Derby County 4-1 BFC, Sunday 6th May 2018

‘Accrington Stanley, we’re coming for you.’

Welcome to .....

So it is.  The inevitable inevitably happened and we’re down.  We could blame Derby, for slamming us.  Or Forest, for failing at Bolton.  Or Bolton, for succeeding against Forest.  Or the ref at home to Bolton, for THAT decision (and those other indecisions).  But let’s face it, we simply haven’t been good enough.  The writing was on the wall last January (2017).  We lost Hourihane and Bree (…and Winnall)…later lost Scowen and Watkins and Roberts…and we’ve replaced them with (in no particular order) Potts, Williams, Barnes, Thiam, Moncur and Lindsay, not to mention about 30 others (we’ve had the most players of any club in the Championship).  Says it all.  We’ve given nearly 40 players a trot out at this level and few, if any, are good enough.  (Though 'trot' was probably the right word.  Carthorses.  Donkeys.  Asses.)  How fitting that in a match where victory would save us, we didn’t turn up.

Relegation beckons.

Optimism was low and spirits were high in the pub beforehand.  No, we hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of winning, but so what?  The sun was shining, whiskeys were being drunk at half nine in the morning (welcome to Wetherspoons!) and we weren’t officially down yet. ‘You never know’ was the order of the day, as we dreamt of Bolton managing to do what they’ve done most of the season and fail.  Do the unthinkable (win) and we stay up on 44 points, surely a record.  The Sunday morning alcoholics, surprised at the early influx of dozens of customers with Barnsley accents, wished us luck.

Ice cream, sun, Greggs....is this what heaven looks like?

It was a hot, hot day in Derby, so good job we were in the shade.  2,700 (sold out) and bad news for Neil, who’d rocked up on the offchance of getting a ticket.  Further bad news:  he got one; someone’s mate was ill.  This was after being quoted £100 by a Derby fan in town.  I told him he could have mine for £100!  Farnham met me in a city centre pub having walked from Pride Park.  He looked destroyed in the heat, so, despite the weather, after a beer, we jumped in a taxi to the ground.

Fireworks...in the sun.  Go figure.

Upon entering the away end, it was a cauldron of noise.  The bar was packed, and we fought our way through to our seats, along with Reedy.  I even made kick off.  I didn’t want to miss a minute!  And it was fortunate I did, as for that 14 minutes, you could see Derby (needing a point to secure a play-off place) were absolutely BRICKING it, misplacing passes all over the place under little or no pressure.  So thank goodness for Conor ba5tard Mahoney, on loan piece of uselessness from AFC Bournemouth.  We have a corner, he swings it in and hits the 1^st defender, Shukeresque.  No matter, the ball has come back to him.  He loses it trying to take the player on, Derby run straight up the other end and score.  OK, they had to run 70 yards, but with most of our team in THEIR box cos we were trying to SCORE, we couldn’t get back in time and Derby always had a man extra.  At least I’ll have something to remember this pr*ck by.  Good riddance.

Us and them.

Derby scored again, 2-0…but hang on…it’s been disallowed.  No idea what for, though apparently handball.  A mild stay of execution for the Super Reds, we go in at half time, 1-0.  We were arguably the better side, but without looking like scoring. Kiefer was blocked off going for a header (has ‘obstruction’ officially been erased from the rulebook?) but otherwise, it was as it was at Oakwell, Derby winning without any effort whatsoever.  The half times come in; Preston are beating Burton (hurrah!) and Bolton are being held (double hurrah!).  We are still outside the relegation zone, somehow.

The teams come out.

We come out 2^nd half and collapse.  Derby pass and move, we watch, and it’s 2-0.  Two becomes three, becomes four.  We’ve still got 20 minutes plus injury time.  The players have given up.  We might as well stick Sky on the big screen (instead of the current match) cos this game means nothing now, other than a chance for Derby to rack up a cricket score.  Our chances are firmly in the hands of other teams.  Worse, Preston have had a man sent off. Worser, Burton have equalised.  We’re down.  After all, what do Preston have to play for anyway, knowing we’re getting slammed means they can’t eke above Derby.  (They have PRIDE to play for, and do indeed go on to win 2-1.PRIDE.  Imagine.)
By now, Derby are taunting us with ‘Accrington on a Tuesday night’, to which the instant response is ‘Accrington Stanley, we’re coming for you.’  By now, it is impossible to get updates on our phones, as 4G might as well be 1D.  Rumours abound and news of Preston’s second spreads.  ‘Come on Preston, Come on Preston!’ I refuse to sing.  Derby chant something along the lines of ‘you spawny ba5tards, you’re still staying up.’  If only.

