‘F***in’ bag o’sh*te’
‘They’re not that good.’
I should have asked for a note from their mums, the excuses I got when I asked who wanted to come to Port Vale. ‘I’m in Fuerteventura.’ ‘I’m going up to Leeds to see Nick Cave.’ ‘Not sure whether we are coming home Friday or Saturday.’ (Port Vale’s a) ‘violent sh*thole and every maniac in Barnsley will insist on going.’ ‘Al, I just don’t care for your company.’ Honestly, folk couldn’t wait to not go to Vale Park, one of my favourite away days. As a historian, I like stepping back into the past, and nothing says the past like a trip to Burslem. ‘Rough and ready’ as they say, though at least I snuck into a pub incognito pre match. Every other one said ‘HOME ONLY’ as Burslem devoutly stuck to its economically retarded principles.
Anyway, it’s becoming a lucky ground (for me). We’ve definitely won there the last 3 times I’ve been, perhaps the only 3 times I’ve been (plus once with Sunderland, back in the day). And to say we’ve played this bunch more than any other team (or second most, I forget) it seems to be that we barely play them. I think it’s to do with 50 years in the second division before we were born. But I love it. 3 stands that have never changed in half a century, save for some plastic seats slapped on them. A Main Stand in which they didn’t even bother putting most of the seats in for nigh on 20 years cos they didn’t need them. Even the fanzine seller reckoned that swapping the home and away ends allowed the (new) away end to be run down. How can you tell?
Another reason to come would be that it’s my last game for a while – I’m off to Australasia till Xmas. And if ever an away match will make you miss Old Blighty, surely it’s Port Vale!? I parked up (usual spot, a back street a couple of minutes away from the pubs on St. John’s Square) but only had time for a quick snifter. One problem with driving through the Peak District (Glossop, Buxton, Leek) is that when there’s roadworks, you’re stuck when there’s roadworks. At least there was a strategically placed Morrisons for all those urinary needs.
Got there in time for the obligatory Remembrance Day commemoration. The bugler made a better job than Shrewsbury, despite an early mishap. Then it was game on, and what a nothing half it was, despite the two goals. We went ahead when Roberts nipped in front of a defender, from a lovely deadball in from O’Keefe. For 15 minutes we then comfortable..till we didn’t. They put a ball in, we had mor than enough defenders there to deal with it and somehow it lands at the feet of the centre forward, who cuts back inside, sidestepping Kilip who’s raced on, and coolly sidefoots it into the empty net. (What I hadn’t seen in the ping-pong was that the Earl kicked the cross straight to their player.) Obviously, we were gutted enough, without scorer Ronan Curtis rushing over ‘shushing’ us. You’ll get yours, Curtis.
Aside from that, I remember Kilip making a decent save, but otherwise, nothing. And nothing continued into the second half, till, just before the hour, Coach Clarke hauls off Watters for Phillips. Whisper it, but I thought Watters was one of our better players, but from here on we roasted Vale. 5 minutes later we were ahead, as Phillips plays O’Keefe free down the right and his cross is swept in by DKD. (If Devante bothered to run past defenders to meet the ball, he’d have scored this goal 20 times last season.)
2-1 and it’s all us. Their goalscorer is dragged off, much to the amusement of the away end. ‘Curtis, Curtis, what’s the score’ was one of the more palatable chants and this continued for the rest of the match. It must have been quite the uncomfortable half hour or so on the bench for the lad. Unlucky. Though I did enjoy a blast of ‘der der der, football in a sh*thole’, a variation on the old ‘library’ chant. Oh, and their mascot is ‘just a sh*t Toby Tyke, sh*t Toby Tyke...’
Wave after wave of attack ensued as Port Vale couldn’t get out of their half, or indeed, get near the ball. O’Keefe and Phillips combined again before Russell curled a beautiful effort off the top of the bar. (He’s very good at hitting the woodwork.) Then, with 10 to play, Phillips plays the ball across goal and Humphreys is bundled over. The kind of penalty we didn’t get in the last minute of a home match the other week. This week (when we don’t need it) it’s given. After what seemed like forever, Phillips steps up and sends the keeper the wrong way.
