“Game On!”: Bury Away

I get the expected ‘phone call at just after 10.30 (when I posted a shout out on the Book of Faces “to all supporters hanging on pitch inspections”). The referee had sensibly inspected the Gigg Lane pitch and wanted a second look at 12.30 but was fairly confident the game would be on. We would split the difference, leave at mid-day and be neither here nor there by the time the ref decided, but able to turn one way or the other easily enough.

We cram into the BMW. I’m in the front revelling in the comfort of the heated seat. The sat nav is primed, and with three more people crammed into the back we head for the M6.

On the way, listening to BBC Five Live (Sports) and the cricket we hear that Man City have ended the loan of George Evans “with immediate effect”. So he won’t be playing today – and he has been a super loanee, from day one!

But what is going on? It can only be that he has been sold. His contract is finished at the end of this season and … almost certainly, we all decide he’s on his way to Brentford … and our former manager.

We take a detour to avoid “animas on the road” (though unsure: Atlantic salmon? Blue whales confused by the floods? swallows fooled by the temperatures? Walsall supporters?)

 

We are alongside Gigg Lane stadium before we spot it; alongside the main road but crouching behind a curtain of ash trees. A right turn and we are immediately into cramped streets packed with cars parked bumper to bumper. Presumably going to the game. But we find a slot on Market Street and leg it down to the ground, nipping in to the Pym Gate Lounge nearby. Good job I was in the heated front seats. It costs a pound to get in, but they aren’t wasting it on having he heating on. The inside is most unwelcoming, cold, furnitureless and lacking in character.

I chose Warsteiner beer: last time I was drinking this was at Chris’s stag event in Tallinn – now the very man is he’s sitting opposite me and planning to become a teacher.

Bury stewards reportedly kept the match on by pouring kettles of boiling water onto the one goal area – and wisdom in the car says that water freezes at zero Celsius and melts at two degrees Celsius – and the first snow is falling as we exit the back door of the establishment and pay to walk into the away stand. Which is incidentally the only stand with no roof supports to obscure the view. Behind the goals again.

But this ground, probably one of the oldest left in the football league, set behind that stand of ash trees and alongside packed streets has a real feel to it – unlike the rather sterile Ricoh Arena we were leaving just a few days ago – and we like it.

George Evans, no less, is actually sitting a few rows behind us. Great show of solidarity but does not, will not or cannot tell us what is going on. We wish him well of course; he came along at the perfect time for us and gave us something we needed. He would have made a super Saddler, but the chance is gone … until, as always, next time.

So we kick off without Evans. Taylor is in at left back, Henry in mid field, Demetriou back in right back place and Forde in for Lalkovic. Strong start in the softly falling snow. But Bury choose to defend. And then score an own goal to help us on our way. Ridiculously inept clearance – under no pressure that slipped past a surprised keeper and settled the pattern for the first half.

We are clearly on top, mastering their mid-field and the conditions far, far better. Tactical nous? Fitness? Preparation? Magic? It really doesn’t matter, we see our team winning the second bounce, being first and hardest into tackles and passing into space and to feet with precision. So, this is what it feels like …

Tom Bradshaw gets the ball under control, swaps feet and rifles in the second.

George Evans – has he seen enough already – leaves his seat, heading home to watch TV?

Forde takes a pass. I will him to go on a bit of a run; he does, past a couple,  goes further still; edge of the box, drops the shoulder and pops in a third.

 

Relax Jack I think we’ve gone past your least favourite score (two nil up) and are well on the way to your favourite six nil.

Evans is back by then. We misjudged him. Real solidarity with the team – and supporters from the man. He’d been to grab a cuppa before the place got too crowded. I wonder how strange it must be to sit watching what you normally do? Strange? Educational ?

Five hundred and some supporters there. Not bad really, given that the game might have been called off and this is our second (and away games are not cheap) within five days.

I have a meat and potato pie at half time, not cold but taking away the edge of hunger. That and a coffee to prepare for what must be a rout in the second half. Bury were poor for the first forty five minutes, surely we can put ‘em to the sword, do our goal difference a power of good and boost our promotion hopes?

If only …

We lost at home to Bury. They were well organised and brought the game to us. During half time they have re-thought their game and soon get a goal back (their big centre forward not so lumbering now0. His name is Leon Clarke, he is something of a veteran and very quickly does it again.

That idea we had at half time to keep things in hand for the first ten/fifteen minutes was just chewing smoke after all. Now we are under pressure. But we survive, pick up the pace: a couple of substitutions: Morris on for Henry and, eventually Matt Preston on for Tom Bradshaw.

The snow has made the surface tricky but Bury – and great credit to their small bunch of loyal fans who, though quietened down in the first half have stayed and given their support – are harder to master in the second half.

We exit fairly swiftly. I am in the back seat on the return journey, squashed, but I’ve been less happy in worse conditions. We jam and shuffle until we reach the major roads and we sail smoothly home, hearing via the radio that we are now second in the league: back in the automatic promotion slots again.

Incidentally Burton Albion had a great result; winning away at Coventry and are still leading the field.