Match action, Derby actually FAILING to score.

By now Moncur is on and he nonchalantly pops one into the top corner from 20 yards as if Derby have joined us in giving up. At least the fans haven’t: ‘5-4, we’re gonna win 5-4’ nobody believed.  Not even Jose.  Both teams go through the motions till full time and a silence envelopes the away end.  Have we gone down? Who knows?  There’s rumour and counter rumour.  The players’ reactions look as if we’re down; only really Hammill comes anywhere close to the away end.  Probably for the best.  The Adam Hammill Appreciation Society sings him off the pitch as our hero is visibly distraught. More than me, to tell the truth.  This relegation has looked on the cards for months.  Adam: so long, and thanks for all the fish.

Adam waves a last goodbye.

I didn’t properly find out Bolton had won till I left.  I’m pleased I didn’t know they were losing when I was in the ground; it’s the hope that kills you.  Nevermind knowing they'd bagged in the 87th and 88th minutes to seal survival.  Good luck, no hard feelings, etc.  We had beer to quaff, sorrows to drown, and it was 4 pubs before we could do that, despite various Derby fans offering consoling ‘don’t worry, you’ll be back.’  Yes, whatever I might think of us as a Championship side, we might be quite well set up for division 3.  And Jose’s gone.  Thank heavens for that.  Our worst appointment in a long time.

Onwards and upwards!

*** Hammill.  At least gave a s***.  Ran around all day from centre mid looking for gaps.  His run led to Moncur’s goal.
** Gardner.  Played well till we were overrun.
* Walton.  Caught a couple, saved a couple, but couldn’t do much against players 4 yards out.

A friendly fence, separating the fans outside.

Despatches:
As well as the 2,700 at (No) Pride Park, I can’t believe 3,000 watched a live beamback to Oakwell. I wonder what it was like there? Did they know the other scores??

I was really struggling for a top 3.  Everyone was s*** in their own way.  And did I really see Thiam come on?  How can a centre forward, bought for so much money, paid so much money, fail to score in open play the entire season?  Let’s hope the 3^rd division is more accommodating.  I'm off to spend my £60 of winnings.  You Reds!!!!!!!!!!

Drink du jour: Erdinger, Stella, vodka and orange.  It’s a wonder I didn’t end up in a fight. 

The Damage:
£26 ent

Programme?  Never saw one on sale.

Away: 2,700.  A great effort from all.  Players take note.

The Tunes:

Microshift (Hookworms)

Pride Park panorama.

Monument commemorating the site of the old Baseball Ground.

Come on you ewes!

The Old #7 gets its flag up.

Just get Sky on!

Resigned to defeat...and relegation?

Farewell, Adam.

We'll always love you!

Stoke City 1-2 Crystal Palace, Saturday 5th May 2018

Stoke City 1-2 Crystal Palace, att. 29,687

Welcome to ....

The end is in sight (in so many ways: the season; Stoke’s tenure in the Premiership) and Stoke is my 91st of the 92. Or is it 90? I shan’t count Spurs (for now) since their new stadium is pretty much on the footprint of the old one. But with Macclesfield back in the league, I’m technically back down to 90. Still, it’s good to have an aim. As my partner says ‘what will you do when you’ve completed the 92?’

A 3D map of the Britannia / Bet365

Stoke is an aberration on my part, in that I can’t quite understand how I’ve never been there. In the good old days they were second division regulars with Barnsley. And I’ve been to Port Vale 4 times (it has a charm). But, with their Premiership heartbeat running out, and Barnsley’s last match of the season just down the road at Derby the following day, I took the plunge: train and match tickets booked. Furthermore, The Captain was coming up from Southampton. Well, until I told him the week before that the kick-off time had changed: it was now 12:30. Bloody Sky! Fair dues to Stoke City FC, who took back the ticket (ripped in half and sellotaped back together by the Royal Mail) and gave me a full refund at 12:28pm.

£30 to see Stoke relegated.  Bargain.

I’d also made the mistake of booking one of them there ‘plus bus’ tickets you always get offered when you purchase rail tickets. I thought the stadium was about 4 miles away, too far to walk, but on further deliberation it was only about half an hour’s brisk walk away, along the canal. Turn right outside the station, turn right again at the lights, onto Leek Road, cross the canal and follow it to your left. Considering the fine weather, it was rather empty. But, along with Wigan, a traipse along the industrial waterways of England is just the job. No pier in Stoke though.

An old pottery kiln along the canal.

