Dave Roberts - 32 Programmes

When Dave Roberts and his wife take the momentous decision to move to the USA, he naturally assumes that his treasured collection of 1,134 football programmes will be accompanying him on the plane. Wrong. In no uncertain terms, Dave is informed that space is at a premium and he will have to whittle his precious hoard down to what will fit in a Tupperware box. But how can any rational fan possibly choose between Norway v. England and Crystal Palace. v Man Utd?

As Dave relates the story behind each of the 31 (yes, 31) programmes he selects, they stir memories of times gone by, evoking bittersweet reminders of how far hes travelled. From the excitement of a boys first game, through crushing teenage disappointment both on and off the field, to the strange places life can take a man, a football fans world is never simple. And Dave would never have predicted the chain of events that lead to the final, 32nd programme and a homecoming that would bring a lump to the throat of even the most hardened midfield destroyer.

32 Programmes is a brilliant, funny, charming and heart-warming tale of an obsession. But it is also a story about the passage of time and the true meaning of family, friendsand football.

I have a theory that the male of the species is programmed (sorry) to collect things. I had a wardrobe full of various collections by the time I reached my teenage years: oven-dried conkers, football cards, Matchbox cars, stamps, paper clips (dont ask), fossils, Captain Pugwash cartoons clipped from the Radio Times, and marbles. There was even a short-lived flirtation with bus tickets, which ended in humiliation when I proudly showed them to my unimpressed schoolmates. But these were mere test runs, honing my craft before discovering my true passion.

Football programmes.

A collection generally starts with a single item, and for me that was the programme for Fulham v. Manchester United in September 1964, when I was nine. It was a simple black-and-white affair made up mainly of blurred action shots and ads promoting cigarettes, beer and horse racing tipsters. Todays equivalent is more likely to be full colour, with advertisers trying to flog you expensive cars, airline deals and financial services and nowhere near as exciting.

It didnt take long before I was hooked, buying two programmes every time I went to a game: one would be used for notes on the match, the other would join my collection. Over the years, I learned everything I could about them, and was surprised that theyd been around since the 1870s, although these were basically team sheets. The most astonishing discovery was that a 1923 Cup Final programme the football programme worlds equivalent of the penny black would set you back around the same as a decent second-hand car. Im just glad I never had to choose between the two.

As my collection grew, so did my understanding of why I was doing it. I loved being able to relive games at any time, as well as loosen memories of personal milestones Id reached, especially during my formative years. It was as though I owned a part of every game Id been to.

Then, in late 2008, my wife and I decided to move to the US. The plan was to stay with her parents for a while, while we found jobs and a house to rent. We decided to put most of our stuff into storage until we found somewhere permanent to live and take only what was absolutely essential. I assumed she would see that my programme collection fell into this category, but alarm bells started ringing when I saw her approaching as I was carefully placing them in a suitcase.

So how many of these were you thinking of taking? she asked.

All of them, I replied, surprised that anyone could think otherwise. Theyre my football programmes.

And where are we going to put everything else? she demanded, as though she was asking a perfectly reasonable question.

Well, do we have to take all those clothes? I suggested.

Her look signalled to me that the answer was yes.

What about these, then? I said, holding up a thick file. Theyre just papers, arent they?

Well, I guess we could leave our passports, birth certificates and bank papers behind if it means youll be able to take more football programmes.

My initial joy at this response faded rapidly when I realized she was probably being sarcastic.

It was eventually agreed that I would take a Tupperware container the size of a Dan Brown hardback and put as many programmes in it as I could manage, without risking bending or creasing. The problem was that, according to my extensive testing process, it only had room for between twenty-five and thirty-five programmes, depending on thickness. My collection numbered 1,134 (serious enthusiasts are sticklers for precision) spread over a dozen shoe-boxes.

I would therefore only be able to take the ones that meant something really special, from the programme of my very first match to the one signed by the greatest player in the world. Some of the choices (like these) were easy, but you cant possibly know the true meaning of angst unless youve been forced to choose between Norway v. England (1981) and Crystal Palace v. Manchester United (1972). After a restless night, I decided on the latter, although Im still not sure I made the right decision.

Going through each of the 1,134 programmes brought back a flood of nostalgia for simpler times. Some I hadnt read in years, and I was surprised that the sights and smells from those games were still so fresh in my mind. Although I had started out with the intention of simply taking the programmes that were the most valuable, my criteria slowly started to shift. It was the ones with the most dramatic memories, both on and off the field, that were making the cut.

Finally, with just a few hours to go before our flight, I had narrowed down the most important programmes in my life to thirty-one, which filled that Tupperware container to the brim. Since moving, I have added one more to the collection one I never thought I would see and which means more to me than any other. But since this book is in chronological order, Ive saved that until last.