Perspective: Oldham Away.

A few days and a few beers later …

Some perspective has returned: the loss at Sheffield was not the end of the world, actually just another game in what is turning out to be a very enjoyable season. And we were there to see it, like so many other games this season. But time draws on – and there are, inevitably fewer games left and a kind of madness/clarity descends.

Our next game at Oldham is reachable. Saturday. While the next Tuesday evening game at Gillingham no longer feels quite so tempting.

So I am texting: my brother unable to make the journey proper pressures of work and time). But Andy is up for it: my message somewhat timely and succeeds in tempting him.

So we set off with him taking turn at being chauffeur and navigator.

Saddlers Widow’s words ringing in my ear (“Take a water proof coat, the weather will get wet!”) I dump my ages-old green and black very-basic ski-ing anorak into the back seat of the BMW.

Rain? Sees unlikely as we head north, to the M6 and up the motorway. Queues, speed limits but we have set out with what we –always – hope is plenty of time.

Off and around Manchester; industry and it’s remnants crowd around: Lancashire, perhaps stereotypically famous for cotton mills. But looming over the road and pressing up the skies is the enormous Stockport viaduct. Apparently this mighty visionary structure is made up of eleven million (count ‘em!) bricks and was completed in 1840. Crossing the River Mersey valley it has twenty on arches and still carries the West Coast railway. Things were built big and meant to last back in Victorian times. The factories, warehouses and mills have gone now, fallen into rack and ruin or converted into shopping malls or similar. But their ghosts are here for anyone who knew about them.

Are schoolchildren still actually reminded of this heritage these days we wonder idly. This is a time in which locality seems to mean less and less. The world shrinking and identity being less linked to places. It is not surprising given the wonders of technology and the amount of spare/available time (blogs are a fine example I guess) but is also a shame. The best of both worlds would be better; but how to achieve balance?

We stop for lunch at a canal-side hostelry, The Boat and Horses. Manchester pale Ale for me, with steak and ale pie. Big, friendly place. Spacious and walls decorated with old photos and pictures of locally born celebrities. One of my favourite post-war funny men Eric Sykes is up there. As is Christopher Biggins, who apparently sat with my mother at an airport and had to tell her who he was (oh the cruel indignity of it all …)

 

We drift out of the car park, find one of the final places on the official car park (a steward carries the Car Park Full and sets it up in the road behind our very car.

Good timing! We smile – a little too smugly. But one of the stewards tells us of a car that got trapped in mud there a couple of weeks ago and another is telling anybody who will listen that he has won money on the Grand National. Strange – it doesn’t begin until after the final whistle.

Since the last time I was here a new stand has been built where, previously here was a feeble security fence atop a bank of hard-core. I think I know here I am going so we head up the hill. But … also since last time the home supporter’s end has been switched and, effectively we end up walking round three sides of the ground to find the correct gate to pay at. Old fashioned ground this one: built with players and officials entrance straight onto the road, solid brick walls and manned turnstiles.

From inside the new stand looks good and the corrugated roof we sit under, behind the goals is held up by a spider web of Meccano-like joints, braces and nuts and bolts: Universal fittings. Rusted into place.

And the pitch looks rough. A lot of sand, a lot of bumps.

The two teams come out. Henry left on the bench, Taylor playing, Pennington who had a good debut last week in, O’Connor still missing. Hiwula and Bradshaw look a good pair up front with Sawyers behind them is our guess. Kick off and we look smart, good passing. But just to much passing and not enough having a shot?

 

Love the short, passing game with the occasional longer ball to open teams up: and that’s what we are doing to Oldham, but not just having a bash often enough for my liking. Forde is playing – and very quickly snaffles some great interceptions, then head down and flying to get a cross in. Excellent.

Hiwula moving about: either doing what he’s been tasked with or making it up as he goes along. He’s certainly covering ground and putting some maximum effort in.

But, curses we are blessed by a group of “experts” (three of ‘em) who know everything there is to know about football and just have to give everybody else the benefit of their wealth of knowledge. Apparently they even knew how we were going to play – and that we’d be rubbish … and that we’d lose.

