am 14 years old, scarf wrapped to show just half of the club’s crest through my zipped jacket, standing a third of the way up the terrace of the Hammersmith End at Craven Cottage. With every passing season, I’ve been creeping back a few more rows of concrete terracing. On each step, I get a little bit closer to the depths of the stand from where the sound of singing – I have occasionally given myself permission to join in – is coming.
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