Thereafter, the only side keeping the score down was us, as a couple of times we broke, outnumbered the Valiants…and took it to the corner flag, much to the chagrin of our support. ‘We want 4, we want 4’. Still, at least we were through. And at least it didn’t go to extra time. I had Strictly to get home to!
Onwards and upwards!
*** Phillips. Game was going nowhere, he came on and we never looked back.
** O’Keefe. Got up the pitch to set up 2 goals.
* DKD. Some sublime touches and, of course, the goal that put us ahead.
Londontykes’ MOTM: 1. Phillips 2. O'Keefe 3. DKD
Despatches:
After the match I ran the gauntlet back to the car with the Diss Branch of the Barnsley Supporters Club (Membership: 1) Following the away crowd, I went a different route to usual, meaning we didn’t merge with the Vale fans till nearly at the car. Then a voice behind me…‘How do you tell a Barnsley fan?’ I had to turn around. I’m not getting whacked in the back of the head by some Valiant clown, like someone we all know a few years back. ‘By the f***ing grin on their faces.’ A Vale fan with a sense of humour, as him and his mate waxed unlyrical about their side’s performance (and the referee’s). We agreed it was never a pen, though I thought their 2 appeals were very weak too.
Oh, and it took me 9 miles to get to Stoke railway station, which can’t be more than 4 miles walk. Have I said how much I hate Stoke? Signs that make little sense, roads closed off…Google satnav confused, telling me to turn off expressways over curbs. I DETEST this place. Being advised to go down a dead end street I’ve seen a 100 times on Homes Under the Hammer? Been there. And did I ever find the railway station? No, the street was closed off, so I ordered James out the car at the lights. I hate this place. Hate it.
The other players? Honestly, before Watters was hauled, I was struggling to think of contenders for the top 3. Watters had held it up well and chased and harried, but otherwise…nada. Kilip had made two saves, one a super diving effort, but the other one he palmed right into trouble, but luckily a defender cleaned up. Special mention to POTY Cotter though, dropped from the entire squad for not being able to prompt a side full of reserves to victory midweek against Donny in the Sherpa Van Papa Johnstones wotsit. Rumour has it there’s some poor attitude going on, as there would be when you’ve been senselessly dropped and forced to play with players who’re about to be sent on loan to Gainsborough Trinity (true). But O’Keefe and Phillips had an outstanding partnership once the latter came on.
Drink du jour: MBH Loco Juice. Drinkable, but wouldn’t have a 2nd.
Away: 525 (I think)
The Damage:
£15 ent
c.£30 petrol£1 fanzine
= £46
Sunday, 3 November 2024
Wednesday, 30 October 2024
Greenock Morton 0-1 Queens Park, Tuesday 29th October 2024
Greenock Morton 0-1 Queens Park, Scottish Championship, Cappielow Park, att. 1,741 (c. 120 away)
I didn’t expect to see a first last nite at Morton. There I was, walking down the road after the match, minding my own business, when a large yoof came running past with a drum, chased by 4 or 5 other teenagers, a couple of years younger and at least 2 stones lighter. As The Big Lad doubled back round a car, he was surrounded. Now all became apparent...he was a Morton scallywag who’d somehow nicked the Queens Park drum. For a spilt second I worried what would happen. Would the Queens Park jackals set upon their prey? Would the Morton lad use his heft and knock them out, one by one? I wasn’t sure what went on, but they got their drum back, possibly due to a sensible adult or 2 intervening, no blows thrown. What japery! And respect earned amongst his mates for the Morton lad.