I’d gone for a ticket in the home end for this do-or-die match with Palace. Weeks ago it looked like ne or the other, but with Palace pulling off a couple of good results, it was simply s*** or bust for Stoke. I s’pose I was hoping for a Stoke collapse (given I’d come to a Prem game thinking they were going down), but, if Barnsley stayed up and Stoke went down, I’d be here anyway next season…thereby negating the need to come this time. Quandaries, eh?

My 1st glimpse inside the stadium.

The ground was virtually full and Stoke were in full song. Great noise from the Boothen End and the roof nearly came off when Shaqiri hit a free kick home. Just a point re: the Palace keeper (Hennessy?) Listen, Shaqiri only has one foot, and there’s only one place he’s going to try and put that free kick: just there. Where you should be. Nevermind the slight deflection off a Palace head.  If Stoke won their last two games, they’d probably stay up. So they only have themselves to blame; you take Peter Crouch off at your peril. 30 seconds later Palace were level, McArthur sidefooting in on the overlap after a lightning break. The Stoke players were broken, their crowd was broken. All hope seemingly extinguished, yet 22 minutes to play. Some started leaving early and, to be fair, they were right, the writing was on the wall. With 4 minutes left, and gaps everywhere in the Stoke team, Palace broke again and a despairing Shawcross interception diverted into the path of Van Aanholt to slide the ball through Butland’s legs.

Looking towards the Main Stand.

This was the cue for hordes to leave, which was a blessing to my ears, since the screamy bloke next to me was one of them. If I’ve heard the words ‘in there lad. IN THERE’ a hundred times, I would not exaggerate. Most of what he screamed was unintelligible, save for threatening Palace with death should they win, calling them ‘cockney c**ts’ and calling South London a ‘s***hole’. Has he been to Dulwich Village? I wouldn’t mind, but for the most part he reminded me of Get Carter: you’re a big lad, but you’re out of shape. I hope he enjoys his summer.

A disgruntled fan's shirt is thrown onto the pitch.

Still, I’ll give it to those who stayed. Despite defeat, they roared on their heroes, promising to be ‘Stoke until I die.’ And despite one fans efforts, shouting ‘Lambert Out’, the vast majority still seemed onboard.

I toyed with the idea of a bus back, but looked up the old Victoria Ground, walked halfway back to town along the canal, then turned off for the Victoria’s previous site. Having laid dormant for several years, it’s finally being developed. I hope it encompasses a suitable ‘memorial’. And walking back a different way brought me to an incredible pub, the Glebe, where I sat on a Chesterfield leather chair and reminisced with an old Stoke fan about music and football. He’d visit more often, but, guess what, football is too expensive these days, £34 in his bit. Should Barnsley stay up, I’ve promised to visit him again next season! (Note: Barnsley didn’t.)

Also, has anybody else noticed the Stoke accent is a mixture of Brummie and Scouse? It’c certainly…interesting.

England's Jack Butler is inconsolable.

The Damage:
£30 ent
£3.50 prog
£1.50 fanzine
= £35

The Tunes:
Singularity (Jon Hopkins)
Song For Alpha (Daniel Avery)
Claustrophia (Scuba)
Foxbase Alpha (St. Etienne)
Garlands (Cocteau Twins)

Bet 365 panorama v Palace.

Looking towards the away end.

Former England manager Roy Hodgson looks on.

Crouchy subbed.  Dearie me.

The Stoke tunnel...and changing rooms.

Lovely pitch.

The thin green/yellow line.

Match action.

Some people think it's all over....

The Stoke 'lap of (dis)honour'.

You'll not see his ilk for a while....a regretful Shaqiri.

Full time.

When they changed the name, did they change the seats?

Outside the Bet365.

See you in the Championship!

Hampton and Richmond Borough 3-1 Truro City, Wednesday 2nd May 2018

Hampton and Richmond Borough 3-1 Truro City, AET, National League South play-off (att. 922)

Welcome to ....

With the season nearly over, now’s the time to be visiting them there non-league sides. No Football League / Premiership to see (or very little) and the non-leagues over with save for the play-offs. So you get to visit somewhere interesting and still have a crowd. Tonite, it’s a Conference South play-off between Hampton and Richmond Borough FC and Truro City. An unfortunate draw for Truro, given there can’t be many longer trips at this level, and they’d only played their league game at the same venue 4 days before. A nightmare for the away fans too, as trains wouldn’t get you back till the next day and how extortionate would the fares be anyway? So I presume the 40 or so away fans either came by coach, car, or were west country exiles living in London.

The Big Match.

