Stopharage wrote:

It was my son's 9th birthday in December. My wife booked a kids' play centre party for a Sunday and he went in his new Vardy away shirt, that he'd asked for as a present. For once his purple Schmeichel kit was left in the bottom drawer.   We got there and he went off with 10 of his mates to climb, tumble, crawl, hide and generally run around this massive in-door play area. He's a great kid and I couldn't wish for a better son. I know most parents think that, but he's a sharp cookie, has a kind heart and is well thought of by others. 30 minutes into the party, him and a few mates came over to me and said that a group of lads had surrounded him and started taunted him, saying 'Vardy is shit', 'Leicester are fucking rubbish' and so on. He's quite tall and these kids were a foot shorter and a couple of years younger and he didn't think it was right to retaliate so came to tell me. He showed me who they were and they were 4 little oiks who were being unpleasant to lots of the kids there; one was wearing a Spurs' Kane shirt. We were top of the league at the time so you can have some understanding for 'banter' towards opposing fans, but from 7 year olds and on my son's birthday it really pissed me off. I asked him if he wanted me to go and have a word with the kids' parents but he said he'd deal with it. Without the use of force, bad language or his larger mates he went up to the kids and told them they shouldn't be swearing as his younger brother was around and he didn't want him to hear those words. The kids stopped giving him and his mates grief, finally realising that they were being dicks and that my son could have smacked them one if he'd have wanted to.  All throughout this ridiculous season, I've had the thought that maybe through some huge slice of luck and if the stars aligned, then my son would be rewarded with something special and that in some hubristic way that unpleasant Spurs fan would get their just rewards.  When I was at school, countless times I was treated the way my son had been. "Leicester are shit" became a frequently heard mantra throughout primary and secondary school. No-one else supported them. Why would they ? I was in a South London school, everyone supported Liverpool, Chelsea, Arsenal, United or Spurs. No-one else seemed to enjoy the skills and delights of Steve Thompson, Mark Draper, Muzzy Izzet, Mark Wallington's porno 'tache, Gary McAllister, Paul Dickov, Julian Joachim and countless others who only began to exist when they moved to other clubs.  Being a Leicester fan has been a rewarding experience over the last 30 years. For every relegation, there was an exciting promotion. For every dud manager (cheers Holloway), there was a great (Martin O'Neill will always have a place in my heart). There were City treasures such as Steve Walsh and sworn enemies such as Steve Bull. There were moments of true heartache (that play-off semi against Watford, when Knockaert missed a penalty and then the Hornets went straight up the other end) and moments of pure joy (that last minute Claridge winner at Wembley). There were times when I couldn't be prouder of being a Foxes fan and then times where I was ashamed of some of the players (Wise and the fire extinguisher, Neil Lewis and violence, the Thai debacle).  But nothing compares to today. Watching that last 10 minutes with my eldest son was magical. The final whistle went and we were both in tears for a good few minutes. I sincerely wish that every fan could feel what I'm feeling right now. For the last 30 years, I knew Leicester would never have a chance to win League 1 (then Premiership). We're not big enough, there's too much money in football and other teams would outspend us 20-fold. I'd consigned myself to never experiencing a league championship, like my dad and grandfather before me.  My football supporting dreams are complete. If I'm lucky enough to live the next 40/50 years, I don't care for success and repeating this level of achievement. We have this wonderful, amazing, magical year which will forever be remembered and to have shared it with my son is an experience I will never forget and always cherish. For an event like this to happen is almost utterly unbelievable; to have it happen to your own team is just mind-boggling.  Whatever the opposing football adage is to 'sick as a parrot' then that's exactly what I am, Brian.

