Wolves and Stoke blur some lines

Wolves blogger Tim Spiers wonders whether it's possible to have a 'second team' as he recalls his flirtation following the fortunes of Stoke.

I'm often told that I support Wolves to the point of obsession.

I can see where people are coming from – I, as many of you do, will give up entire Saturdays travelling hundreds of miles to watch my team and, even if they lose 5-0, I will be back for more seven days later.

Some would call that an unhealthy addiction but I like to think of my support as an undying, unstinting predilection, like that of a faithful border collie to its owner no matter how often the mutt gets kicked up the backside.

Not many of my friends, colleagues and Wolves-supporting acquaintances are aware, though, that it could all have been different had a certain team 30 miles up the M6 managed to snare my heart back in the early 1990s.

You see, for a while back there, my loyalty to all things gold and black was put to the test by a brief flirtation with Stoke.

Now before you scroll straight to the comments section to proclaim me more of a turncoat than Carlos Tevez crossing a picket line, hear me out – there's acceptable reasoning behind this heresy.

In my book, your football team is decided for you by where you grow up, which is my case was Wolverhampton.

Yes that's right, any glory-hunting Manchester City supporters reading this, football fandom isn't about following the team who's got the most money, greatest players or best prospects of winning the league this year.

But a close second to geography is going to watch the team your dad supported – in my dad's case, Stoke.

Actually it was a bit of both, because my dad was born a Potter but, having moved to Wolverhampton for job reasons, was now fraternising with Graham Turner, Steve Bull et al but still making regular trips up the M6 to his spiritual home.

And thank the Lord above he chose to move to Wolverhampton – other job offers at the time included one from Grimsby, something which I still have nightmares about to this day.

But, no, Wolves and Stoke were his teams, so more often than not on alternate Saturdays we made regular visits to Molineux and the Victoria Ground, albeit never missing a Wolves home game.

Ah, yes, the Victoria Ground – now that's what I call a proper football stadium. If you're too young to remember it, or football grounds of that ilk, then you really missed out.

Located near the town centre, it had wooden seats, tightly-packed fans, a huge home standing terrace and was one of the oldest grounds in the country – you could smell the history.

When a Stoke goal was scored the place actually shook which, as a wee nipper, was an intimidating experience to say the least.

You can stick your flat-pack Ikea bowls like the Keepmoat Stadium, the Ricoh Arena and even the Britannia Stadium where the sun doesn't shine, for all I care.

Bland, characterless arenas the lot of them, completely devoid of heart, soul and history. But the Victoria Ground, well that was different.

The atmosphere at the Britannia is fairly fierce but nothing compared to this grand old ground, led by the famous Boothen End.

Stoke had a fairly decent side back then, too, managed by Lou Macari and with some great players such as Mark Stein, Nigel Gleghorn, Mike Sheron, Vince Overson, future Baggie Larus Sigurdsson and Kevin Keen, formerly of this parish.

They beat Manchester United in a League Cup tie in 1993 and, three years later, were a whisker away from the top flight, losing narrowly in the play-offs to Martin O'Neill's Leicester City, who were destined for greater things.

So while Wolves were always my main team, with Molineux as my church and Bully as my God, it was fun to follow a second team, which only became a problem when the two teams played each other.

The first such occasion I recall was in 1994 when, with the Wolves allocation at the Victoria Ground sold out, me and my dad perched in the home end and I actually had to sit on my hands when Paul Blades – playing as a right wing-back I think – scored.

The following season we were in the right part of the ground to see Bully score a blistering half volley to cancel out Kevin Keen's opener, in what was his first game for Stoke since leaving us.

It's one of my favourite memories as an away fan – the rush of adrenalin was incredible as I got totally swamped by a few thousand delirious Wolves supporters.

Then 12 months further down the line came a very bitter-sweet experience at Molineux – Wolves miserably lost 4-1 at home with Dean Richards ending up in goal but, as Stoke were the victors, the blow was softened.

I believe this kind of questionable behaviour was far more commonplace back in the 1950s when people would watch Wolves one week and West Brom the next, which certainly doesn't happen these days, or no one admits to it at least.

But I'm sure most people have another team whose results they look out for, perhaps a local lower league or non-league side – I would be interested to read your comments about that below.

As for my Stoke flirtation, well that fizzled out towards the end of the decade, coinciding with their move to the Britannia.

Me and my dad only went to the Britannia a couple of times as home fans, which was never the same as going to the Victoria Ground and, by the time Stoke came back up to the Championship in 2002, any favouritism towards them had expired.

Unlike my dad, who will always have an affection for the team he supported as a boy, I wouldn't even say they were even my 'second' team now.

If Wolves, God forbid, were ever to cease to exist there is no other club I would follow other than a Wolves Mk 2.

Still, even though they are awful to watch these days, I'm pleased to see the Potters doing so well, especially in Europe where they are flying the flag for the Midlands.

Despite the antagonism between our respective sets of fans, they are actually quite similar to us, down-to-earth people in a manufacturing area which has fallen on hard times.

On the football side they have got a great history – they had Stanley Matthews to our Billy Wright – and like us are trying to slowly but surely make their way in the Premier League, a far cry from the cloth cap days of the 1950s, 60s and 70s.

I'm reliably informed by a Stoke-supporting friend that, with local rivals Port Vale in the doldrums, they hate us more than any other Midlands side.

But, as much as I hope we thrash them 5-0 tomorrow, you won't hear me booing when the away fans belt out a stirring rendition of Delilah.