By: Gary Atkins
There's nothing quite like it, is there? Standing in the King Power on a freezing February Saturday, rain absolutely hammering down, watching Leicester City play football. Well, I say standing—I'm in my wheelchair in the disabled section, but you get the point. The weather's miserable, you're soaked through despite your coat, and you can't feel your fingers. But you wouldn't be anywhere else in the world.
Why We Do It
People who don't get football always ask the same question: "Why do you bother when it's like this?" They look at you like you're mental when you tell them you're heading to the match and it's chucking it down outside. But that's exactly it—they don't get it. Football's not about sitting in the warm watching it on telly with a cup of tea. It's about being there, feeling it, living every minute of those ninety minutes with twenty-odd thousand other people who care just as much as you do.
The rain makes it better, if I'm honest. Yeah, I said it. When it's teeming down and the pitch is waterlogged and the ball's skidding across the surface doing mad things, that's proper football. None of this fancy stuff—it's back to basics, getting stuck in, fighting for every ball. That's when you see who's got bottle and who hasn't.
February Football
February's always been a weird month for football. You're past Christmas, the magic of New Year's worn off, and you're in that long slog before spring arrives. The pitches are heavy, the players are knackered from the fixture pile-up, and everyone's just trying to grind out results. It's not pretty, but it's real.
I remember going to Filbert Street back in the day when we were in League One—proper dark days those were. February matches then were something else. The old ground, barely any cover, rain coming in sideways. But we still turned up. Week after week, we were there. Because that's what you do when you're a Leicester fan. You turn up.
The Wheelchair Section
Being in a wheelchair adds its own challenges, not gonna lie. The disabled section's decent at the King Power—they've done alright by us compared to some grounds I've been to—but when it's raining like it has been lately, you still get wet. The covers only do so much, and when the wind picks up, you're getting soaked regardless.
But the lads around me in the disabled section, they're sound. We've been going together for years now. There's this unspoken thing where we all look out for each other. Someone's always got an extra poncho or a spare blanket. And when Leicester score—doesn't matter if it's hammering down with rain—we're all celebrating together. That's what it's about.
The Glory Bits
The thing about miserable, wet, cold February matches is that when something good happens, it feels even better. Last season, we had that match—absolutely pouring with rain, pitch was a swamp, and we were 1-0 down at half-time. Everyone was soaked, freezing, miserable. Then second half, we turned it around. Two goals in ten minutes, and the place went mental. Strangers hugging, jumping around in puddles, not caring that we were all drenched.
That's the glory bit. That's what we go for. Those moments when everything comes together and you're part of something bigger than yourself. You can't get that watching on the telly from your sofa. You can't get that atmosphere, that feeling in your chest when the whole stadium's singing together.
The Walk (Or Roll) Back
After the match, heading back to the car or to the pub, everyone's discussing what just happened. What the manager got right or wrong, who played well, who was rubbish. These conversations happen rain or shine, but there's something about doing it while you're wringing out your coat and your shoes are squelching that makes it feel more authentic somehow.
Down the local afterwards, that's where the real post-match analysis happens. Pint in hand, everyone giving their opinions, debating tactics, moaning about the ref. Doesn't matter if we won or lost—well, it does matter, but either way, we're talking about it. The rain outside's still coming down, but you're in the warm now, and you've done your bit. You were there. You supported the team.
It's Not For Everyone
Look, I get it's not for everyone. My ex used to think I was mad, heading out in weather like this to watch twenty-two blokes kick a ball around. But she never understood what it meant. It's not just the football—it's the routine, the community, the sense of belonging to something.
When you're in a wheelchair, a lot of places aren't really set up for you. A lot of activities aren't accessible or people make you feel like you're a hassle. But at the football? I'm just another fan. Yeah, I'm in the disabled section, but I'm there, I'm part of it, and no one's treating me any different. We're all Leicester City supporters, and that's what matters.
The Pain Bit
Course, it's not all glory. Sometimes—plenty of times, if we're being honest—we're rubbish. We lose matches we should win. We play terrible football. We make daft decisions and concede stupid goals. And when that happens on a cold, rainy February afternoon, the way back to the car is pretty grim. You're wet, you're freezing, you're narked off, and you've just watched your team lose.
But even then, even on those days, there's a weird sort of satisfaction in having been there. You've suffered through it. You've not given up on them. And next week, or next home game, you'll be back. Because that's what being a proper fan means.
Why It Matters
People talk about football like it's life and death. Bill Shankly said it's more important than that, and while he was half-joking, there's truth in it. For a lot of us, especially us working-class lads, football's one of the few things that's ours. It's been passed down from our dads and grandads. It's something to look forward to, something to care about.
When you're at the match, nothing else matters. Work stress, money worries, health problems—for ninety minutes, it all disappears. It's just you and the football. And when it's raining and cold and miserable, and you're all going through it together, there's a sort of camaraderie that's hard to explain to people who aren't there.
The Bottom Line
So yeah, watching Leicester City in the teeming rain on a cold Saturday in February is part pain, part glory. You get wet, you get cold, sometimes you watch rubbish football and lose. But you're there. You're part of it. And when those moments of glory come—and they do come—they're worth every drop of rain, every frozen finger, every miserable walk back to the car.
That's football. That's Leicester City. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Come on you Foxes.
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