The roads are busy, possibly the weather causing folk to be cautious on the motorway. ‘Have you checked it’s on?’ Ah, no I haven’t. Cardinal error. I always check before a game, but picking up Satnav Kev, I think I’ve been lulled into a subconsciously false sense of confidence. Ramsbottom haven’t posted anything on Twitter. ‘Check Barnoldswick.’ Thankfully, they have. Game on. Which is more than can be said of another possibility tonite, Irlam. Maybe others fear it’s off. Despite 9 wins in a row, it’s the 2nd lowest crowd of the season, though as it’s the 7th home game in a month, fans probably have burnout.
We roll into Ramsbottom and I see a sign for the football club, down a one track lane. Rather than risk being led into a full car park and a dead end, we park 100 metres in a carpark. 30 odd runners across the road are ready for their weekly run and we all applaud one of them, who’s team leader for the first time on one route. Hope it went well.
The one track road is about 200 metres long, but we can see the floodlights, so it’s alright. Further confirmation of the game being on? Surely they’d not be wasting electricity at current prices. £9 in, and instant accostment for a Golden Goal ticket. I’ve swerved off for a programme though and Kev is slightly pleased with their efforts, a ticket in a small envelope. Swish.
We enter the ground, one of the first here. We have eschewed the pub on the corner by the car park for the Rammy social club. This is a mistake, as there isn’t one. Bizarrely, they have a ‘hospitality suite’, possibly the best place to watch the game in the ground, some bench seats behind plate glass, with tables for your non-existent beers. ‘The (adjacent) cricket club will be open after the game for a drink’...but what use is that to us?
As it was raining, we took shelter in the small portacabin that has essence of greasy caff. There’s 3 tables with 4 seats where no more than 2 are present. You’d have to be about 8 stone wet through and not wear a coat to fit two people side-by-side. We stand and drink our tea / Bovril. (I’ve never had Bovril. What is it? Beef extract? Watery gravy? I like beef. I like gravy. I’m northern. But Bovril simply doesn’t appeal.)
Kev eyes his watch. 7.44. I bolted out of there. I like to see the teams come out, and we join the sidelines as they disperse. On this touchline is the hospitality suite and some flat standing. We stand the other side of the halfway line, till the rain forces us behind the far goal. It is already 2-0 to the Rammies, top of the league, aiming for a 9th win in a row and keeping up their record of scoring in every game this season (25).
The early action is dominated by Kev cheering on a Rammy goal while looking at his watch. His Golden Goal time is 11 minutes and on 7:56 the home side miss a good chance. Oh well. But a minute or so later they bag and Kev, doing the maths, figures we must have kicked off after 7:45 cos the teams came out at 7:44 by his watch. So, is this goal on 11 minutes? Has he won? No P.A. announcement is forthcoming.
The stand behind the goal has some of the oddest seating I’ve ever seen, around half a dozen park benches spread around the back of a 3 step terrace. Well, if you’ve the capacity, but not the fans to fill it, why not? We join a smattering of fans, including the few from ‘Barlick’, since this is the end the visitors are kicking towards. They’ve also pulled a goal back and look threatening on the break. It’s a penalty which takes so long to take, the Rammy youth have managed to leg it from the opposite end in time to shine their phone torches in the direction of the taker. It makes no difference.
Half-time sees us complete a circumnavigation of the pitch. The long side has a couple of small stands, and crucially (for me) the toilets. No working tap, mind. Then it’s back to the opposite side, passed the cover behind this goal and the hospitality suite (containing nobody) and now can begin the (wo)manhunt for the lady who sold Kev is ticket. Accosting her politely, he asks what minute the golden goal was. ‘11 minutes.’ Unbridled joy, as Kev manages to make a profit on the evening, even if he has to join the back of the queue in the refreshment cabin before getting his grubby mitts on twenty whole pounds. Lovely. (Personally, I was disappointed it wasn’t a crate of some crap lager which he’d have to carry around with him for the rest of the game. You obviously get a better class of prize here than most Northern League venues I’ve been to.)
Now the rain has stopped, we return to our original perch to see Ramsbottom dominate and run out 4-1 winners while Kev fingers his cash constantly (probably). League leaders, but they’ve been here before, and failed. Will it be second time lucky? They look good for it, but we’re barely into November.
The Damage
£9 ent
£2 prog
=£11
