Combined with the investment of wealthier supporters who could afford to put in more than £50,000 to become presidents of the club, this gathered enough to make Portsmouth the largest community-owned football club in the country, with a board consisting of three representatives of the supporters’ trust, three for the presidents, a legal adviser and chairman Iain McInnes.
The group I am with all chipped in to buy a share. All are men for whom Portsmouth goes beyond being a passion into a way of life.
Andy told me his wife turned down a job in America because he could not cope without his trips to Fratton Park; Dave, who, like most of my fellow travellers, was born on the south coast, can remember the hat-trick Mike Trebilcock scored at the first game he saw.
He now takes his 13-year-old daughter Ella, who started to watch Pompey in their glory years in the Premier League, but has continued through the long slide to their current position, 18th in League Two.
“I think we like suffering,” said Richard, who chose to support Pompey 40 years ago because his best friend did. It formed an addiction that he has never been able to give up.
The compulsion is shared by many. The average home attendance is 15,000, and Portsmouth’s takeover by people who loved the club seemed to offer a new dawn, a chance to invest money in the club and their facilities rather than line the pockets of foreign businessmen.
Yet with great power comes great responsibility.
“It’s going to be a learning curve for a lot of fans about what it means to own their own club,” said Scott just before the match.
“We’ve lost three games in a row, and a lot of people are calling for the manager’s head.”
Feelings inside Fratton Park were mixed even before the match started.
The supporters may have saved Portsmouth’s soul, but the practical task ahead of them is vast. The ground itself is dilapidated, the budget tight.
Whittingham, although a sentimental choice, had failed to prove himself.
“At this level, all the players are rubbish,” opined Andy. “It’s what you do with them that counts.”
So as the sky turned from violet to grey the mood too darkened.
Every fan thinks they can play better than their team; in this instance, they possibly could have. They would at least have had some passion.
“I’ve never known the ground so quiet,” said Richard, as we tramped home in the gloom.
Whittingham’s fate was sealed at an emergency board meeting the next day.
I had talked to chairman McInnes at half-time. “People have to realise this isn’t the X Factor,” he said, warning of tough decisions ahead. “The pressure is on at the moment and it is even greater because people feel they have a say.”
Reaction to the board’s action on the fan sites has been fierce and varied; some people agree with the decision, others regret the way in which Portsmouth, for all their community rhetoric, have failed to give their own principles a chance.
Most criticise both the timing and the fact that the club have withheld any other statement after its brusque news.
So reality bites and the dream is over.
But that does not mean the principle of community ownership is wrong. Duncan, one of my companions, has taken over both his football club and his pub this year; in both cases he has put a small investment where his heart is.
It is a principle that could apply to all kinds of things – to art galleries, to theatres, to places that give meaning to the notion of community.
Pompey are going to find the road ahead difficult. But that doesn’t mean it is on the wrong path.
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