Nothing like that kind of punditry to set my back up and destroy what is otherwise a very positive fandom. Malignant and erosive. Tell you what lads next time stay at home eh?

But then again, as my grandfather might have said fools who never stop talking must get one or two things right, just because they say so damned much.

And while we aren’t scoring Oldham manage to get a goal ahead. Their fans, quiet as mice up to that point go berserk. This really is the score they are needing, freeing them of relegation worries.

And, once ahead they fight hard not to let us in.

Bradshaw gets taken off: some thigh injury perhaps?

Lalkovic, Kieron Morris and Jordan Cook come on, but it doesn’t get any better.

And it is suddenly raining. Hard. And, feeling confident I have left my waterproof coat in the car (sorry darling). The last few minutes are played out – there’s a tinge of the familiar about it all. And, although Burton lose to Scunthorpe other results have us dumped down to sixth place. Still with games in hand, but the next one is away at Gillingham.

We scuttle , just about maintaining our dignity back to the car. Making the distance in a break in the downpour. Back on the road we are both grimly quiet and listen to the commentary of the Grand National race as hail piles up on the bonnet of the car. The race is taking place as we drive through this dreadful weather but there is no mention of storms, winds or hail there ( less than forty miles away).

“… Got To Be Bradshaw!” (Fleetwood: home)

 

Jeff Astle. A surname that had schoolboys arguing about whether or not to pronounce the “t” or not (“you don’t in castle, do you?”). Jeff Astle who played 361 games for West Bromwich Albion, scoring 174 goals. He also played for England five times, but scored no goals. He died of injuries to the brain, sustained heading the leather case balls that, honestly got heavier when they got wet. And heading was his specialty.

When WBA beat Everton at Wembley to win the F.A. Cup in 1968 he scored in every round of the tournament., but finished his life as a window cleaner in Burton. His motto? “He doesn’t miss the corners!”

Yesterday in a turnaround West Brom celebrated Jeff Astle day – a tribute to the iconic player and to his family who have long been campaigning for better understanding of the circumstances surrounding his illness. They will be setting up the Jeff Astle Foundation. The club had previously actively discouraged participation. All credit to them for reconsidering. So, on the day, West Brom, seemingly to be pulling clear of relegation from the premier league under recently appointed manager Tony Pulis were playing Leicester City (equally apparently falling through the floor to the Championship). WBA playing in replica shirts from the ’68 F.A. Cup Final, complete with red socks went into a 2-1 lead; the first Albion goal being scored – can you believe it? – after nine (the shirt Astle wore so effectively during his Baggies time) minutes. Home and hosed the Albion faithful thought, but reckoned without Leicester’s spirit. Leicester playing some aggressive, attacking soccer coming out – 3 – 2 winners.

Back at home after a trip to library and supermarket we are eating dinner when the doorbell rings.  Unexpectedly it’s our neighbour.

“if you want to pop round for a cup of tea and cake,” he says, quietly, “it’s my eightieth birthday …”

I feel guilty (I didn’t know!) and sad (is he on his own?). I finish my cheese cob and we knock on the door. He is not alone, there’s champagne and tea and sponge cake. We talk for a while (football, jobs, biscuits and families) then I have to get ready to go to the match. We are playing Fleetwood. They are on the fringes of getting promoted for the second consecutive season. We, meanwhile  sit on the hinges of the relegation trapdoor. Surely this will be a mighty clash? Everything to play for, for both teams!

It is sunny. The Walsall crowd is poor, but hey, the Grand National will be on TV.  Some guy comes and asks if the seats next to me are usually taken. He’s a scout – and with some others – and the seats they’ve been given are poor. Turns out he works for Wigan; reckons they’ll be coming down into League One and he’s here to watch Fleetwood. “There’s a lot of players not signing up new contracts,” he explains, being quite open, “we’ve a new, young manager (Gary Caldwell) and he’s wanting to know what’s about.”

