EKAITZ SAIES

Football has a way of teaching you things that have nothing to do with football. Like my father did with me when we used to go to watch Real Sociedad play, I’ve made going to matches a tradition with my son. And over the past two weeks, we’ve been fortunate enough to watch our local club, Oxford City, claim victory in both home fixtures. But one the most memorable moment of those two Saturdays had nothing to do with the scoreline.

Last week, standing in our usual spot, we found ourselves beside a group of away supporters. Among them, one man stood out, not for his passion, but for the relentless nature of his criticism. Every misplaced pass, every tactical decision, every stumble by his own team’s players was met with a volley of condemnation. He hadn’t come to support his team so much as to prosecute them. Standing next to him was another away fan, also there with his young son. After some time, this father had clearly heard enough. Calmly, and with a composure I genuinely admired, he turned to his neighbour and said something to the effect of: he preferred to spend his afternoon shouting words of encouragement to his team, rather than constantly cataloguing everything they did wrong. It was quietly brilliant — no confrontation, no anger, just a clear and considered statement of values.

What struck me most, beyond the exchange itself, was what it modelled for the children watching on. Here was a man demonstrating, in real time, that you can care deeply about something — be frustrated by it, even disagree with the way it’s being run — and still choose to be a voice of encouragement rather than a source of negativity. It’s a distinction that extends well beyond the terraces.

Think about the environments most of us inhabit — our workplaces, our communities, our teams. In every one of them, there are two kinds of people. There are those who focus their energy on pointing out what’s going wrong: the poor decisions made by leadership, the flaws in the strategy, the players not performing to expectations. And then there are those who, even when they see the same problems just as clearly, choose to channel their energy differently, pushing for better, not just lamenting what falls short.

Neither type is blind. Both may see exactly the same reality. The difference lies entirely in what they do with it.

Criticism has its place, of course. Honest, constructive feedback is essential to growth, in sport and in organisations alike. But there’s a world of difference between feedback that builds and commentary that corrodes. One is offered in the spirit of wanting things to improve. The other is simply noise that demoralises the people around you and, over time, defines who you are.

The father in the stand made his choice quietly and without fanfare. But his son saw it. And I saw it too.

As you leave the match and return to your own environments, it’s worth asking: which fan are you?

The beginning of this season was a difficult one for our side, with more defeats than any of us would have liked. But through every one of those disappointments, my son and I stayed until the final whistle, clapping the players and staff off the pitch. I always told him the same thing: we show our support even when we think the wrong decisions have been made and the results haven’t gone our way. Because that’s what support actually means. It is the decision to remain present when the cheering is hardest to find.

Photo credits: Sam Donegan (@samphotobrookes)