The Football Neutral: Match Eight – Bristol Rovers vs Chesterfield

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This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

It seemed seriously busy around the Memorial Stadium, and whilst I’ve enjoyed my recent excursions to smaller stadiums I realised this would be the biggest crowd that I’ve been a part of for a while.  Parking was oddly easy, a couple of hundred meters away.  I walked down to the ticket office and bought one for the Blackthorn End, which I’d been reliably informed was where the best atmosphere is to be found (thanks Twitter).

There must be something about the air in Bristol that strips the years away from my tired face, as just like my trip to Ashton Gate I was asked if I was over 21 when buying my ticket.  You have no idea what kind of spring that puts in my step, nice lady in the ticket office.

Most of the fans seemed to be crammed into a bar behind the Blackthorn End, watching Palace vs Arsenal on the TV.  The windows were steamed up from the sheer humanity pressed up into every spare corner, and drinkers spilled outside, their pints getting gradually diluted by the steady drizzle.

Once inside the stadium, as always I sought out sustenance.  I found a concession stand that had no queue because they’d run out of hot water and everyone seemingly wanted Bovril.  I’ve never ever met anyone who enjoys Bovril.  Do people only drink it at the football in social situations?  I bet nobody ever drinks it at home when they’re just sat on the sofa watching the telly.  They’re the hot beverage equivalent of a Mojito.

You can’t buy burgers or hot dogs at the Memorial Stadium.  You can only buy pastry, ideally in the pasty format.  I feel that I was being judged by the guy that served me for choosing a steak and kidney pie.  Even better, for a mere £5 I got said pie, a bottle of water (emptied into a cup, grrr), a massive bag of crisps and a huge twix.  Everything had started rather well.

The terrace seemed empty until about two minutes before kickoff, then the steamy bar emptied and all of a sudden we were all very snug.  A cacophony of noise accompanied both teams arrival, and it enabled me to see where the Chesterfield fans were – sat up the other end, to the side of the pitch without any cover.  The stand behind the other goal seemed to be topped off with the remnants of a marquee, but the rest of the ground seemed busy and certainly decent enough to host football….

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The Football Neutral: Match Seven – Guiseley vs Histon

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This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

I eventually arrived in Guiseley 10 minutes after kickoff.  Parking was easy, all of twenty meters from the stadium.  I casually wandered up to the turnstile.

It was closed.

I panicked.  The feeling of embarrassment of getting to a game and then somehow missing it was replaced by genuine anger at the turnstiles being closed so bloody early.  I knocked.  Nobody answered.  I presumed that was that, so went for a walk.  As luck would have it I passed another turnstile (marked “away turnstile for segregated fixtures”) that was still open.  I walked in and disturbed the nice chap who was watching the door.  He was engrossed in the game.  He let me in, took my money and gave me some sweets.

He noticed my accent, and we got chatting.  Initially he thought I was a Histon fan (seriously, without looking on a map or Wikipedia, YOU have a go at a Histon accent. No clue) but I told him about my project and he was an utter joy to chat to for a few minutes.  He explained to me that I’d visited at a tough time for the club, only one win all season and six defeats in a row.  As he said that, Guiseley nearly scored with a cheeky long range effort that bounced in front of the Histon keeper and nearly foxed him.  As we chatted, Guiseley certainly didn’t seem like the sort of club that were struggling – no long ball, lots of decent passing and attacking intention.

My new mate told me of the best player he’d ever seen play for the club: Frank Worthington.  I explained that I’m a Leicester supporter and he’s also the best player my Dad ever saw play for us (beating Muzzy Izzett into close second place).  Apparently Wortho was well into his forties when he rocked up at Guiseley and was still an inspiration.  Would have loved to have seen him play at that level, socks rolled down and a rakish mustache accompanying his mullet….

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The Football Neutral: Match Six – Hereford United vs Dartford

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This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…Having checked the fixtures on Friday it became clear that I had to travel a long way to watch a game on the Saturday.  With those bloody annoying women in my head as I returned to my hotel, it seemed that Hereford was the best bet for a game.  I’d been there before, watching Leicester draw 0-0 in the FA Cup 3rd Round with them years back, a game that I remember fondly for two reasons.

Firstly, upon arriving we parked in the official car park.  It was a cold and frosty day (when has 3rd round day ever been anything else?) and we spotted the one and only John Motson clambering onto a precarious TV gantry wearing his trusty sheepskin.  We shouted at him, and as he turned to wave at us he slipped and nearly fell 30 feet to the floor.  Me and two mates nearly killed one of the greatest commentators the game has ever known.