At this level the play-offs have one thing right; semi-finals are one leg and the team higher up the league have home advantage, a reward for the efforts of the previous 42 games. However, to increase the palaver, it’s 4th v 7th, 5th v 6th, the winners away to 3rd and 2nd respectively. I’m not sure I agree with a team in 7th being able to gain promotion through the play-off ‘lottery’, though I’spose it keeps half the division’s hopes up till the end.

The journey from Peckham was easy enough, one hour and one change (Clapham Junction). The ‘Beveree Stadium’ was walkable from Hampton station, and while I do enjoy living in the inner city, it made a pleasant change to walk past an actual village green. I also passed a couple of watering holes, but time was tight, I had a match to get to.

The teams raring to go.

The stadium was maybe a ten minute walk. Turn left out the station and keep going. The Beveree itself is a proper charmer, more stands than the old Manor Ground, Oxford. There was a covered terrace down one side, which finished abruptly on the halfway line, to be replaced by a small seated stand. Behind the far goal was a tiny end, with some cover, while the long side also had a cover 20 yards or so long, otherwise was mainly where some scaffolding supported the cameraman. Then, behind the goal you enter the stadium at, there’s a small cantilevered stand offering excellent views right behind the goal, with a small terrace next to it, in front of some kind of pavilion, a building housing the changing rooms downstairs and a viewing gallery above. Presumably this is where Hampton’s ‘prawn sandwich brigade’ hang out. I’ve heard it referred to as the ‘eyrie’ (and you’d understand why if you saw it).

The players emerge...while the eagle-eyed look down from the 'eyrie'.

The ground was busy, but not overly so. The crowd of 922 was larger than average, but possibly hampered by the live showing on BT of the Champions (and runners up, and runners up runners up…etc) League semi-final between Roma and Liverpool. I bought my match programme and sniffed out where to buy a beer. I wasn’t going to wait in a queue THAT long, so took my position on the terrace and took a few snaps.

1st half, I stood on the terrace.

The previous Saturday’s match had ended all-square, one-all, and this match was very even for the most part too. Truro took the lead when a cross was deflected in off the Hampton left back and captain…though it was later credited to a Truro player. My eyesight, or politeness? Or my poor memory? Either way, it put the away fans in good voice, ‘T-R-U-RO-OH’ being sung to the tune of ‘D.I.S.C.O.’

There must be easier ways to light a pitch...

Hampton equalised just after the half hour mark when a shot was blocked and fell to a forward to score 1st time, neat finish, which was great cos it legitimised chants ‘Beavers! Beavers!’ (it’s their nickname). Later, I heard a couple of chants ‘ooh to…ooh to be…ooh to be a BEAVER!’ to that chant by the Goon(er)s. Otherwise, there wasn’t much in the way of chanting beyond the visitors efforts. My favourite bit was a home fan asking his own captain ‘Are you going to blame the referee for THAT?’ after he’d sliced the ball out. I could tell why he was captain; he wouldn’t stop chuntering (mainly to the ref). Concentrate on your own game, sunbeam.

Small but perfectly formed...on the camera-stand side.

The second half forged plenty of half chances, but no goals. I was dreading this. What time were the last trains to London? I had time. Good. I also had time for a 2nd beer (I’d gone in the social club earlier and it was nice to see an efficient and quick serving system). A separate food queue was still too long (though I nabbed the last burger of the night on the way out…) I timed my beer nice in the 1st half too, seeing Milner’s comedy OG for Liverpool (for Roma?) on the big screen, while not missing any goals in this match.

The mish-mash of stands down one side.

Anyway, with penalties to look forward to, Hampton went and ruined it all by scoring two (both from the sub) in extra time, the second on the break as Truro piled men forward in search of an equaliser. An entertaining game had seen the Beavers triumph. Now who would take up the supporters’ club bloke’s offer ‘anyone for the coach to Chelmsford? Names here please.’

The Damage:
£12 ent
£4 Cobra (x2)
£0.90 peanuts
£2.50 prog
£3 burger
= £26.40

The Tunes:
Fabric 19 (Andy Weatherall)
Fabric 84 (Mathew Jonson)
All Melody (Nils Frahm)

side panorama...and that's not sunlight, it's floodlights.

Panorama from the stand behind the goal.

The view from the terrace.

A busy main stand.

Welcome to....(II)

The cameraman's 'stand'

Looking towards the eyrie.

The view from behind the goal.

Nevermind the corner flag...WTF is that hole?

That's me!

