TB: A first match and lasting impression

What I owe to Gavin McCallum

There are many reasons why I went to my first Hereford game, in the February of 2009.

Previously, as a young soul, I didn’t even enjoy football and when my dad abandoned me at my Aunt’s house as he headed onward to the Street, I would often pass on my best wishes for the opposing team, not through any malice but just because I didn’t understand why we commuted so far West every other weekend to watch 22 people kick leather out of each other. The rational part of me still doesn’t quite know why but passion, rather than a parent’s pestering has since motivated me to shout, scream and yell for the mighty Whites.

The main reason my mind was finally changed was my dad telling me that during pre-season Hereford had signed a new winger, a Canadian named Gavin McCallum, a man who was once ranked highly enough to play for his country, but lowly enough to now be plying his trade for Welling in the Conference South. How times have changed.

I’d be lying if I said the game was eventful. After scrolling through Bulls News’ archives in the hope it would refresh my memory, I was left mostly disappointed. Most comment was relief that the team was starting to stabilise back in League 2 and displeasure at the low quality refereeing. Nothing abnormal in that respect then.

However, there are some moments which do stick in the memory, most notably the utter eruption of the meadow end when Gavin McCallum kicked the pig’s bladder into the onion bag midway through the first half, from Marc Pugh’s corner. Given how their respective careers have gone, it would’ve been far wiser to admire the corner taker without whom such celebrating wouldn’t be possible but alas, the man who slightly shared my name took my applause.

In that moment I was hooked, I started playing football, and even looked at the higher echelons once in a while, where I found that not every goalkeeper found themselves diving into puddles like Adam Bartlett. It was very fortunate that Hereford won that day for had we not, I wouldn’t have been infected with this terminal disease which we call support. Not that I’m seeking a cure.

As it happens, the next game I went to was Notts County away later that month, and Hereford’s status quo was restored with a heavy 5-0 defeat. The only memorable chance the Whites had was a loose ball being chased by McCallum, only to be smothered by the young Kasper Schmeichel. As for my dad, he never rated Gavin McCallum and was far more interested in Mathieu Manset, the beast who was certainly far more memorable than my idol in so many ways. But at least mine had finally converted me to this beautiful oddity that is football.

And at the end of all of this, players come and go, money changes hands and lives evolve. But this passion instilled in me? No one comes close to taking that from me, not even Gavin.