NOVPUBDate: Thursday, 25 December 2025Location: Valley Parade Function Hall
Snow dusted the parking lot outside Valley Parade like powdered sugar, soft and thin and clinging to the cracks in the asphalt. Under the orange glow of the streetlights, cars idled with clouds of exhaust curling upward into the night, parents bundling kids out of backseats, players arriving in smart coats and holiday ties instead of tracksuits.
Warm light spilled from the windows of the function hall, breathing life into the dark December evening. Inside, laughter buzzed between the decorated tables. Christmas trees stood tall in every corner, their branches heavy with claret and amber ribbons spiraling downward, ornaments shaped like tiny Bradford kits swinging lazily under the air vents.
Old classics hummed softly through the speakers—Bing Crosby fading into a remixed pop cover—giving the night a strange, cozy hum. Kids raced between tables, clutching candy canes and mini footballs bigger than their heads, giggling with the wildness only sugar and Christmas could forge.
At each table, a card gleamed with a handwritten family name. Holloway. Ibáñez. Obi. Kang Min-jae. A tiny slice of home tucked into the football world.
Near the far wall, the club's longtime kitman, Barry, wore a red velvet suit several sizes too large, a full white beard slipping sideways every few minutes as he ho-ho-ho'd and handed out small presents from a giant Bradford-themed sack.
Jake Wilson paused just inside the door, coat dusted with snow, a rare stillness in his chest.
Emma squeezed his hand, Ariel tugging excitedly at his other. Their daughter's boots crunched softly over the threshold as she pulled them into the glow.
"Look, Daddy! Look at the big tree!" Ariel chirped, eyes as wide as saucers.
Jake smiled without thinking. Not the half-smirk he wore on matchdays. Something real. Something that belonged only to moments like this.
Ethan, taller now, lingered a few steps behind them, hood down, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, pretending casualness he didn't feel. His eyes flickered constantly to the players—big brothers and distant heroes all wrapped in one tonight.
Families mingled easily. Wives and parents and children and partners leaning into conversations, laughter weaving through the room like a loose thread.
Several players made their way over when they spotted Jake.
Barnes, in a reindeer jumper so ugly it looped back around to charming, shook Jake's hand and winked at Ariel. Richards handed her a little Bradford scarf wrapped in a ribbon, making her giggle and clutch it against her coat like a treasure.
"She's our lucky mascot," Richards said, winking at Emma.
Paul Roberts drifted over, a drink in one hand, Michael Stone in tow, deep in some debate about transfer windows and fixture congestion. Jake gave them both a nod, shared a few words—nothing formal, just enough to satisfy the itch of work before Emma nudged his side.
"Tonight, you're a dad first," she said, smiling knowingly.
Jake surrendered to it without a fight.
He watched Ariel run toward Santa Barry with the wide-eyed wonder only kids could summon. Saw Ethan finally crack a grin when Walsh ruffled his hair in passing. Saw his family settle into the heart of the noise and the light.
And something inside him, usually so wound tight it hummed, unspooled gently.
Luca Northbridge stood stiffly near the drinks table, wearing a suit that fit him like he'd borrowed it from an older cousin. He shook hands earnestly with player after player, bowing slightly even though no one expected it.
Dylan Ford hovered awkwardly at first, hands stuffed into his pockets, before Rasmussen and Walsh dragged him into a quick FIFA match on a portable console someone had set up in the corner. Within minutes, he was howling with laughter, Walsh throwing faux tantrums as Ford snuck in a cheap goal.
Malik Soro, sharp as a knife in a midnight-blue suit, earned mock cheers and applause when Richards announced him the unofficial "Best Dressed," Kang Min-jae clapping loudly and teasing him about putting the rest of them to shame.
At one point, a waiter tripped, sending a tray of glasses sliding. Ford was there in an instant, steadying the mess without hesitation.
The room erupted into a chant, players pounding on the tables with mock-seriousness.
"Sign him up! Sign him up!"
Even Jake found himself laughing into his cider.
Later, Northbridge nervously approached Taylor, blurting out questions about dealing with fans and pressure. Taylor leaned down slightly, serious, treating the teenager like an equal, speaking in the quiet, heavy voice only real experiences could forge.
Jake saw it all from the corner of his eye and tucked the memory away.
The future of the club was here tonight. And it was good.
Dinner plates cleared. Coffee cups stacked. Kids dozed in chairs or played under tables. The music dropped to a lower hum.
Jake stood slowly from his seat, lifting a modest glass of cider, clearing his throat without needing to bang a spoon against a glass.
The room turned toward him almost naturally.
He spoke simply. Direct. Like always.
"Family first. Then football. In that order."
A few nods. A few small smiles.
"We fight, we bleed, we sweat together every week. But nights like this..." He glanced at Ariel, still clutching her scarf like it was spun gold. "Nights like this remind us why we do it."
He paused, letting the weight of it land.
"For the people who believe in us. Even when we lose. Even when it's easier not to."
He raised his glass higher.
"Merry Christmas. Enjoy every moment."
The applause that rose wasn't loud. It wasn't raucous.
It was real.
A sound you carried with you.
Kang Min-jae dipped his head slightly in a rare moment of solemnity. Ibáñez clapped once, slow and thoughtful. Walsh and Rasmussen grinned wide but didn't crack a joke for once.
Jake sat back down and Emma squeezed his hand under the table.
Secret Santa gifts followed, laughter bursting with every bad pun and terrible wrapping job.
Obi received a T-shirt reading Born Offside. Roney unwrapped a miniature karaoke machine and immediately declared war on everyone's eardrums.
Jake, Emma, and Ariel posed for a family photo near the biggest Christmas tree—just as Roney photobombed them, leaping into the frame with antlers on his head. Ariel shrieked with laughter, clinging to Jake's leg.
Across the hall, Ethan talked animatedly with Walsh about trials, about maybe—just maybe—joining the Bradford academy full-time next year. His voice held a hope Jake hadn't heard in it for a long time.
Slowly, families drifted out into the night, arms full of scarves, footballs, and sleepy children.
Jake stood near the door, thanking each person personally. A handshake. A clap on the shoulder. A nod.
When the last family disappeared into the snowfall, Jake stepped outside for a moment, the cold biting fresh against his skin.
Snow floated down again, soft and endless.
Behind him, Valley Parade slept under a dusting of white.
In front of him, a future unfolded—not perfect, not easy, but real.
Jake pulled his coat tighter around himself and followed his family into the night, footprints trailing behind him, clear and steady in the snow.
