What I learned when I became the voice of Firhill

David Forrest finds out what it’s like to operate the PA system for Thistle

What does it mean to be “the voice” of a football club? Perhaps they are the club captain in post-match interviews, or the manager navigating another presser? Maybe they’re the club chairman, or the admin releasing press statements on the website?

Last Saturday, I got the opportunity to become the literal voice of Partick Thistle, becoming the PA announcer for the Jags’ game against Greenock Morton at Firhill.

A while ago, I chatted with Thistle’s programme editor, Tom Hosie, who explained to me what kept him doing it. He knew he would never play for Thistle on the park, but felt that writing the programme allowed him to do his bit for the team. It gave him an opportunity to give back to the club that had given him so much in return.

It’s a philosophy I can get behind. Despite having the sharpest elbows in the Central Belt, my 5”8’ height and knackered knees prohibits me from ever pulling on the red-and-yellow as a centre-back and fulfilling the life dream. Over the years, I have written, podcasted, and volunteered my time to help out where I can for the Harry Wraggs. Getting behind the microphone to do the tannoy seemed a logical next step in that journey.

When I got the nod, I knew I would have a job on my hands. The stark reality of the task at hand and the responsibilities in front of me was made even clearer to me on a trip to Coatbridge. With Thistle’s free day in the League Cup coming on a Saturday, I made my way to the old lady that is Cliftonhill Stadium to watch Albion Rovers take on a St Mirren XI.

Immediately, I knew I was in trouble as St Mirren caught both Rovers, and the announcer, napping from kick off. They raced forward down the right-hand side and scored seconds after kick-off, with the announcer still lowering the volume of the pre-match music and muting his microphone. Immediately sprung into action, the man in the gantry was forced to make an unexpected move…

“Goal scorer for St. Mirren… I couldn’t tell you who as I can’t see the number on the back of his shirt.”

With no team sheet and the vague nature of youth/reserve sides in these friendlies, the man behind the voice never seemed to get himself off the ropes. Further goals from “another one whose number I can’t read” and “one of the guys on the far side of the pitch” saw the young Buddies run out 3-2 winners… that was unless you believed the man on the PA at Cliftonhill.

“Full time at Cliftonhill. Final score - St Mirren 3… Albion Rovers 15”

It’s a funny gag which, hands up, got a smirk out of me, but also would irritate me if I was an away fan or had to deal with it on multiple occasions. One could argue that the final score is possibly the one piece of information everyone in the stadium should know without help from the PA operator, but it hammered home the responsibility I had.

Fans rely on you for information. Goal scorers at the far end, opposition substitutions, attendance figures. God knows when I am writing match reports, I lean on every word they say to ensure accuracy. But now, I am the one making the call… who polices the police in this situation?

I sit in with the week-to-week duo of Derek “Del” McLaughlin and Alan Brown for the League Cup tie against Queen of the South to do some recon and get a grasp of what I’m meant to be doing. It is a bewildering array of Spotify playlists (plural), contractually obligated scripts, and complicated technical equipment. There are various playlists for different occasions, all including songs, silences and pre-recorded announcements to allow a seamless transition as the moment dictates. As you’d expect, I would not have access to these playlists or pre-recorded WAV files. They were all locally stored on Del’s laptop, which would not be there as Del was away seeing Oasis in Edinburgh that day.

I am given lots of handy hints and tips by both of them about what to do and how to make it run seamlessly. A good writer would put one or two of these in about now to give you a peek behind the curtain and offer practical advice. I am not able to do this, because naturally every one of these pointers dropped out my brain the second I left Firhill like a soggy-bottomed Scotch pie.

Over the next ten days, I am not ashamed to admit I spent way too much time practicing reading out team lines to “Insomnia” by Faithless as I tried to time it perfectly to line up with the break at 2:18. I assume that everyone who takes the mantle spends time doing things like this. I am wrong in my assumption.

I end up speaking to previous announcer Callum Bell, who took time out of his jetsetting between Luxembourg and Vienna following Dundee United around Europe to give me advice - as well as the former voice of Petershill, Vinny Ferguson, who has announced both Thistle’s men’s and women’s teams over the last few years.

Everyone I meet seems pretty universal in their words of wisdom. They all tell me their worst blunders on the mic - including one where Aaron Muirhead was accidentally subbed off with a “womp wooooomp” trombone usually reserved for the crossbar challenge after hitting the wrong sound effect. None of them, though, have been defined by their mistakes. No one remembers if you said the wrong sub’s name three days later.

To use a footballing analogy, it’s like taking penalties. Clear your head, take your time, pick your lane, and stick to it. Much like a penalty taker, the second you try to overanalyse it, you get in your own head and it falls apart from there. Ultimately, it’s all about confidence and belief.