Tom Bradshaw is back in the team, and Kieron Morris, who has been on loan at Wrexham (playing for them – and losing – at Wembley). He  looks sharp. Bradshaw looks mobile and sprightly. But neither team seems particularly inspired. We are  playing better than of late it is true, but still the ball goes backwards too often, is slowed when we could be pressing. Cook  is lucky to remain on the pitch after a harsh challenge on the far touchline, but maybe the referee has seen too many “Cod Army” players falling over far too easily and writhing on the ground in  a frankly pathetic fashion. And getting nothing!

Cully and Andy are there, we talk about the wedding and about finding rare artefacts that museums do not want to know about (in his case a rope assisted dumb waiter lift arrangement still in perfect working order), extracted from  a building in one piece!

Inexplicably in the second half, Morris who has lead the charge and been one of our most effective players is switched for Rico Henry (it would have been good to see these two on at the same time because Henry’s attitude is brilliant: he is small but big hearted and runs at people very well, his pace carrying him through challenges. (Cook had been taken off after about an hour and Hiwula came on).

In the second half Fleetwood are trying something very different; dropping way back and trying to counter attack. Gives Purkiss and Taylor a chance to push up. O’Connor is sound at the back and both Chambers twins playing strongly. Tongue in cheek, the Walsall “choir” bring on a few choruses (to the tune of We’ll Meet  Again) of

“We’ll Score again

Don’t know where

Don’t Know when

But I know we’ll score again

Some sunny day”

Cain has looked a bit off the pace, but just after the Wigan scout has told me this is the third nil-nil draw he’s been to, he slips a pass through to – who else? – Tam Bradshaw, who adjusts himself and pushes the ball accurately and economically into the bottom corner of the net.

“That’s got to be Bradshaw!” the scout says – and it is his seventeenth goal of the season. While we need another plan for some games; and while Bradshaw has been sidelined with this hamstring thing and missed so many games – he is a player in a million for us: talisman and worth so much.

I can feel the relief in my own bones: Dean Smith must be as ecstatic as he can ever be. Suddenly we are steering clear of trouble aren’t we?

We are at home on Tuesday night. Crawley Town who are out of the relegation zone on goal difference alone. If we can just beat them in the next game in what will be a matter of urgency for them we may well be home safe – despite so many  lacklustre performances.

The drive home is a lot easier.

The Grand National has been won by Many Clouds , giving jockey  Leighton Aspell his second consecutive victory in the race (he won last year on Pineau De Re). Crews from Oxford University won both the women’s and men’s boat races.

Going Down? (Notts County at home; Peterboough away)

So, I will try again.

I have written every one of these blog posts fairly and with very little post editing. But the last two games left me frustrated and fuming – and, having said that I have to confess I went to neither. Not the Good Friday home game against struggling Notts County; after which Dean Smith’s run-of-the-mill deja dit quotes about doing all of the work, blah, blah blah, doing everything except score … couldn’t ask for more”  rankled. More even than the over-reporting of the ongoing election rabbit-rabbit-rabbit from the media. Sorry gaffer, heard it a few too many times now, it’s worn so thin its see-through  and needs throwing out (yes, yes, yes –even if it is your favourite!)

Instead I went, sore head, throat and all to a wedding (following the November stag party https://saddlersfan.wordpress.com/tag/tallinn ) on the edge of Wolverhampton. A dull day with warm rain and grey clouds. But the occasion? Exciting, colourful and complete with toastmaster, civil ceremony, glamourous costumes, dry ice, banghra drummers and three of the most entertaining speeches I have heard in a long time! A chance to meet friends old, recent and from many moons ago. Great atmosphere and the occasional shared sneaky peek at a smart phone to get the latest from Bescot.

During one of the musical interludes Andy and I discussed a foray down to Peterborough the following Monday.

But by Monday morning, bright, sunny and spectacularly warm neither of us felt motivated. A two hours plus  so-many minutes’ drive there – and back again; the probability of being trapped in bank Holiday traffic returning from the coast didn’t appeal to either of us … that and the fact I needed to get potatoes planted in the allotment!

