The loss for me is the beauty of a night match. That first time. The cool night air, the floodlights drawing the crowd like moths to a flame, the bovril somehow smelling stronger, the grass greener as you emerge from the bowel of the stand, the shirts somehow brighter, the voices carrying further, the words lingering, the net rippling slightly more, the feeling of that first time. Stays forever. Now, potentially lost and denied to many a youngster.
Mind you, I won't miss the yellow gloom of Vale away and the drive home muttering about another bitter to take result......