One of the weird things about being in a long distance relationship with AFC Wimbledon is the temporal anomalies it causes.

So, here’s the thing. Your 3pm is my 9am. That’s 9am on a Saturday, mind you, when I’d normally like to sleep in after a long week, but can’t because English football beckons.

Most of you had been up for a while by the time you got to the ground. I pretty much wake up just in time for kick off.

And let me tell you, Geoff Hawley’s voice first thing in the morning will put hair on your chest.

For you, half-time refreshments are pie and tea (or beer if you’re not at the ground). For me, it’s toast and coffee.

You wear whatever will keep you warm in the November chill. I pretty much stay in my pyjamas.

If the result does not go Wimbledon’s way, the day’s almost over for you anyway. I still have the whole day ahead.

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When the Dons score you can scream until your throat goes horse.

I have to bury my face in a pillow whenever something thrilling happens.

You see, I live with people who don’t share my enthusiasm for the game and don’t appreciate being woken up by yelling. 

So in a lot of ways, the divide in time and in space makes my experience as a supporter much different than yours. Some would say it’s inferior. I don’t agree, necessarily, but I see where they come from.

But I would definitely recommend visiting the colonies during the season and listening to a game abroad on WDON.

Taking breakfast with your football will certainly give you a new perspective on the game.

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