Bradford Bulls 36-24 Barrow Raiders, Sunday 2nd June 2024

Bradford Bulls 36-24 Barrow Raiders, Championship, Bartercard Odsal Stadium, att. 2,655

My dad (R.I.P.) always said Odsal was huge. ‘Bigger than Wembley’ he used to say, and I can see why. Built within a natural bowl, this place is VAST. If only someone had the money, they could do a Red Bull Leipzig and build something spectacular WITHIN it...and still have room to spare. A record attendance of 102,569 (the 1954 Rugby League Challenge Cup Final replay) doesn’t do it justice, as the hill carries on above the terracing. These days, with safety concerns and a strange corporate facility at one end, capacity is 22-26,000 depending on the source. However, with incumbent rugby league side Bradford Bulls in the second tier Championship, even these figures won’t be challenged any time soon.

Today the Bulls are hosting Barrow Raiders and with two and a half thousand fans rattling around, I’d expect it to be quite eerie. Far from it. It’s a warm, sunny day and fans are out in a variety of replica shirts (none of which are the ye olde Bradford Northern shirt I take a shine to in the club shop). Perhaps fans are just happy to have a club (the Bulls having gone into administration 3 times since 2012 before being liquidated in 2017), or perhaps it’s just the weather. The team, although above halfway 9 games in, are well off the pace if they want promotion. Wakefield are 9 and 0 and looking good for a return to Superleague. Still, a far cry from the Bulls golden era, winning the World Club Championship 3 times between 2002-2006. How the mighty fall.

It’s also Armed Forces Day. I know this because I am challenged upon entry. ‘Why are you taking photos?’ What can I say? I like visiting stadiums (stadia). ‘You’ve been reported.’ Basically, while I was at the main entrance taking a photo, a steward asked if they could search my bag. ‘No’, I said. ‘I’m not going in yet.’ As it was, after a peruse around the outside of the stadium, I went in an entrance further round, but had evoked enough interest for people on walkie-talkies to be on the lookout for me. Far be it for me to suggest there’s something wrong with the British Army if they’re running scared of me, but if I was a terrorist I’m not sure I would target a second tier rugby league match. After a cursory bag search I was allowed in.

Entering from behind the goal, the whole stadium lies before you, below. Climb down the steps to the terracing below. How many could this possibly hold if you include all the grass banking above the terracing? A mini rugby post is placed on part of the banking for youngsters to have a go at kicking over it. I’d love a go, but I’m not sure the two blokes administering it would appreciate it. Besides, they’ve probably been warned about me...

Part of Odsal’s vastness is the fact of it possessing a speedway track around the pitch perimeter. As such, the terracing arches round behind this goal. It’s roped off, I suspect as much to encourage the crowd to shuffle closer together on the long side, as much as safety. Oh, and is it a speedway track if there’s no longer speedway? I should say ‘stock car’ track, as there’s ‘Yorstox’ events here, as at Owlerton, Sheffield. And thank goodness, as without it, Bulls couldn’t afford the rent and moved out to Dewsbury in 2021. What did I say about the mighty fallen.

There’s a large white building covering one corner. I have no idea what this is, but during the second half I realise one of its functions is to house the scoreboard. As the tries and kicks totted up, I thought it was strange there was no apparent way of communicating the score to the spectators, as I couldn’t keep up. (From my vantage point past the halfway line, I couldn’t see said scoreboard.) Surely folk weren’t expected to REMEMBER the score? This isn’t football, where you’re lucky to see a goal. Here, if you went to the toilet, or bought a burger, you were sure to miss some addition or other to the tally. Or you might miss one of the three mascots (Bull Man, Bull Boy and Bull Girl) cavorting with the crowd, taking the kids’ (and my) mind off the rugby for a minute.

I’d walked past the refreshment stands to find a pew at the far end of the terracing, at the back. Here, most folk sat down, basking in the sun. And despite the speedway track, the view was alright because of the height. The Bulls stampeded into an early lead, looked by far the better side, before allowing the Raiders to come back into it slightly as half-time came into view. Bradford were attacking the Corporate End (my name for it), a two tier tin structure built above the old terracing and arching around the track. It may not be made of tin, but it looks like it. Maybe made by the same scrap metal merchants who built something similar at Wakefield Trinity. Cheap as chips, but fairly busy today.

