“VOTE PIES” Blackpool Away

30th August.

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Picked up some vouchers at the Brighton game. Fill ‘em in and get free tickets for the England under 17s game on Friday evening. England playing Turkey in the St George’s Trophy (yes, never heard of it before either). But if I’m doin’ a lot of nothing else on Friday, why not?

My brother is up for it.

And Saddlers Widow has never been to an international (well, come on it is an international isn’t it?) … and never seen a game at Bescot Stadium.

So we gang up, park, unnecessarily in the traditional place and walk the what quarter mile? More? To the ticket office. Presenting the vouchers there is a computer check. This is football in the twenty first century I guess. Getting data into the system, the chance to e-mail information/ opportunities/ junk to new contacts. I’m already in the system; the staff could probably tell you what I like for breakfast, my usual tipple and that I like sugar with my half time coffee.

We wander in, through the turnstiles. The lounges being for “corporate” but we’re near enough to spit into our usual seats. And there is a reasonable crowd. Big moon hangs in the still sunlit sky (perigee this weekend) as the teams line up and the flags are paraded.

 

England are sharper in the first half (only forty minutes long) and go two goals up. Second half Turkey shade it and the England goalkeeper is exceptional. Steady drive back, feeling patriotic and wondering what my Turkish friends would have thought. Perhaps they will read this (hey guys), nod quietly.

Saturday begins with family matters: mother, preparations for a wedding somewhere on the periphery, daughter and partner are at home when I get back and we saddle up for the Blackpool adventure. All of the Walsall tickets have been sold but it is not all ticket. M6 is queue after queue, one speed limit after the other. The matrix signs become boring: same old information – and really how necessary is it to tell people there is a queue when they are sitting in a queue. We wonder if maybe some wannabe comedian should be hired to write a running joke (maybe one of those knock-knock ones) on the signs. Be much more entertaining than the repetitive ones we are seeing. Maybe even a web-site where you could vote for your favourite joke. Crazy but marvellous the things you talk about on journeys eh?

Oh, that and the intriguing “VOTE PIES” graffiti on the side of one of the bridges. First noticed it on the way up to a match last season. What is it all about?

Big motorways and wide roads lined with hanging posters about the attractions of Blackpool (Legends on the Sands ( Leg Ends on the Sand?) Tommy, Elton John, Waxworks … and CATS!). But almost believing we are driving onto a commercial estate we have to pass through a ridiculously narrow railway arch before popping out into the warm, sunlit but tacky town itself. Find the nearest car park, impressed by the shining white stadium: my first visit and the lure of the prom. Easy enough to get tickets and cooked to order fish and chips. With enough time to wander to the wide expanses of promenade, the tram tracks, Cinderella carriages drawn by horses and the civilised gulls that wait to be fed rather than raid your hand held lunch.

The Tower, the Pleasure beach, the piers, expansive clean beach (low tide obviously) and throw back donkey rides. And the sun is friendly, beaming down. Never quite realised that the football club was so close to the town centre.

So we stroll casually towards the shining ground, past some random front garden party with middle aged-plus men wearing Rastafari hats and artificial dreadlocks, past the disinterested protests of the Blackpool fans making a fuss about owner Karl Oyston (some serious financial tomblaggery by all accounts – but, hey either give the club your money or ship out and support somebody else!

Seriously over-egged stewarding, passing through three ranks of hi-vis vested worthies all making the same request:

“Can I see your ticket mate?”

Seriously? First we’ve never met before so I am definitely NOT YOUR MATE and what is the point of having three layers of people asking the same damned fool question; presumably if I didn’t have a ticket I would not have got past the first line.

But once inside it is clear to see the extent of the boycott.

Walsall faithful rammed into two stands at the corner, floor to rafters: singing, waving, all the regular chants being aired. The rest of the tangerine seated stadium dotted with one or two random, stoical real Blackpool fans. My respect to them. The front four rows of chairs in the “home” stands covered with tarpaulin – to prevent fans sitting there and invading the pitch, apparently.

But, down to the game after riotous reception for saddlers. Lalkovic not starting. Slow paced beginning, but even after ten minutes, when a right wing Blackpool attack breaks down their players are pointing accusingly at one another. And (sorry Rico) tiny Walsall wing back henry is bending former Premier League centre half Emmerson Boyce every which way.

Twenty minutes or so gone and we get a break. Sawyers, free to run onto pass, casually turns it with a toe and it drifts oh-so-slowly into the goal. Honestly I thought it had missed and was going out: no desperate chasing back from a tangerine shirt to clear it off the line.

  

We have a good view of the field, although the goal is scored at the far end (our ticket says “Restricted View” but actually no more restricted than our standard Walsall seats).

Second half Walsall are genuinely in control. Henry running down the flank hooked a low Bradshaw bound cross into the box. It was intercepted by a defender, Aldred, who promptly nodded it into his own net.

Then on the opposite wing Demetriou who was energetic all game pulled a high cross to the back post where Sam Mantom powered a header in to the net. The Blackpool keeper just sat in despair on the ground.

It got worse for him; just as I was heading to the loo Romaine Sawyers – cracking game from him today -smacked a powerful shot-from-nowhere into the net. Four nil!

We are swiftly back in the car, pulling out across traffic and, pleasingly surprisingly home by 7 o’clock. Much faster getting home – the difference a 4-0 win and Bank Holiday queues make!

We are taking our eldest daughter out for a birthday meal. What do I order?

I vote pies of course: Guinness and steak pie: very tasty end to the day with a couple of pints of a pale ale whose name I cannot recall – so busy re-running the goals!

Morecambe away next (Johnstone’s Paint Trophy) – up the same old stretch of M6, but may not make that one.