There are very few perks to being blind, let me tell you. Sure, you get to park a bit closer to wherever it is you’re going and people (generally) move out of your way when they see you coming with your cane (this is advisable, by the way, as the ball at the end doesn’t half hurt when it hits your ankle), but that’s about it, really.

I was registered as blind in the summer of 2021. Before my eyesight disappeared quicker than Hull FC’s fans hopes for a decent season (sorry, had to get at least one dig in), I was a supply teacher, driving about the treacherous country roads of West Yorkshire to share my (admittedly limited) knowledge with the little cherubs (shits) I was trusted with that day. Then my eyesight started getting noticeably blurrier and just got progressively worse over a few months.

We really don’t take notice of all the things we enjoy that require our eyesight if it works well. Watching films, reading books, using Twitter to find out what Derek Beaumont is complaining about that week, all things that utilise your eyesight, and all things I now struggle to do.

It really is just my luck that I lost my eyesight at a time when my team started becoming a decent side. When I first started going to watch Hull KR, I don’t think being able to see would have made much difference, as there was generally no one else around to see in the East Stand, and generally, the performances on the pitch made you wish you couldn’t all the more. Nowadays, we’re playing attractive, flowing rugby, and I can’t see it. Bloody typical.

So how do I manage? Well, the answer is with help and with difficulty. First thing first, I listen to the radio while I’m there through my AirPods. This is all very well and good, but because of broadcast delay, it usually means I’m at least a set behind everyone else, even more so if I have a poor signal. This means that I’ve had to get particularly good at recognising what any particular crowd noise might mean, so I can figure out what just happened before the radio catches up.

The other thing is my designated carer, my dad. One good thing I’ve found since I’ve been disabled is the essential companion ticket, which enables me to get a free pass for a carer with my pass, allowing me to attend games. Without this concession, I wouldn’t be able to go to games, and that would be very disappointing, as even though I can’t see, going to a game and being a part of the atmosphere does my mental health wonders. There’s so much you lose or have to adapt when you lose your sight (and presumably any other sense, but I can’t speak for any other disabled community) so still feeling like you’re a part of something can really make all the difference. I’m sure my dad wishes he sat in another section though after I’ve spent eighty minutes asking him “Have we just scored?” or “What was that?” or any other number of questions that my delayed radio commentary hasn’t caught up with.

I could watch it on TV now seeing as all games are televised this season, but I feel like I would miss something if I weren’t actually there, even if I don’t know immediately what just happened. I can see more on the TV if I’m sat close enough and it’s a big screen, but somehow it’s not as fun being at home and being able to see a little bit when compared to being in the stands, unable to see any of the matches at all.

There is, of course, still progress to be made when it comes to making the world a more accessible place. My predicament with a delayed radio is small potatoes when compared to the struggles of others really, but efforts are at least being made. Some of the bigger stadiums have their own in-house radio headsets that can be used for a nominal, returnable, deposit, for instance, which is something that could be rolled out further to more places to combat some of the delay.

I know there’s nothing much else that can be done to help me and people like me experience the game any better, but I would like people to know that it is important that we still participate in the games, that being in the stands, however little we can see, hear, or even maybe say, makes the world of difference to us. It can be a very isolating existence being disabled, and personally, going to watch rugby is one of the things that makes my life better, and I know I can’t be alone in that.

Written by Nathan Major-Kershaw (Site editor & Hull KR fan)