Half-time came and I climbed the hill to the toilets, which looked remarkably like overly large World War II Anderson Shelters. Another reason to love this stadium. Opposite, is the Main Stand, a large modern cantilever construction which holds 4,000. I walked around for the second half, but, in shade, it wasn’t the same. (I suppose it’s the opposite on rainy days, everyone clambering to be in here.) I wanted warmth, and after 10 minutes or so of the second half I ventured back out. Still, it’s nice to have the option.

In the meantime the Bulls were making the game interesting, a player being sent off for throwing a punch. What’s it coming to when you’re not allowed to punch someone in RUGBY? I thought that was the whole point of the game. Said player trudged off despondently and punched the wall of the tunnel as he went. (The tunnel is built INTO the hill the terracing is on, the perfect nuclear bunker. Well, with Russia invading Ukraine, one has to make plans.)

There is a short Barrow spurt before Bradford get to grips again and run out easy winners, 36-24. Not that you’ll see it on the scoreboard. The Bulls score a kick as the whistle blows and the 2 lads in charge of the scoreboard instantly pull the numbers down and replace them with ‘0 0’, ready for the ladies game afterwards against Leigh Leopards, who joined me on the terrace earlier for a couple of minutes. I like the sound of a double header, though I’ve had my fill for today.

Oh, and this wondrous stadium? Bradford Council have plans to turn it into the largest permanently covered stadium in England, holding 25,000. I can’t see it happening anytime soon though. The council has no money, Bulls have no money...

https://www.bradfordbulls.co.uk/article/1660/bradford-council-unveil-odsal-plans#:~:text=The%20plans%20would%20lead%20to,such%20as%20the%20semi%2Dfinals

The Damage:
£23 ent
= £23

Australia 30-10 Samoa, Saturday 19th November 2022

Australia 30-10 Samoa, Rugby League World Cup Final, Old Trafford, att. 67,502

Today is Rugby League World Cup Finals day, for both women and men, at Old Trafford. A day for celebration, a day of joy, a day of battling the transport infrastructure to attend (and get back). Welcome to northern England, 2022.

With my car off the road (awaiting change of ownership…how long will THAT take, DVLA?) I had to take the decision a week ago to buy train tickets to get to Old Trafford. Durham to Manchester. How does that work? Well, first up, there apparently IS a direct service, but no, there’s no tickets. Thus my partner and I are going to change at Huddersfield. We get to Durham station. Oh no we’re not – service cancelled. Trans-Pennine instead direct us to York, to change. Although getting us in 20 minutes or so later than advertised (thus cutting it fine if we want to see the women’s final kick off), it has the bonus of at least getting us seats….while several folk couldn’t even get on the train at Huddersfield. ‘Don’t worry, there’s another service in 20 minutes.’ With a rugby league World Cup final to get to, from the heartlands of rugby league (the M62 corridor) what chance this next service also being full, coming from Leeds?

Armed with our lunch (Greggs’ festive bakes, the very best thing about Xmas) we’d got off at Oxford Road and decided to walk along the Bridgewater Canal. It was a beautiful sunny day, a second consecutive weekend, surely a Mancunian record. It was lovely, up and down the cobbles, seeing various barges and towards Old Trafford itself, seeing the tram bisect the Bridgewater and Manchester Ship Canals. A far cry from my only previous visits to Old Trafford, both 97/98, where my abiding memories were of a Bladerunner-esque urban hell of darkness, empty car parks, disused factories, with oil drum fires only adding to the sense of forboding. These days, it’s all plush architecture, no more exemplified than by ‘Hotel Football’ adjacent to Old Trafford.

My partner, a little more open to the idea of watching ‘sport’ (as opposed to football) than me, was eagerly looking forward to her first Old Trafford experience. So that lasted the 5 minutes we nosed around outside before making our way in, keen to see the opening women’s game. No, we can’t come in with our bags. Hers, an average ladies’ handbag, mine, a satchel around A4 size. ‘Can I bring a plastic bag in?’ I inquired. (My satchel could easily fold up and be put in a plastic bag.) ‘Errr…..no.’ However, it seems ok to enter with a plastic bag if it’s from the Old Trafford Superstore, teeming with merchandise ill-spent. (We’d looked in from outside; it is the size of Sports Direct.) My partner enquired where we’d been told these regulations, where they were written, etc. I think she blamed me….till meeting other like-minded individuals (females) horrified to discover that daring to travel from Ireland and being up at 5 was no excuse for bringing a handbag to Old Trafford. All concerned had no choice but to find a portacabin 5 minutes away to queue up, pay a fiver and hope to luck that your bag was still there afterwards as their legal blurb said anything was ‘left at the owner’s risk’. Still, it’s donated to charity, so the Manchester United foundation, or whatever it’s called, gets to be seen as the good guys. I wonder how much is donated via this manner, as a percentage of what they make through sponsorship deals, et al? Of course, I put my partner’s bag inside mine.