So, what did we miss? Very little apparently because. I am home in time to hear the results on local radio and comments on the game. Some phrases stick in my brain:

“Walsall cannot score …” (You’re telling me I think as I hear it!) and:

“It’s now been six hours since Walsall scored.” (We managed a goalless draw).

The week began so well: big words in the local paper from Richard O’Donnell about Walsall “needing to be nastier”. I agreed with this sentiment on all levels. No finger pointing or blame apportioned, but more of a let’s-roll-up-the sleeves and get-stuck-in attitude. Commendable. But by Thursday Dean Smith is playing it down and confusing matters with far less gladiatorial “we are as nasty as we need to be” quote. Really?

Now after two disappointing performances in a table that changes like the Namib Desert dunes in a Northumberland gale we have moved up a spot, but are only two points away from the relegation zone.

Several days have passed  – I did not dare post the gloomy initial attempt – and, during that time in other news we have what is being described as the “most daring and sophisticated raid” as thieves apparently scaled down a lift shaft into a basement and drilled through six feet thick walls into a safety deposit box vault in Hatton Gardens, ransacking the place and breaking open an estimated seventy boxes before making their escape.

However, with police still “collecting evidence” nobody knows exactly what has been taken. It seems that even the customers who kept valuables there do not know whether their own goods (secrets even?) are secure. I am wondering what laws govern the keeping of safety deposit boxes. Is it known by the company what is inside the boxes? How does it all work? Indeed, could some of the customers be suspects?

Large deposits of crude oil are reported as being found by a survey in Surrey. Enough it is suggested to provide the U.K. with a fair slice of our needs in the next twenty years.  But it’s in Surrey and the locals are not happy. They don’t want their properties being disrupted, put at risk by the operations that might be necessary to recover the oil … and are also suspicious that this might be the thin end of the wedge, with fracking to follow. Always wise to be suspicious I guess.

This weekend sees the Grand National being run at Aintree. This is one of the craziest of horse races: massive course and enormous jumps and a large number of starters with all of the random stalls and falls that can make horse racing so enjoyable. This from the official Grand national website;

“The Grand National Horse Race is often called the world’s greatest steeplechase.

The race is one of the most famous steeplechases in the world. It is a unique test of horsemanship for the rider and also a test of a great significance for a horse.

The course is nearly two and a quarter miles in length and has 16 unique fences including the famous Bechers Brook. The fences have an added problem for horses, the famous drop fences where the landing side of the fence is lower than the take off side, this means the horse approaching the fence is unaware of the drop until in the air.

At The Chair Fence the reverse of this occurs. It is the biggest fence on the course and the landing side is higher than the take off.

In the Grand National the horses have to complete almost two circuits of the course and jump 30 fences and then complete a long 494 yard run in which has been the downfall of many in the past.

There are two fences that are jumped only once and this is on the first circuit and they are the famous Chair and the water jump.

Although the first ‘Official Grand National’ was in 1839 the race was first run three years earlier in 1836.”

Many time champion jockey Tony (A.P.) McCoy has said he will retire “on the spot” if he finishes first. This is a colourful and highly skilled rider (born 4 May 1974), a Northern Irish horse racing jockey, currently based in England. He was named  BBC Sports Personality of the year in 2010, becoming the first jockey to win the award.^[2]  McCoy has been Champion Jockey every year he has been professional. Even in his first season riding in Britain, as an apprentice, McCoy won the Conditional Jump Jockeys Title with a record 74 winners for a conditional jockey. McCoy claimed his first Champion Jockey title in 1995/6 and, as of 2013/14, has won 19 consecutive Champion Jockey titles. McCoy has won almost every big race there is to win, including the Grand National.

Second big sporting institution of the weekend will be the annual Cambridge versus Oxford University boat race. Up the river Thames for 4.2 miles, this race was first held in 1829. This year, for the first time three races will take place on the same day – over the same Putney to Mortlake course – ladies, reserves and first teams.