The second moment was only seen by me, and I am still protesting years on that this actually happened.  The away end was next to some traffic lights that we could see from the height of the terracing.  At some point during the first half, a cattle truck pulled up at the lights.  Whilst everyone else was distracted by the game, I found myself drawn to the truck and like magic, one sole cow pulled itself up at the head of the truck, looked at me, and then lowered itself down again.  I nudged my friends to see if they’d seen it and they haven’t believed me since.

I expected to attend Hereford vs Dartford with Nathan, but his chicken binge the previous night had left him feeling quite unwell.  As I set off – on a dreary day, missing home and my fiancee terribly – I realised that Hereford was halfway home and the temptation to skip the game and my gig that night was quite high.

I also cursed the League of Wales for not having enough teams in South Wales, although I can kind of understand it with the dominance of Cardiff, Swansea and now Newport.  I really wanted to watch Merthyr Town play, but their game was scheduled for Sunday.  So with no choice, a 120 mile round trip it was.

I parked in the same car park where I nearly killed John Motson years before, a car park that on this day was more full of shoppers than football fans.  Crucially, nobody apart from me seemed interested in paying for their parking or sticking to the assigned bays.

The matchday experience started well, as I had the best burger I’ve had in a long time at a game.  Thinking about it, this should be expected, with my pre-match treat no doubt made of a descendent of the cow that winked at me a decade ago.  It did, shut up…

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The Football Neutral: Match Five – Hastings United vs Brentwood Town

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This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…fun to see at halftime were the noisy Hastings supporters who had take up residence behind the goal they were attacking in the first half… move to the other end for the second half.  And what excellent fans – clearly love their club, singing songs and getting into the game despite the lowly level and the small crowd.

It was interesting to see how many kids were at the game too, often with Grandparents.  From what I saw Hastings is an excellent place to take along a family, although you’ll have to explain the swearing to the little ones.  Not from the crowd, but from the players if the Brentwood lads are any kind of example.

The poor, frightened referee could barely settle in to the second half when he was forced to send off the Hastings number 6 for a two footed challenge.  It seemed feisty but not exactly evil, but the Brentwood players surround him screaming “fucking do something!” and “what the fucking hell was that” seemed to make the poor lad reluctantly pull out the red card to the chagrin of the home crowd.  Credit to the lad sent off though, he didn’t whine and merely trudged away.

The worst offender amongst the Brentwood lot for swearing was their manager, bearing in mind I could hear him and I was at least 50 yards away.  No wonder his team play a certain way if he’s their example.

Hasting sacrificed the tricky yet tubby (honestly, I’m thinner than him and haven’t played football for 10 years) Jordan Woodley for another centre back and Brentwood tried to push on.  Rolls and Love picked up bookings (the latter was wonderful, he seemed almost in tears as he exploded with rage, got booked, then carried on whining).

Hastings’ Pogue had worked hard and was brought off – to be replaced by the exciting young Brazilian.  First impression of Rodrigo Branco was that he needs to eat.  A lot.  Maybe take some off the plate of his fitness coach and Jordan Woodley.  There was a buzz around the ground, anticipation of the samba football that young Rodrigo would provide.

He received the ball for his first touch and he was all of a sudden clean through… he went to round the keeper and…

… fell over.

Everybody laughed.  Including Rodrigo, to be fair.  And we all thought that’s it, he’s obviously not very good.  Brentwood went up the other end and Steven Carvell pulled one back after a shot cannoned off the bar.  The man next to me nudged me and said “It’s like Guernsey all over again” which I presume he means a recent game, not some kind of bank heist he was involved in…

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The Football Neutral: Match Four – Aldershot Town vs Wrexham

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This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…I’ve noticed when choosing games so far this season that it always just geographical proximity to my weekend’s worth of work that has me gravitate towards one team in particular.  Whilst much of this week’s choice was based around having to do a kids gig that finished at 2pm in Windsor (more on that in a bit), once I started looking at the fixtures it was easy to make a decision.

That said, picking Aldershot Town as my team of the day is fraught with issues.  Firstly, one of my best friends (and business partner) Jon is a Woking supporter.  He hates Aldershot with a burning passion, or as much of an incandescent rage that a polite man from Surrey can muster.  Secondly, they were up against Wrexham who happen to now be my geographically local club.