I was pleased I’d come. I’m away for a while from next week and I saw there were a few games on in Scotland, midweek. Tues/Weds, what are my options? Well, if I’m to stay in Glasgow, Tuesday is a no-brainer. Greenock Morton are at home and within distance. Wednesday? Well, I see Celtic are at home, and as it’s midweek there’s tickets. However, by the time I look to book, there’s only £31 ‘restricted view’ left. I’m not paying £31 for a restricted view, so I’ll be off to Paisley and St. Mirren.
I remember Morton from childhood. (They renamed themselves ‘Greenock Morton’ in 1994.) They used to be in the Scottish Premier division, but last played there in 1988, which shows how old I am. Cappielow, which Morton have resided at since 1879, is a glorious throwback in time. Down one side, the Cowshed must one of the biggest terraces left in British football, albeit with seating now planted at its front. To its right is another massive terrace, the Wee Dublin End (anything but ‘wee’), which is covered in bench seating. The Main Stand, built in 1931, has a similar pitched roof to the Cowshed. However, a worrying amount of birdsh*t is to be found amongst the seating (or is that just the away end?) The Sinclair Street End, meantime, is another decent sized terrace, open to the elements. All in all, despite a capacity of 11,589 (5,741 seated) this ground could easily fit in, or exceed, its record crowd of 23,500. Easily. The throwback in time is accentuated by a couple of tall floodlights on the Cowshed side, while the pillars of the Main Stand are cleverly utilised for floodlights on the Main Stand roof.
Mind, access is a problem. With the ground wedged inbetween a railway line and a small industrial estate, 2 sets of turnstiles on Sinclair Street have to suffice. (More turnstiles off Hamilton Street presumably mothballed till Morton return to greatness.) Away fans are housed at the far end of the Main Stand, which means walking along a narrow concourse under the stand. Presumably they don’t get trouble in the Scottish Championship, as segregation is non-existent. Maybe if they pulled a Celtic, or a Rangers, in the cup, they’d give them the Wee Dublin End and open up the turnstiles off Hamilton Road?
For the 1st half, I sat with the Queens fans. Morton were all over them for the first 20 odd minutes, so obviously Queens ran down the other end for a bald-pated Zak Rudden to score the only goal of the game, a well placed volley from a right wing cross. ‘He’s got no hair, but we don’t care, Super Zak Rudden’ the 30 or so ultras sang.
At half-time, I went to get my Scotch pie. Why don’t we have these in England? We like pies. I looked on at the gate to the Sinclair Street End, and noticed the steward opening it for a lady. I went for it. I like my stadium wanders. ‘Could I get through please?’ The steward re-opened the gate, maybe thinking I’d come from the terrace for my snack. No wonder capacity is set so low if people can wander hither and thither.
After a munch and a few pics, I settled on being high up on the terrace. However, I was soon forced to move as I could hear a Scouse bloke encouraging the home side. Scousers should be seen and not heard. (I make no apologies for my prejudice. There’s lots of things I don’t like hearing. Bagpipes, fingernails on blackboards, Foo Fighters.) I watched for a few minutes, before deciding to walk on to the Cowshed for a better view. What with the roof supports and inability to see both goals at once, it was just like The Good Old Days. Dark and atmospheric, and, despite the crowd of 1,700, quite busy. Least it was on the halfway line. And an apoplectic bloke, stood with his aged dad, who got angrier as the game disappeared from the home side. He obviously cared, but not enough to stay till full-time. I was in no rush. The train back to Glasgow from Cartsdyke (5 mins from Cappielow) wasn’t for another quarter of an hour.
The Damage:
£22 ent
£3 Scotch pie
£8.80 rtn from Glasgow
= £33.80
I didn’t expect to see a first last nite at Morton. There I was, walking down the road after the match, minding my own business, when a large yoof came running past with a drum, chased by 4 or 5 other teenagers, a couple of years younger and at least 2 stones lighter. As The Big Lad doubled back round a car, he was surrounded. Now all became apparent...he was a Morton scallywag who’d somehow nicked the Queens Park drum. For a spilt second I worried what would happen. Would the Queens Park jackals set upon their prey? Would the Morton lad use his heft and knock them out, one by one? I wasn’t sure what went on, but they got their drum back, possibly due to a sensible adult or 2 intervening, no blows thrown. What japery! And respect earned amongst his mates for the Morton lad.
