World Mental Health Day: My own journey is shrouded in defeats, but football can still save lives

For as long as I can remember, I’ve paired the most prominent moments in my life alongside the fate of my football team. Year I was married? Made it to Wembley for the Capital One cup final, beat Newcastle home and away. A good year.

The first time I lost a grandparent? We were relegated a few days before, lost 1-0 against Wimbledon. ‘96/97. Diagnosed with male breast cancer? Beat Crewe Alexandra 2-0 with two late goals on the way to getting promoted.

I can’t begin to tell you how frustrated I was that the day Lee Cattermole scored his first goal for Sunderland was the same day my divorce came through. Petty? Of course, but I’d waited a long time for that to happen. The goal, not the divorce.

Despite living in Scotland and being lucky enough to call football my job, I still hold a season ticket for the Stadium of Light. I’ve long left the city, but remain as Sunderland daft as I was when I was seven years old.

It started when I was four. Like many of my friends at school, we weren’t from a rich family. Born and raised on a council estate in the north east of England, our parents would strive to make enough to put a meal on the table and get us ticket to the weekend game - even if that meant the pay-as-you-go electric key had run out at 7pm in mid-November.

Going to Roker Park, and latterly the Stadium of Light, was our treat for the week, a place we bonded with friends, family and - more than often - complete strangers.

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As we grew from young school kids into adolescents, it became fairly apparent we’d all had our fair share of mental health issues, often exacerbated by our surroundings and the everyday challenges of childhood.

Making sure you kept it to yourself was an unwritten rule, though. Life wasn’t easy for any of us from a very, very young age, but we had all learned to keep it zipped when you went to the game. Just hope the three points would ail your week’s woes.

As young men, telling someone we were struggling felt like a sign of weakness. Quickly make a joke about it, move on and hope your team get three points to soothe whatever had a vice-like grip on your mind that week. Sound familiar? I’m sure it does.

Sadly, that meant we lost one of our best friends at the age of 18. He supported Newcastle, so we didn’t go to the game together. But I often wonder if the person who sat next to him the weekend before he passed asked him “how are you doing, mate?”. I often wish they had. Its been 20 years, but we still miss him.

Some of you may recall an incredibly powerful video released by Norwich City last year. Launched on Suicide Awareness Day, it highlighted the importance of checking in with those around you by showing two football fans watching games together in the stands, complete with an unexpected, heart-breaking ending. Viewed by 55 million people since its release, there’s a real reason it struck such a chord with so many football fans. Because so many saw themselves in it, or friends and family they dearly miss.

The truth is, some of our most vulnerable moments are shared with those we sit alongside at 3pm on Saturday, yet we rarely open up to those people about how we are really feeling. Every football club is its own community, its own bond and its own entity.

Getting up at 5am to get a coach to Gillingham to see the team lose in the 90th minute wasn’t exactly on my bucket list. But the man who drank a little too much Boddingtons on the way back and started showing me photos of his beloved dog probably never fully realised how much he changed the course of my difficult day. I remember it clear as day.

“Hello mate. How are ya? Can I sit here? Do you want to see some photos of my dog, mate? He’s a proper beaut. I can’t wait to get in and see him.”

A rare moment of vulnerability, likely brought on by a more frequent date with an eight pack of beer on a supporters’ coach. But a vulnerability that was welcomed, and as refreshing as the drink we shared.

The truth is, as a Sunderland fan, I’ve learned the path is never smooth. Like most football teams across the globe, you can’t rely on them to provide the spark that makes you feel better, alleviating an anxious mind and occasionally crippling mental health. When you really think about it, the result is largely immaterial, isn’t it?

Without the people you have sat beside, hugged, celebrated with and high-fived with after every goal for a decade-plus, those moments are just not the same. The people you sit beside are not strangers and, whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve shared some of the most difficult moments of your life with them. When you’ve reached the bottom, you’ve likely had a chat that has made you feel ‘normal’ for a moment.

And what of my season ticket neighbour, I hear you ask? We held on for the win. The full time whistle blew on a 1-0 victory and a beaming smile and expression of relief was painted on his face. As he walked down the steps, a subtle request for him to look after himself and to let me know if he needed a chat, which was greeted with a nod and a ‘you too, mate’ as he left.

We all have our pre-match rituals. Head to your pre-match pub and make sure you wear lucky socks as you arrive at your seat 15 minutes before kick-off. But how about incorporating the routine of asking ‘how are you doing, mate?’ to your neighbour and truly listening to the answer?

You just never know. It may just save a life.