Jumping to full-time, we left the game a few minutes early to avoid what would be outrageous queues to claim our possessions. Also, we hoped to be on an early train back to the city centre and be on the first train back, beat the rush. We headed towards Piccadilly, where the train started. Good job. One of the first there, we were two of the lucky few hundred who squeezed onto a service headed for York. 3 carriages. THREE. On a day when many thousands would be seeking to head back to Yorkshire from the rugby, or Christmas shopping, or all-day drinking (there seemed to be quite a bit of that). Apparently, it should have been 6 carriages, an exasperated driver having seen it all before, railing (forgive the pun) against his bosses who’d made the dubious decision to take them off. ‘Apologies for the disaster that is this service’. I got a seat at Leeds, lucky me.

Onto York, where the train was over half an hour late. But at least it arrived – the service to Liverpool Lime Street was cancelled and the next one, nearly 2 hours later, was being cut short at Manchester Airport. This in a weekend where there ISN’T a rail strike. (That’s next Saturday.) Train arrives, onwards to Darlington, then Durham…but hold on. It’s announced the train will be going to Newcastle ONLY. The display board confirms it. Hang on, you can’t simply MISS OUT a destination previously advertised. If we’d known, we could have got a different train from York. As it is, we’ll be landing in Newcastle after the last train fro Durham has departed. A bus leaves after midnight, which might be an option, given the cost of a taxi 20-odd miles from Newcastle. As it is, our stress and anger is wasted, as the train DOES stop at Durham. After the day we’ve had, I treat us to a taxi. £27 for 7 miles. I’d have needed to re-mortgage to get a taxi from Newcastle.

The match(es)? We walked the several staircases up the Sir Alex Ferguson Stand to our seats. Decent view of the pitch. We were high, but you could still make out individual players. But the rest of the stadium? We could just about see the lower tiers of the other stands, as the front of the monstrous roof was lower than our seats. (We moved seats at half-time, front of the upper tier, a wise move given there was NO-ONE in the central block. Why sit 3 rows from the back, with more of a view of the ROOF than the main event? Others joined us as the men’s game kicked off.) Yes, I’m not impressed with Old Trafford. Either I’ve a view of the roof (upper tier) or I’m in an away end with seats that I found cramped as a CHILD. ‘Theatre of Dreams’ my bottom.

The match was a hammering, as the ‘Jillaroos’ (terrible nickname) of Australia beat New Zealand 54-4. The loudest cheer was for the Kiwi try. Throughout this tournament there’s been a lot of love for the underdog, as fans recognise the development of the game in non-traditional far-flung countries. I’d have hoped for a closer game, but the Aussie game was too fast and powerful for a weak defence. Full-time, the players celebrated, a podium was built and trophy awarded to a backdrop of tickertape and flamethrowers. Then it was the men’s turn.

The Toa Samoa (men’s national team) were making their first ever appearance in a world cup final and like the New Zealanders and Papua New Guineans (?) we’d seen earlier in the competition, they had their own war dance, the Siva Tau. They were right in the Aussies’ faces and got the crowd going. Despite beating England with a golden point drop goal last week (27-26), the crowd were firmly in their favour. Well, it IS Australia. Cue pantomime booing of the Kangaroos at any opportune moment.

However, it wasn’t to be. After a couple of minutes defending, Australia scored with their first attack and rarely looked back. 14-0 at the interval, Samoan hope was extinguished when Australia ran in a try despite having a man sin-binned, 6 minutes into the second half. 20-0 down, Samoa showed some fight and managed a couple of tries in a 30-10 defeat. But we’d gone by then. We had a handbag to pick up.

The Damage:
£42 travel
£50 ent
£8 programme
£5 red wine (175ml) x 2 (The only ‘beer’ was Carling and Worthingtons. No thanks.)
= £110

The Tunes:
BBC 6Music (Radcliffe and Maconie)
The Downward Spiral (Nine Inch Nails)

ps, it was lovely to share a tram back into town with those cheeky chappy Leeds fans. ‘We are Leeds, we are vile, Mason Greenwood’s a paedophile*.’ Almost as charming as ‘Jimmy Savile, he’s one of our own’ which we also had to ‘enjoy’. Yes, it’s really great they’re back in the Premiership, as the media keeps telling us.

*actually, that’s not what he’s been charged with, so get it right.