So why did Dad, in his infinite wisdom, pick an away match as my baptism into Wednesdayism? The reason was because the fourth generation of Owls in our family - i.e, me - was the first one not to be born in Sheffield. In fact, I grew up in a small North Yorkshire market town, and didn't call Sheffield my home until I chose to go there for university - for one reason and one reason only.

As an exile, every visit to Sheffield - and Hillsborough in particular - was like a pilgrimage back to holy ground. We'd visit my Nana and Grandpa in Greenhill and I'd spend hours poring over the copies of the Star and the Green'un that Grandpa had saved me. I'd hoard every programme, every cutting about the Owls in the national papers and every poster that appeared in Shoot!, and go up into the attic with my radio because in one certain corner of the house I could pick up a crackly approximation of Radio Sheffield to listen to Praise or Grumble. The visits to Hillsborough (or Ayresome, or Roker, or Bootham Crescent) meant everything to me - even just hearing Sheffield accents and being surrounded by fellow Owls rather than Boro or Leeds fans would mean I'd puff my chest out at school and proudly tell everyone who'd listen that we were the greatest team the world had ever seen.

There was a smattering of other Wednesdayites in our school - most importantly our football coach, Mr Turner, who had the sense to change the school colours to blue and white stripes (as close as I'd ever get to playing for the Owls, obviously), and as I got older we'd travel together to matches, getting the train to Sheffield and standing on the Kop in a little band of Thirsk Owls. Wednesday were at their best then - Sheridan, Hirst, Harkes, Nilsson - and it was easy to be a fan.

That was twenty years ago now, and at for least fifteen of those it's been a lot harder to stay in love with the mighty Wednesday. But for most of us, being an Owl is about more than just seeing us win. It's about being part of a glorious club, with an incredible fanbase and a storied history. It's about sharing - even just in memory - moments like Waddle's free kick, or Steve Maclean's penalty, or Patrick Blondeau's...actually, forget that last one.

For me, being a Wednesdayite is about a legacy that's lasted five generations and one that I know will endure. My great-grandfather was the policeman (yes, the only one needed in those days!) on the Kop in the 1920s. My grandfather passed the love for the Owls onto my father, who did the same to me. And now I've got a three year old son, Tommy, who is in his second year as a season ticket holder, lives and breathes SWFC, and has recently learned that to wind his Dad up all he has to do is say "Daddy, I support Boo Piggies". You'll find three generations of Hoylands - all Wednesday fans - in the North Stand every home game. And one day, we'll be there to see the Owls return to their rightful place in the top flight.

I'm back in Thirsk nowadays, living with my wife Laura, son Tommy and daughter Isabella (also a season-ticket holder, but still too young to express her love for the Owls!). After a decade as a web designer, my day job is now with global computer giant IBM, and my expertise is very much in the new media/communications/IT sphere. I am also good at making tea.

I joined Wednesdayite because I believe that the fans are the club, and because I wanted to do what I could to help SWFC rise again. It's an honour to be asked to join the Board of Directors of the Trust because it will hopefully enable me to do just that.

Contact me on Twitter @sausagearms