OK, they’re not the closest club to my house in North Wales (that would be Airbus UK Broughton FC from the League of Wales) but I drive past their ground every time I have to head south and that makes them feel closer.  Plus I’m of Welsh heritage, so living there means I should probably take at least a passing interest in my nearest club and I remember them knocking Arsenal out of the cup years ago when I had a paper round, the Sunday People on that cold January morning resplendent with a picture of Mickey Thomas’ toothy grin.

So why did I pick Aldershot Town?  First off, it’s easy to want to go and support a club for the day that has risen from the ashes after financial disaster.  Secondly, when I was 13 years old and really getting into football, my PE teacher (Mr Hayes) was a former Aldershot player and staunch supporter, and on the day they went bust he told a load of us about it and genuinely had a tear in his eye.  At that stage in my life I had decided to support Leicester City, but still wasn’t at the point where I was that emotionally attached to my own club.  I remembered that years later when I cried my eyes out as they turned off the floodlights at Filbert Street following our final game there, a friendly against Celtic.

As an aside, it is not acceptable to cry on the last day of the season when your team is relegated.  Why?  Because you’ve been awful all season, that’s why you’re in trouble. How is it a surprise?  The only time it is acceptable is if you think you’re safe and then have the rug pulled from under you like those Sheffield United fans at Stamford Bridge years back.  The rest of the time it’s just showing off for the cameras or being unnecessarily soft…

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The Football Neutral: Match Three – Dagenham & Redbridge vs Exeter City

Pitchside!

Pitchside!

This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…Northern Line to London Bridge, Jubilee Line to West Ham, District Line to Dagenham East.  Londoners don’t half complain about the tube, but I bloody love it.  You can hear the tutting and sighing when the locals have to wait 3 minutes for a train, but where I live we only have two buses a week, and they stop in the middle of  nowhere and you have to ride a sheep to your final destination.

I was having to concede defeat in the whole coat-wearing saga, as I was now so hot it was making me feel faint.  I took it off and stood by a window vent on the District Line train, trying desperately to suck in a bit of cool air.  Then laughed to myself a bit, because when I went to games with my Dad as a kid he was obsessed with me wearing a coat, and I would do whatever I could to not wear one.

We’d leave for games and he’d do a check on how many layers I was wearing, and the only way I could ever avoid having to wear a coat over my City shirt (at the time it would have been a bright white Diadora managers jacket that was just hideous) was to wear two t-shirts, then a long sleeved t-shirt, then a jumper, then a fleece then my City shirt stretched over the top.  I’d struggle to get through doors.  And this was for pre-season friendlies in July.

I could see two Exeter fans in the same carriage as me as the tube got closer to the east end.  One was wearing an Exeter shirt, the other just a scarf.  As we approached Upton Park they both hid their stuff – shirt chap put on a hoodie and scarf boy tucked it away.  They talked about West Ham in hushed tones, shuffling nervously in their seats.  I can only presume – as they were only young lads – that they have been raised on a diet of Danny Dyer films and TV shows and think that the areas around the Boleyn Ground is a dangerous war zone where all away fans are taken to one side and beaten with socks full of snooker balls.

I went to a City vs West Ham game once where I went to the game on the tube, wearing a blue retro shirt, surrounded by West Ham fans and not a thing was said apart from one chap wishing me good luck.

At another station, three more Exeter fans got on the carriage.  I knew they were Exeter fans because despite not wearing colours or acknowledging their fellow two fans on the train, they had the accent and then proceeded to try and act tough by putting their feet up on chairs (THE HORROR!) and swearing.  A couple of tough looking Polish chaps got on the tube and the next stop and they immediately started behaving.  I’d get more annoyed about them, but they could only have been 18, once again there’s the potential Danny Dyer influence and more to the point, I used to act like that in my youth.  I was a proper prick…

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The Football Neutral: Match Two – Shrewsbury Town vs Coventry City

SPIRIT OF 79!

SPIRIT OF 79!

This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…I set off for the game from North Wales fairly late on, forgetting that the A5 between Oswestry and Shrewsbury has more roundabouts than some kind of playground supplies warehouse.  Parking was easy though, as I massively cheated.  Kev let me park on his drive and it was a short 15 minute walk to the ground.  It seems that everyone else going to the game thought the same thing, as Kev noticed hordes of Coventry fans wandering by his window during the afternoon.

