The Meaning Of Promotion

It was circa 4:38pm on Saturday 6th April 2002. The scene: Filbert Street, Leicester. As a drab match played out in front of 21,447 spectators was drawing to a close, so were Leicester City’s halcyon days.

In some sort of gallows humour fashion, or with the arrogant swagger typical of the time, the traveling Manchester United support began a callous countdown. Minute by minute the United fans descended through the time Leicester City had left in The Premier League. Just as a 1-0 home defeat was impending, so was a new and somewhat uncertain dawn.

Bill Shankly once said that football was much more than life or death. He was wrong. But it is undeniable that football affects people in a way that no other sport does. Football clubs are rooted in communities, passed through bloodlines and markers in otherwise ordinary lives.

What happened in April 2002 I could not tell you. Research tells me that Beckham broke a metatarsal, Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes died in a car crash and there was political unrest in Venezuela. But an afternoon in early April is clear as day, because what happened at approximately 4:40pm that day was unspeakably memorable for all those who were there.

I cannot remember who (after all the team of the time was thoroughly forgettable - decimated by Peter Taylor so much that in place of Neil Lennon and Steve Guppy were the likes of Lee Marshall) but there was a stoppage in play for an injury. Taunted by the Manchester United fans, haunted by an awful season, people began to stand and applaud.

At first a ripple, but gradually it spread. Around the ramshackle stands of Filbert Street and to the quietest condemned corners. Within a minute the whole ground was on its feet. To a man applauding. Not for the players down on the turf, not for anything seen that season, not for anyone in particular. It was a marker, recognition of an end, to the previous six years.

The European nights, the fruitful trips to Wembley, topping The Premier League in November, top ten finishes. It was over and here, en masse, were people whose lives it had been a major part of recognising, embracing, accepting it. Poignantly beautiful.

Fast forward 12 years and within the next 7 days Leicester City have a chance to return to English football’s upper echelons.

A lot has happened in 12 years. If you ask a Leicester fan the list will be longer than you’ll care to give them to hear the answer. A new stadium, administration, a brief sojourn to the top level on a hiding to nothing, three takeovers, La Manga, ten permanent managers, relegation to the lowest level in the clubs history, Sven-Goran Eriksson, a League One title, a Frenchman chipping a penalty in a play-off semi-final, a Frenchman missing a penalty in a play-off semi-final and…. Deeney.

At times it felt as if it would never end.

As shell-shocked Leicester City fans ebbed away from Vicarage Road last season, with ‘Yellow’ blaring over the tannoy and hordes of Watford fans celebrating on the pitch the prospect of what they themselves now stand on the cusp of, there was a realisation. Leicester City could play with emotions again. That afternoon in April 2002, the relegation to League One at Stoke, that night in Cardiff when Kermorgant chipped a penalty and frittered away a season’s endeavours. None of it felt as bad as in the aftermath of those infamous 20 seconds. And everything was certainly not yellow.

To those who don’t follow a football team, that may seem absurd. It is only a game. But to understand what promotion means to a long-suffering football supporter of a team such as Leicester City requires a look beyond 22-men kicking a ball around on some grass.

Supporting Leicester City properly does not begin and end with the flick of a TV changer or the turn of a radio knob. Sitting in traffic jams on some tortuous motorway. Spending money to see them lose through lack of effort in some of the most backward places England (and Wales) has to offer. A journey to deepest, darkest North West England on a rainy Tuesday night which sees you only return home in the small hours with work the following day.

All of it. All of it is done with the hope of seeing your team prosper.

Granted, following Leicester City is not about the glory or the glamour. They will never win The Premier League. Despite four times trying they never have, and maybe never will, win the FA Cup. But the club that gave the English footballing world England’s record cap holder, a World Cup winning goalkeeper and England’s second highest goal scorer, has been away from the top table for the longest time ever in their history.

A decade has been and gone. Too long.

The footballing clichés; a new dawn, the next chapter, fresh beginnings. Whichever way you want to put it matters little. That any one fits means a lot.

In Nigel Pearson, Leicester have a manager as bright and promising as the hungry, young team he has gradually put together. The days of mercenaries Jermaine Beckford and Matt Mills caring only for themselves, of Geoff Horsfield on his last legs or of Darren Kenton and Josh Low being a stellar summer signings are gone. Just 6 points from 7 matches stand between Leicester City and promotion. That it will not be sealed is inconceivable in a club record-breaking season with no credible challengers in the chasing pack.

When it is, the question will be posed: were the pains, the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs worth it?

And just as on that early April afternoon almost 12 years ago to the day, words need not be required. Should the inevitable happen in the next 7 days, look around the King Power Stadium next Tuesday night when Leicester City host Brighton. Once again, to a man, you will see what it means.

Leicester are back.