I live 238 miles from Goodison Park. That number has never dipped below its current, frankly ridiculous mark, even growing to nearly 300 during my years at university. And yet, I support Everton Football Club.
Alan Ball and his white boots are to blame. My dad, despite being born in Leyton, east London, and having no connection with the city of Liverpool, spotted him wearing them while watching Match of the Day and The Big Match in the early seventies. He was playing for the Blues, and that was that. Everton forever.
My dad has been making the pilgrimage to Goodison for almost 50 years, travelling up from Kent to witness some of the most glorious days in the club's history, and some of the worst. This weekend, we'll make the trip together one final time.
Sunday's game with Southampton is Everton's last at their spiritual home, at least as we know it. News that the women's team will move in next season and that the ground will be preserved is more than welcome, but let's not pretend that this isn't goodbye.
Against Ipswich Town a couple of weeks ago, my dad claimed he'd "be alright" - another way of saying he wouldn't cry - during the Grand Old Lady's farewell fixture, but I'm not so sure. Despite the beauty of our new stadium at Bramley-Moore dock, leaving Goodison Park is gut-wrenching.
