Ipswich v Norwich matters more when you marry a Norwich fan

My family is still coming to terms with it. 

Don’t get me wrong. They like him. A lot. And Dad was thrilled to be finally getting rid of me at the age of 52 as he proudly told everyone at the wedding. (Alright, Dad, you don’t have to be that pleased). 

But there is an issue with Mark, the chosen husband. Yes, reader, I married a Norwich fan.

He can’t help it. He was born that way. His father made him that way, in fact, if we’re really getting into it. 

But still.  

‘How could you?’ said my brother, John.  

Quite. 

No signs of the rivalry on our wedding day in May (Image: Liz Nice)

The problem is that I love him, although he tests this at times. 

Early in our relationship, there was the occasion when he came with me to Portman Road to watch an anodyne match between Town and Oxford. We lost 0-1. He couldn’t stop smiling. My family and I sat together in the Sir Bobby Robson stand, looking at him with undisguised loathing.  

‘I’m happy to come and watch your team with you any time,’ he said, generously. 

‘No need,’ I replied, through gritted teeth.  

Look. What can I say? He is Norfolk born and bred and I love Norfolk and have worked among Norfolk folk for years. We always get on famously – except about the one thing.  

The canary or the Suffolk punch. You’re either one, or the other. You can’t be both. 

Alex Mathie's hattrick is fondly remembered - by Liz

I did go and watch Norwich with him once, hoping none of my family would find out. Just my luck that I was seen behind the goal by literally everyone later that evening on Look East. 

My brother shook his head sadly when I next saw him but at least I had been wearing a face like thunder in the clip. If I’d looked even remotely like I was enjoying myself, I have no doubt I would have been disowned.  

Mark and I share most of our other passions. History. Beer. Reading voraciously without the other one minding. But when it comes to football, it is best to stay away from the subject. 

Unfortunately, the beer can lead to some heated conversations. After a certain number of pints, he always harks back to Steve Bruce’s devastating goal in the Milk Cup semi final in 1985, various so-called glories committed by Grant Holt and the play off semi final in 2015, which, blessedly, I missed. 

A Steve Bruce moment I don't remember fondly but my husband does (Image: Archant)

He has no recollection of Bryan Gunn’s legendary miskick in 1996 when we won 2-1, nor the 5-0 thriller (Alex Mathie hat-trick) in 1998. Even Gary Megson’s own goal just before Christmas 1993, which gave us a glorious 2-1 last minute victory, has apparently passed him by.  

‘All history,’ he says, when pressed. 

But, as mentioned, he loves history.  

One of Liz's favourite memories - the Bryan Gunn miskick. (Image: Archant)

He has a ticking clock app on his phone which he delights in showing me from time to time which reveals how much time has passed since we last beat them.  

I have no recollection of what it says, of course, but I will admit that it is...a while.   

Despite our selective amnesia about each other’s past glories, however, we are both rubbing our hands together at the prospect of the derbies returning.  

I imagine we will be in a pub somewhere, as we certainly couldn’t go to the game together.  

‘You’re awful,’ he says. ‘If you lose, you will be vile. If you win, the gloating will be unbearable.’ 

And his problem is? 

Anyway, I’m not sure what’s to be done as I’ve married him now. 

But it will always lead to little incidents, I fear.  

'It's unheard of'. Ipswich Town and Norwich City cushions side by side (Image: Liz Nice)

For example, a man came to fit us a new wardrobe the other day and nearly passed out when he spotted the Norwich City and Ipswich Town cushions sitting on our bed, side by side.  

‘It’s just...unheard of,’ he spluttered.  

He was right. Such unity in this matter, is.  

I told my son off the other day for what I thought was him throwing something at the dog.  

‘I wasn’t,’ he said, demonstrating the Norwich City item he had chucked across the room nowhere near the hound. ‘We can’t have that rubbish in here,’ he went on. ‘Or anything green and yellow, really.’ 

I saw his point.  

Then there were the football ‘jokes’ my brother made at our wedding which I’ll admit were a little at the expense of the Yellows.  

Well, I laughed. 

And hopefully, I’ll be laughing on derby day.  

I’ve waited a very long time for this and it’s our turn.  

But if we don’t win, we’ve always got our silverware to look at wistfully. As I’ve explained to my husband, looking at one’s silverware is indeed a very pleasant thing.  

A shame he will never find that out, isn’t it? 

Town have certainly had their moments (Image: Archant)