My Gran used to go to watch AFC Bournemouth play whenever they were playing at home. She would get on the bus no matter what the weather and would be there. I was young so did not really understand too much about actually going to a football match, but she was so enthusiastic and so happy when they won that it became more than just a thing she did to me.

When I got to 18 years old I went to every home game and a few away games as well, and there was something special about that rickety old stadium and the chaotic atmosphere that would build up through a match. I remember one time the whole crowd chanting the same chant for about 15 minutes and then we scored, and the whole place went crazy.

Bournemouth were always a third or fourth division team with the occasional promotion and relegation between the two. The club was formed in 1899, under the name Boscombe, and eventually reached the football league in 1923. They reached the second division in 1986 where they spent three seasons, but eventually ended up back in the fourth division.

In 1997 the club entered administration were relegated, but they eventually moved up through another promotion. Relegation appeared again in 2008 and this was as close as the club had got to becoming a thing of the past. It was dire; people walking round with buckets to collect donations for the player’s wages, loads of debts and terrible performances put us right at the bottom of the league with penalty points dragging us down further.

Enter Eddie Howe, a complete novice in management, but a man who took us to three promotions in six years which of course meant the Premier League. We laster for five years before getting relegated, but we came back again and today we are confirmed as having qualified for the Europa League next year.

Little old Bournemouth, a club that their neighbours from Southampton, Portsmouth and Brighton have always called a ‘tin pot club’, is now a European team. It is beyond what anyone would have expected less than twenty years ago, it’s a Hollywood film and the stuff of dreams for those of us who can claim Bournemouth to be their home.

If results go well in the final game of the season tomorrow, Bournemouth could even qualify for the Champions League. That is beyond any dreams I ever had and overwhelmingly I think of my Gran at times like this.

I think about how excited she would be to see such ridiculousness from little old Bournemouth because she used to get excited by a 1:0 win over a lowly fourth division team. Alas, hers was a different time and she will not see it, but to me this is football.

Football is about local matches, seeing and feeling the atmosphere, and living every single kick and tackle. It’s not about making as much money as possible and marketing and corrupting every aspect of it to the point that it is not enjoyable anymore (take note Trump and Infantino). That is not football. Bournemouth reaching Europe is football, the kind of football we all dream of, and the football my Gran could never have dreamt was possible.

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