My first visit to Starks’ Park with my dad – I wish we had gone sooner

It was a weekend afternoon in the mid-1990s, and my dad was managing my wee brother’s T-hall football team ‘Argos Thistle.’ My mum and I went along on the back of a High Street trip to What Everyone Wants to show a wee bit of support, turning up just before the end of the first half to see my brother being ceremonially kicked off with a red card.

The crowd on our team side went epic, shouting at the referee and as I’m always a team player, I joined in, asking if the referee had travelled on the other team’s bus to the game. It was at that point my dad, ever the diplomat, suggested Mum and I skedaddle before we joined him on the sidelines.

So it was with some surprise I found myself joining the crowds marching from The Links up to Starks Park for the play-off against Morton on Saturday.

As a Langtoun lass, I knew about ‘The Rovers’ and the access to training Raith Rovers Community Foundation offer kids through friends posts on Facebook. Supporters from what I gathered were loyal, enthusiastic, and blue-blooded.

Walking up the stairs, I followed a flow of local folk who needed no directions, unlike myself, who was asking my young nephews to keep me right with what happened on the pitch. Taking our seats, I was assailed by a mix of Bovril and pies and hot chocolate as Fatboy Slim’s ‘Right Here, Right Now’ got louder as a palpable air of excitement fill the air the closer it got to kick-off.

Throughout it all, a drum played, setting a tribal staccato rhythm as crowd next to us moved as one, and little by little we joined them. The crowd spoke as one with a collective ‘oh!’ as a goal was missed and we jumped to our feet in triumph when Rovers scored.

I have lived in the town most of my days and I could not help thinking I have missed something vital in our town. Looking around the sea of blue tammies I saw generations of families sitting together with wee toddlers in Rover tops, to dads and daughters, couples, friends, and neighbours getting together, bonding over a shared passion for their team.

And it meant more because it was my first time at a game with my lovely dad, a regular attender over the years along with my Uncle Peter. It was something we talked about doing ‘someday.’ Looking around me I felt emotional because I wish we had gone sooner, and I held his hand he held mine, as the clock ticked down to the 90th minute and a mutual clapping dance was done on the pitch and the stands with a one all draw.

Leaving the seats, the crowd moved to let fellow fans out, friendly and joking as they bonded over the result. My dad bumped into people he knew, as you always do in the town, as we walked back to the car and joined the footie traffic.

Days later, I cannot help but reflect on the big community family that attend games hail, rain, or shine at Starks Park, and I was once again reminded how special our Kirkcaldy community is. In the midst of this wave of people on an emotional day, I felt welcomed.

For its worth, this non-footie footie says the first penalty should not have been allowed and my days arguing with referees are not over just yet. I am looking forward to next season already.