After such a long time away from being a match-going supporter, was it slightly ambitious to think it would all just be like it was?

Twelve years is a surprisingly long time. That’s how long it had been since I last saw the team I watched most growing up, Plymouth Argyle, in actual live action. There’s numerous reasons for that, central to which was geography but equally important was an overall waning of interest in football and, therefore, a reduced willingness to part with cash for the experience.

The last Argyle game I saw was a Championship fixture in September 2009 at Peterborough, with Plymouth manager Paul Sturrock in his second spell at the club leading the Greens to a 2-1 win thanks to goals from Jamie Mackie and Rory Fallon. It was Argyle’s first win of the 2009/10 season and ultimately both sides would be relegated to League 1.

Fast forward to October 2021 and so much has changed for me – house purchases, changes of career, weight loss, marathons and loads of other memories wiped out by late nights and their supporting substances. In that time, I’d almost totally lost interest and energy for football – no longer a game or the never-ending soap opera it once was, now more of a corporate content factory where victory in the transfer window and social media bear pit trumps actual form on the pitch. Announce Icardi! Take the ratio, admin.

At the height of the pandemic-enforced global lockdown, many of us fell back on nostalgia to replace the hope vacuum created by an uncertain future. I spent a lot of time thinking about my favourite football memories and why they particularly stuck in my mind. Almost exclusively, my personal highlights revolved around watching matches in the flesh and sharing that experience, with friends, family and total strangers. Having televised games on wall-to-wall during lockdown was fine, but watching a series of ghost games played out in front of empty stadiums with canned audio only underscored what was missing, both from matchdays but also my own existence.

So far this season, I’ve enjoyed going to watch matches again, taking in games at stadiumMK as a season ticket holder at MK Dons. However, the ambition this year was always to re-connect with Argyle and try to see them in action whenever their away fixtures brought them close to my Buckinghamshire home. The first such match, after having failed to get a ticket within the sold-out allocation at Wimbledon, was a trip to Oxford United’s Kassam Stadium.

It was hard to know how the game would go as a lapsed, exiled fan – I don’t have a Westcountry accent so I would probably stand out a mile. I also don’t have the knowledge of the team that more committed supporters build up over years of comings and goings, so what if I seem like some kind of bandwagon jumper, especially seeing as the team are, at time of writing, top of League 1, having enjoyed a fantastic start. What might happen if I was seen as some kind of imposter, taking up the place of a proper fan among the 1,800 away fans?

I was apprehensive, nervous really, about trying to be a fan again, which is crazy really – I’m a middle-aged man who has been to hundreds of games in my time at all kinds of levels. But wanting to be a part of something, a community, and to share that experience creates a huge fear of rejection and humiliation.

Very soon it became clear that those fears were irrational and unnecessary. The game itself was a rollercoaster and was perfect for this return to being a fan – Argyle were behind early, then equalised quickly and went in at half time 2-1 up. Oxford then wasted a series of chances after the interval, but Plymouth weathered the storm and eventually doubled the lead in the closing stages.

All the emotions of supporting a team came flooding back – the disappointment of conceding early, the relief of an unexpected equaliser and the joy of seeing a game turned on its head. Then the nerves of seeing your team pushed back, waiting for the inevitable levelling of the scores and ultimately the surreal sealing of the win with the third goal. The pantomime jeering of an opposition player with the temerity to celebrate his goal and the hero-worshipping of a midfielder from Guinea-Bissau who was born the year I took my GCSEs (Panutche Camara, scorer of two goals against Oxford, in case you were wondering).

I’d expected to be something of a detached observer, quietly taking in the game and making astute observations (not that I normally do this anyway, but still). Instead, I found myself completely unbridled, on my feet from the early exchanges and joining in all the songs as best I can – it always did feel odd to me to proclaim Plymuff Argo as the greatest team the world has ever seen, not because they’re not excellent, but because my Home Counties diction struggles with the colloquialism.

Argyle’s fans are terrific. I was sat in the quieter of the three blocks, but the noisy and boisterous support on either side was infectious and it felt totally normal to be sharing the game with the elderly couple on my left and the guy on the right who was enjoying a day out with his boy seeing as his under 11s game had been played the night before.

I’d worried before the game that I wasn’t a fan any more, that I was too aloof and too distant from actual supporters to be able to enjoy the experience, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. My whole desire to get back in touch with football fandom was fuelled by nostalgia – powerful memories from my youth, shared with friends, strangers and, particularly, my parents. Football may have totally changed in those times, but it’s also exactly the same, depending where you look.

Above all else, it was a sense of normality and regularity that I took from the game – no questions about the bigger picture, the future of the sport or the potential damage being done by financial disparity and European Super Leagues. No concerns over foreign ownership, petrostate transfer budgets or games being moved to fit TV schedules – just a football match, three points and then onto the next one.

It was simple, uncomplicated and energising. I’d expected to feel like a fish out of water and for the game itself to be relatively low standard – that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Because I felt invested in the outcome, it was exciting, enjoyable and it felt like it mattered, which is something I’d really missed from my match going hiatus.

Prior to the start of the season, Argyle were expected by many to struggle, maybe even candidates for relegation after a terrible finish to the last campaign. The fact that they are currently top of the table, admittedly having played more games than those around them, just shows the unpredictable nature of football outside the ‘big six’ Premier League bubble.

Whether or not Plymouth stay in the race for promotion is unlikely but also irrelevant – just that there is the opportunity to do so is what makes the sport exciting.