I couldn’t tell you, Altan; we’ll find out in time.

All that aside;

Picture a ready-made activity for a dad, for eight or ten weekends a year.

You go together.

You have something to eat.

You learn the same chant.

Maybe the team loses, maybe the weather is awful, maybe the child gets bored in the second half and wants to go home.

But you still make a day lived together more special, more worth remembering.

I can’t think of a better weekend plan than that.

Of course, that’s how it looks from my side.

Let’s see, will Mr Deniz like the colour blue?

Will he like football?

Will he be able to say Stockport County’s name properly?

I don’t know any of this for now.

But I do know this: children don’t only need good schools, good toys or good opportunities; they also need small communities where they feel safe and feel they belong.

I wish with all my heart that in Turkey, too, every child could remember football not for swearing, fighting or bad news, but for places where you go as a family, have fun, and learn to be a good person and a good sportsperson.

Maybe there are places like that, maybe we need more of them.

What I hope for Deniz is simple:

I want him to know that it is not so far away, a country where the good things he sees here can one day be carried to the other land he belongs to.

May all children multiply what is good.

May they not accept what is bad as normal.

Next year that reminder will go off.

We’ll get the kit out, we’ll pick up Türker, and maybe Deniz, at the first match of his life, will look at his dad’s excitement more than at the pitch, and watch the other people with astonished eyes.

I think that’s a good start.

With love to Arda Güler... :)