I am often saddened by how little noise is heard from our away following on the radio.
It makes me think that, when I make up one of the vocal hundreds who follow Albion on tour, what eardrum smashing noise we seem to be making under the corrugatted steel shelter of some old ground, is not heard by the fans back home in Sussex.
Yesterday evening however, with Seagulls World on whilst doing the washing up, the clarity and force of our choir-like support was so intense, so powerful, that it was hard to follow the commentators.
The euphoric Al-bi-on chant was imposing, more like a rousing call to arms on a medievil battlefield, the aggressive and provoctive Shall We Sing A Song For You? embarrasing the famously quiet home support, whilst the tear-jerking, chest-thumping, lung breaking We Are Brighton proving a powerful and evocative hymn. The latter, one of the only songs performed in near perfect unity, the change of key in the repeated second verse is the single most epic part of any Albion poets repertoire.
The picture shows the infamous depth of The Valley's old terraces, a fine old ground which proved a pleasure to play at.
It makes me think that, when I make up one of the vocal hundreds who follow Albion on tour, what eardrum smashing noise we seem to be making under the corrugatted steel shelter of some old ground, is not heard by the fans back home in Sussex.
Yesterday evening however, with Seagulls World on whilst doing the washing up, the clarity and force of our choir-like support was so intense, so powerful, that it was hard to follow the commentators.
The euphoric Al-bi-on chant was imposing, more like a rousing call to arms on a medievil battlefield, the aggressive and provoctive Shall We Sing A Song For You? embarrasing the famously quiet home support, whilst the tear-jerking, chest-thumping, lung breaking We Are Brighton proving a powerful and evocative hymn. The latter, one of the only songs performed in near perfect unity, the change of key in the repeated second verse is the single most epic part of any Albion poets repertoire.
The picture shows the infamous depth of The Valley's old terraces, a fine old ground which proved a pleasure to play at.
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