Stopharage wrote:

Being born in South London and growing up as a Leicester fan wasn't always fun and games. Although there was the odd Man United top along the way (largely down to football adoration of Jesper Olson) it was Leicester all the way. We've had our share of shit players (Akinbiyi chief amongst them), shite managers (Holloway) and shite sponsors (ind coope). I had to suffer the slings and arrows of abuse from fans of the 'big boys'. Chief amongst these were Chelsea fans and this is where my dislike of that club comes from (Funk aside).  It's been a bittersweet love affair. 'Why do you support them?', I'd sneeringly hear all the time. It was great to be able to tell people that not only was my dad's family from the area, but he'd also been a Leicester player in the past. He'd been in with a shot of playing in their FA Cup Final team in the 60's, but then Len Glover was passed fit. It was always a pretty amazing thing to tell your mates when they were ripping you apart for supporting a team from 'up north' and at times were languishing in the Championship. Turned out it was all a lie, my old man had been a competent youth player but never made it to Leicester; he just people he had. Was pretty galling when I found that out; I felt that I'd be a knowing participant in his great lie.  My love for the club was undimmed though. The O'Neill years were wonderful and we won two League Cups, got into Europe and had a great time. Some fans gravitate towards the pact wingers or the hotshot striker but I was always one for the deep lying ball playing central midfielder. Gary McAllister, Steve Thompson, Mark Draper, Muzzy Isset were my favourites. And then came Esteban. Wow, that guy could play. He would float through games whilst the hurly-burly Premiership fracas happened all around him; where other players had milliseconds to think on the ball, Esteban had enough time to polish his boots, pull up his socks, check his Apple watch for a message from the wife and then get on with playing an exquisite ball. He was a Leicester great and he was only there for one season. And now we have a central midfield partnership of Kante and Drinkwater. Kante has been immeasurable this season; his metronomic interceptions and simple yet intelligent passing demonstrating his incredible reading of the game. Drinkwater has got back to the very high standards he set himself in our Championship winning year and must be given an England spot. How United could do with him back.  This season has been special though, but not primarily because of the success. At the start of September, my eldest had his first game of the season. He'd trained and prepared all Summer for this game and looked sharp. In the warm-up, he bent his finger back (he's the keeper) and was unable to play in goal. Having your kid miss the game they've prepared so much for is heart-breaking. His finger was taped up and the manager put him on pitch. He scored 2, made 3 and was MOTM. When needed he plays in goal, but is now the second top scorer on 15 goals from midfield. Another case of a parent waffling on about their child's achievements, granted. But, his increased enjoyment on the pitch has also awakened even greater thirst for football off the pitch. He wakes up in the morning and checks all the football news immediately. His maths skills have been furthered by his inquisitiveness of transfer fees, points scores, goal differences etc. Football videos on Youtube have replaced Minecraft videos as his viewing preference. He goes to sleep in his Vardy away shirt or his purple Schmeichel kit. His pocket money goes on Match Attax cards. Futsal on a Monday, Club training on a Tuesday, School Team training on a Friday, Game on Saturday. As his love for The Beautiful Game has grown, he's also got his little brother even more engaged and involved. My youngest has swapped his midfield role and has become a keeper, which he's excelled at.  As I've shook my head in amazement at Vardy and Mahrez's goals, they've been there watching, giggling, punching the air and revelling in a season of wonder. I drove my eldest home from football this afternoon and we listened to the game on the radio. It got to 0-1 at half-time and we stopped off to get some lunch. 35 minutes later we got back in the car and I couldn't bring myself to put the radio back on. Man City would have scored; probably that little magician Aguero. My son put it the radio on and we clearly misheard. '3-0 to Leicester'???. They said it again. We both looked at each other. My son's mouth was wide open in amazement and joy, eyebrows raised. My eyes welled up, thankful that I was experiencing this magical period with my sons.  Whatever happens with the rest of the season I'll always be so thankful to the squad that have given us such amazing memories. I'm not convinced we'll win it, there always seems to be a sting in the tail with these types of scenarios. But, I'm now starting to be confident that we'll get a Champions' League place and that would be some achievement. These are the days of miracle and wonder.