I was pleased I’d come. I’m away for a while from next week and I saw there were a few games on in Scotland, midweek. Tues/Weds, what are my options? Well, if I’m to stay in Glasgow, Tuesday is a no-brainer. Greenock Morton are at home and within distance. Wednesday? Well, I see Celtic are at home, and as it’s midweek there’s tickets. However, by the time I look to book, there’s only £31 ‘restricted view’ left. I’m not paying £31 for a restricted view, so I’ll be off to Paisley and St. Mirren.
I remember Morton from childhood. (They renamed themselves ‘Greenock Morton’ in 1994.) They used to be in the Scottish Premier division, but last played there in 1988, which shows how old I am. Cappielow, which Morton have resided at since 1879, is a glorious throwback in time. Down one side, the Cowshed must one of the biggest terraces left in British football, albeit with seating now planted at its front. To its right is another massive terrace, the Wee Dublin End (anything but ‘wee’), which is covered in bench seating. The Main Stand, built in 1931, has a similar pitched roof to the Cowshed. However, a worrying amount of birdsh*t is to be found amongst the seating (or is that just the away end?) The Sinclair Street End, meantime, is another decent sized terrace, open to the elements. All in all, despite a capacity of 11,589 (5,741 seated) this ground could easily fit in, or exceed, its record crowd of 23,500. Easily. The throwback in time is accentuated by a couple of tall floodlights on the Cowshed side, while the pillars of the Main Stand are cleverly utilised for floodlights on the Main Stand roof.
Mind, access is a problem. With the ground wedged inbetween a railway line and a small industrial estate, 2 sets of turnstiles on Sinclair Street have to suffice. (More turnstiles off Hamilton Street presumably mothballed till Morton return to greatness.) Away fans are housed at the far end of the Main Stand, which means walking along a narrow concourse under the stand. Presumably they don’t get trouble in the Scottish Championship, as segregation is non-existent. Maybe if they pulled a Celtic, or a Rangers, in the cup, they’d give them the Wee Dublin End and open up the turnstiles off Hamilton Road?
For the 1st half, I sat with the Queens fans. Morton were all over them for the first 20 odd minutes, so obviously Queens ran down the other end for a bald-pated Zak Rudden to score the only goal of the game, a well placed volley from a right wing cross. ‘He’s got no hair, but we don’t care, Super Zak Rudden’ the 30 or so ultras sang.
At half-time, I went to get my Scotch pie. Why don’t we have these in England? We like pies. I looked on at the gate to the Sinclair Street End, and noticed the steward opening it for a lady. I went for it. I like my stadium wanders. ‘Could I get through please?’ The steward re-opened the gate, maybe thinking I’d come from the terrace for my snack. No wonder capacity is set so low if people can wander hither and thither.
After a munch and a few pics, I settled on being high up on the terrace. However, I was soon forced to move as I could hear a Scouse bloke encouraging the home side. Scousers should be seen and not heard. (I make no apologies for my prejudice. There’s lots of things I don’t like hearing. Bagpipes, fingernails on blackboards, Foo Fighters.) I watched for a few minutes, before deciding to walk on to the Cowshed for a better view. What with the roof supports and inability to see both goals at once, it was just like The Good Old Days. Dark and atmospheric, and, despite the crowd of 1,700, quite busy. Least it was on the halfway line. And an apoplectic bloke, stood with his aged dad, who got angrier as the game disappeared from the home side. He obviously cared, but not enough to stay till full-time. I was in no rush. The train back to Glasgow from Cartsdyke (5 mins from Cappielow) wasn’t for another quarter of an hour.
The Damage:
£22 ent
£3 Scotch pie
£8.80 rtn from Glasgow
= £33.80
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