Meanwhile Walsall will be facing Fleetwood in another big test. Of nerve and skill. It would be very hard to watch us sink into league Two, especially after such hopes at the start of the season.

It’s a funny old game I guess.

Port Vale: Away

Written on 6th April, 2014

I drove to Bescot to get the tickets for the Vale game. Burslem is not one of my favourite places in League One, though I have been there many times: it’s not so far to travel and there is usually fierce, not-quite-derby tension that brings excitement and skill out in both teams.

Driven in by my brother – cheers mate – and picking up Cully and Drew en route. Back lanes drive was a new way to get there for me, passing none of the landmarks and roundabouts I would normally be looking out for … and that’s not so easy from the back of an Alfa Romeo. Great parking spot and, hey there really was an oat-cakes shop (though it was closed) near the ground.

Brisk stroll; the ground looks so small and bodged together, with a patchwork ethos and stands that do not match. The roof of the stand we were in is apparently from Chester Football Club and so low it holds the sound in. The small-ish Walsall choir were buoyant, deafening (great support!) and, frankly discordant.

Grabbed a bite to eat at the café*: two coffees, two ciders a pie (only meat and potato) and a Mars bar. The cider was sticky and overly sweet.

That passion I was expecting (way back in the first paragraph)? No signs of it in the first half. Vale looking dangerous. Walsall looking a little lost and Ngoo in to replace suspended Westcarr didn’t quite work. The kid is talented, confident but doesn’t somehow fit in. Long legs like a young giraffe, very willing. Maybe just not enough match practice yet? Brandy looked tired and short of pace. James Chambers, unusually, was both out-paced and out-thought by the Vale winger, but we were hanging in there when the half time whistle went.

Playing towards us in the second half we seemed to have a better grip. Play was undoubtedly rougher – scuttlebutt going round the ground was that the teams above us (that we needed to lose to keep our remote play-off chances alive) were actually losing. Both teams here could capitalise on that – if they could win.

Some dubious refereeing decisions given both ways. Some harsh tackles: both ways, some diving: both sides … but when our centre half Paul Downing and a Vale player, Tom Pope, got tangled up in the penalty box – penalty.

Scored!

Cue substitutions: Brandy off for Lalkovic, Ngoo off for Bakayoko and Baxendale (largely ineffective) off for Hewitt.

Cue the traditional weekly last throw-down frantic paced everything and the kitchen sink and his wife and gundog melee as we hammer the Vale defence to get an equaliser and – in our eyes a shred of justice. Equaliser? Hell no; lets win the game!

I can never quite understand why we need to go one down before we start to play properly. Indeed there is a suggestion in the car as we drive back that we should hypnotise the team before the game, trancing ‘em into thinking we are one – nil down. Light the blue touch paper, stand back and watch the fireworks.

It’s history now, we don’t manage it. But there was a spirited first performance from Bakyoko, young but not afraid to get in with the big boys and their flying boots.

Elsewhere, the long-running saga of the Hillsborough Disaster continues. During my life there have been a number of football disasters, this being the worst of them. I cannot begin to imagine the torment the families of the ninety six people who died at what should have been a marvellous occasion have been put through. I salute their grit and determination to have genuine justice. It cannot have been easy.

Brighter news is that Birmingham City Ladies will be playing in the UEFA Women’s Champions League semi-final after beating Arsenal. Women’s football is booming at the moment, credit to everyone who has made it happen. Can we get a team at Walsall please?

And more international matches will be played at Bescot. My guess is that it is due to having the national training centre (St George’s Park) at Rangemore, because the games will be shared with Burton Albion. They are part of the UEFA European Under-19 Championship Elite Qualifying matches and will be played in May.

A horse from just down the road in Worcestershire won the Grand National while we were struggling to overcome the Vale and today Oxford hammered Cambridge in the Universities Boat Race.

*Oh yeah, the name of the café?

Would you Adam and Eve it ?