BFC 2-0 Brentford, Saturday 28th April 2018

‘Sees loads of Spanish lads.  Just goes to their room, does the business and leaves.  Most of ‘em good looking lads an’ all.’

For the final time this season...

I have no idea what happened on Satdy. No, I don’t mean  what happened was so unpredictable, so beyond belief (though it was) that I don’t know how it happened.  No, I was just so out of my tree the match spun by in the blink of an eye and I understood little of what went on.  The effects of alcohol. Having half a dozen pints pre-match (including a couple on the train), does nothing for the power of my memory, but I’ll give it a go.

The view from the East Upper.

Got to the Old Number 7.  Packed with Brentford, they’d done their homework on the finest hostelry in Barnsley.  Conversation revolved around our chances of staying up (nil) and telling Brentford not to worry about sending us down: it’s not their fault.  Had my photo taken with some of their lads, me looking suitably miserable to reflect the impending doom.

The West Stand v Brentford.

Had fish and chips. Marvellous.  Double thumbs up to Gary’s Fisheries.  Met up with my dad’s friend Diane and decided to go and sit upstairs with her.  Best view in the ground.  Handy when drunk.  Apparently Brentford had the better of the earlier exchanges.  All I’d say was we looked confident and strode up the pitch on a break.  Kiefer is on his own, wide left.  I could swear he even looked up, before delivering the ball in to no-one.  Thankfully, he’s yet to master the control of his own feet and the ball sails in at the far post, over the keeper.  ONE-NIL!

The Bees.

As I said, the rest of the game goes by in a blur. All I remember is how confident I was that we would not f*** this up.  Essence of Walsall away the other year, when I KNEW we’d hit that late winner.  Brentford simply looked so bad. Or were we amazing? Who knows?  I know Brentford looked nothing like a team chasing a play-off spot.  They looked more like us, after we’re safe.  We ran the second half.  McBurnie makes it two from a corner.  I thought the ball had been cleared, no idea how….but Ollie was off celebrating, the ball was cleared from behind the line.  Party time!

Fans and players celebrate the 2nd.

Thereafter, we had this bloke called Kiefer who endeavoured to keep the score down by missing simple chances.  One, if only he wasn’t there to tap in an open goal rebound, Potts was.  Shoulda, coulda, been 4 or 5 nil.  WTF happened????

Onwards and upwards!

I really am not best qualified to give a top 3.  I just remember the only player WITHOUT a claim was the keeper (see 'despatches')

Twitter MOTM: Hammill.  Although I’m a big fan, my first thought upon him being Twitter MOTM was ‘really?’  But hindsight says I have no clue what position Hammill played, nevermind him playing well.

Despatches:
Walton had NOTHING to do all game, save for a long shot straight at him.  I’m not sure whether he simply organises the defence better than Davies/Townsend (that can’t be hard) or whether the outfield were so worried about playing in front of a rookie that they did everything in their power to stop the Bees getting a sniff of goal.

The rest…err…..all played well.  Probably.

Oh, and well done OLLIE MCBURNIE.  Been here 3 months and wins Player of the Year.  Says it all, really.

Home fans celebrate winning a game of football.

In other news, I noticed a queue to renew season tickets after the game.  There wasn’t one of them beforehand!  Pre-match bookies odds on us going down…1/6.  Burton 1/5 and Bolton 2/1.  Now, Burton are 3/10, Bolton 11/17 (!?) and we’re 5/6.  Bloody hell, we’re actually FAVOURITES to stay up. I can feel the wolves at my door now, chasing me down for their tenners should our rescue become complete.  Fingers crossed their leader, Jonesy, will be rewarded for an entire season of optimism / delusion!*

*all we have to do is beat play off chasing Derby away, or hope Bolton fail to beat nothing-to-play-for Forest at home (and that Burton fail at Preston).  It promises to be a tense final day.

After match queue for season tickets.  'Let's wait and see what division we're in.'

Drink du jour: Erdinger on tap in the Old #7, Franziskaner the way up. JD and coke on the train…though I’ve found a bottle of Bacardi in my bag.  Great bants with Brentford on the way home.  Met the same lads who'd been in the pub.  They were keen to show me the pre-match photo of me/us.  Not a modicum of bitterness in any of them, just an obsession that we could send Brum down (16/1 if you fancy it), antipathy based on them nicking 3 Bees players.  We know that feeling…

Away: was it about 1400? I can’t remember what the announcer said.  The state I was in….

The Damage:
£28 train
£3 programme
£1 calendar
= £28

The Tunes:
Con Todo El Mundo (Khruangbin)
Countdown 1992-1983 (Pulp)

The Ponty v Brentford.