**Oh. They’ve changed their minds. It’s back to where it was last week. Turns out they’re ‘the Party who listen’. How many reverse-ferrets will this woman make before the Tories jettison another leader? Mind, if they listen, why haven’t they f***ed off yet? Sorry, where was I?
We’re lording it up cos of Stu, whose mate has the box. (Stu is from these parts, so it was good to meet a few of his school chums.) Only one was an actual Fleetwood fan though…the one who looked like Hicksy! Everyone else supported (Man) City, (Man) Utd or Liverpool. For those wondering what you get fed, the fayre was an improvement on Accrington Stanley (no mushroom soup) but I do prefer my potato to taste of potato and not butter. Why do TV chefs convince us that vegetables are nicer coated in the yellow stuff? Cover potatoes, carrots and peas in butter and they all taste of….butter! I hate butter. The roast parsnip was perfectly formed and the beef was melt in the mouth. Dee-lish.
The chairs were outside the box. As luck would have it, we were at the Barnsley end, seats below, with the away terrace to our left. An inflatable penis bobbed around. Had someone been to Blackpool perchance? Full marks to the stewards, who threw it back when it landed on the pitch. Gotta give Reds fans what they want. Speaking of which, we ran riot 1st half without scoring. Wave after wave of attack, camped in their half….yet all we had to show was a mazy bit of skill from Benson which ended with him hitting the post. Otherwise, the keeper was barely troubled and the closest anyone came to scoring was a rare break from them. The ball dropped, 8 yards out, and instead of sidefooting into the empty 1/3 of the net, the striker hit Cundy (I think). Gift horse well and truly looked at in the mouth.
The orders for beer had been taken and were lined up on our tables as we went back inside. This is the life. At Oakwell, you can queue all half-time and not reach the front (hot refreshments; there’s not such a desperate rush for beer when it’s cold). Which took the edge off the dismal non-event of a second half, where absolutely nothing happened till we sent on our subs. (I’m trying to forget Cole’s header; anyone else might not have headed it straight at the keeper.) With 20 minutes left, Kane and Thomas were hooked for Phillips and Martin. Still nothing. So, with no centre forwards on the bench, Duff sends on Aitchison for Cole with 4 mins left of the 90…..and he only goes and scores with a flick from Norwood’s cross as injury time began. I’m not wearing colours, but I’m a little irritated with the ‘comedian’ further along who thinks it’s funny to be baiting the Reds so I celebrate like a f***ing good un. (Apologies to my host.) I draw the line at going topless though, a la the (grand)dad and kid in the away end. Their loss.
Onwards and upwards!
*** Andersen. Dominant. Winning headers, stepping forward to intercept, setting off attacks.
** Cundy. Confident. Filled in the Mads gaps.
* Aitchison. The game was petering out till his flick.
Londontykes’ MOTM: 1. Andersen 2= Cundy / Jordan Williams / Kitching
Despatches:
After a post-match beer in the box, we were off to the Queens pub, and a sadder sight I’ve not seen in a long time….a pair of poor terrapins inside some small tank. I’m sure they love the locals tapping on the glass while putting up with the noise and intense lighting. Some very sad fish didn’t even have a glass front to peek out of….while there were rumours that if you looked up at the upstairs window, you might see a caged parrot. Sounds like a right animal lover, the landlord. Still, at least it’s still open….helped in part by a birthday party in full swing as we entered.
In more positive news, it was good to see Collins back in goal after his injury at Cambridge, albeit wearing one of those Phantom of the Opera masks. Fleetwood rather nicely didn’t trouble him. Kitching came back too and was excellent at the left hand hand side of the back 3. Williams and Cadden both delivered cross after cross, but they were either too far in front of the forwards (who weren’t great) or else were blocked. They were obviously under instruction to cross it low (understandable with Cole and Norwood’s inability to win a header). Benson had another promising game as #10, though Thomas only showed brief glimpses of his capability. Kane too was quiet.
Drink du jour: Madri, several pints thereof. I have no memory of the pub’s pints…just those poor, poor terrapins. Heartbreaking.
Away: c.1800 (1st sellout of the season).
Today’s take home: ‘Fleetwood’s better than Barrow’ (Sarah).
The Damage:
£31 travel
= £31
The Tunes:
BB6 Music (Radcliffe and Maconie / Huey Morgan)
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