Kev started in comedy at roughly the same time as me eight years ago and also used to run a fantastic gig at the Old Post Office in Shrewsbury (which is still going under new management).  It’s a shame for the comedy world that he packed it in (due to clashes with his other career, I believe) because I used to look forward to working with him no end.  Brilliant joke writer, lovely chap and knows his football.  He isn’t a Shrews fan though, despite the season ticket.  He’s a staunch West Ham supporter, but buys a season ticket for him and his 7 year old son Jonathan every year almost – as he put it – “as a community donation” as they can’t get to every match because Jonathan is both an aspiring footballer and cricketer.

I do material onstage discussing how much I love my daughter but I generally pretty much hate all other children. This isn’t just a joke, I really hate them.  I can honestly say that Jonathan is now on the list of cool kids that I can happily hang out with.  On the walk to the ground he listened eagerly to me and his Dad chatting away, he asked about my tattoos and at one point offered me sweets in a brilliantly suspicious way, like a diminutive dealer of jellies.  Not the ones they like in Glasgow.

He was in fact trying to alert me to the Shrewsbury mascot, who throws sweets out at the fans.  I presumed the mascot would be a giant shrew, but it turns out it’s a lion. A bloody LION.

My first ever sticker album was Football 86.  Shrewsbury were in the second tier back then, and you got a sticker of their whole team posing along with half a shiny for their badge.  Their badge – this being the eighties – was a wonderful line drawing of a Shrew.  I can still see it now, what an amazing badge!  There needs to be more line drawing badges like that and Leicester’s awful walking fox one from the same era.

But a lion?  Kev explained the evolution of the badge to me as moving from a Shrew – IT’S IN THE BLOODY NAME OF THE TOWN – to what he called a “generic clip art lion”.  I could not be more disappointed.  Why must clubs shun the tiny woodland mammals in favour of the big cats of the Serengeti?…

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The Football Neutral: Match One – Bristol City vs Wolves

Look at this over-excited idiot.

Look at this over-excited idiot.

This is now an edited version of the original blog… you can read the full one by downloading my Football Neutral 2013/14 season review on Kindle.  Well over 300 pages of daftness. Less than £2! Thanks!

…Miniscule Potential Problems For A Worrier

Ashton Gate is a proper stadium.  I know we don’t get standing at many grounds these days, but there’s something charming about Bristol City’s little ground.  Some fairly new stands, some corners that look like they should be condemned, each side a different height. I’m never one for those “bowl” type stadia.  Research told me that, in theory, there are two popular ends – fitting in with my rules of going where the noise and the fun is.  My decision was made for me though, as the small area (1200 seats or so) that are allocated to home fans in the Wedlock Stand – more affectionately known as the East End – had sold out upon my arrival.  Apparently this is where the “East End Ultras” congregate.

I have an issue with British fans using the term “Ultras”.  In Europe, Ultras are both massive in number and noise, with choreographed displays, enormous flags, flares and occasionally despicable political views.  In Britain this just seems to translate as “the small section of the crowd where we’ve got license to act like knobs”.

I certainly didn’t see any such behaviour from the City fans on Saturday from the East End, but equally they didn’t seem to be louder than the end where I ended up – the Atyeo Stand.  Buying a ticket there led to my first problem of the day.  As I queued up with the locals, I became incredibly aware that my accent is closer to Wolverhampton than Bristol, and also that I had no idea how to pronounce the name of the stand I wanted to sit in.  This caused genuine panic for several minutes.  Think about it.  How would you pronounce it?  I reasoned that AT – YE – OH was the best option.

I was wrong.

Luckily, the woman in the ticket booth gently corrected me – it’s ATTY – OH – and immediately made my day by asking how old I was.  When I replied with the genuine answer – I’m 35 – she giggled and told me that I looked 21.  Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight in my life, maybe it was the baseball cap covering my male pattern baldness, maybe she had glaucoma.  She was nice, as was the woman who sold me a burger and the woman who sold me a pie, all ruddy cheeked 40 or 50 somethings with glorious west country accents and I imagine 3 or 4 well turned out kids each and a husband with a well stocked shed and a lot of tomato plants.

My panic over pronunciation led to me starting to fear other aspects of the game:  Would I stick out like a sore thumb and be somehow rumbled as an interloper by a cabal of City fans?  Even worse, could I check the Leicester score without looking like some kind of disheveled hooligan scout for a game that wasn’t even on the fixture list?…

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