Last month I took the overground to sit in my season ticket seat at the best football club in the country, in my home of north London. I sat with the middle-aged men I’ve learnt to love over the past three seasons, watching a team I’ve loved since I was a child and celebrated a buoyant 3-1 win over Brentford under the sunshine.
So how come, 30 minutes after the final whistle, I was surrounded by police officers, sobbing my eyes out in a Transport for London office at Seven Sisters?
I’d say there’s always a sense of nervousness getting on the packed overground after a game, no matter if we win or lose. The trains come only every 15 minutes, the crowd gets frequently kettled into the small station, and being o…