Super Tuesday? Really? Whisper It At Bescot Please!

Super Tuesday – At Bescot? : Scunthorpe at Home

I’m feeling rather optimistic (if you’ve read any other entries in this blog you may spot the somewhat-inevitable, optimistic- football fan pattern) .But why not? My team made the League One leaders look less than ordinary on Saturday – at their ground. OK, OK we failed to win, but looked far superior (yes, we failed to win, don’t bring that up again … please).

And this no-win streak can only go on for so long can’t it? The runes have got to be for us at some point: surely?

So why not the home game on Tuesday against Scunthorpe?

Yes optimistic indeed.

I hear on the radio that medical researchers are up in arms and trying to get “the tackle” banned from school rugby. Citing it as an unnecessary element of a game that is, by its nature, contact and confrontation. I have no opinion one way or the other. I went to a grammar school too late to be sucked in to the sport but on the other hand have had some seriously riotous nights out with rugby players.

My game is with the properly shaped ball; I have little to say about either of the two forms of the Rugby code.

Meanwhile Adam Johnson ( sacked by Sunderland) is found guilty of sexual offences involving a child. He had shown real talent as a footballer, but got carried away by the fame and, almost doubtless, the money. Footballers nowadays are akin perhaps to the rock and roll celebrities of the 1970s: young, rich and pandered to. Just without the drugs and alcohol.

Brighter news is that eh World Track Cycling Championships starts this week; Sir Bradley Wiggins and Laura Trott amongst others will be doing their respective things round and round the London Velodrome.

 

And, across the Pond people in the good old U. S. of A are in the excitement and hoo-ha of democracy: seeking to choose candidates for each party who will represent their parties (Democrats and Republicans) in the nation’s presidential elections.

Donald Trump, successful yet abrasive businessman seems to be winning for the ; while Hilary Clinton (wife of former U.S. president Bill Clinton and a career politician seems to be getting the votes for her side.

 

It is kind of interesting to see a different type of political system in action> In the U.K we vote locally for party candidates who have already chosen their party leaders. First past the post polling means the party that gets the highest number of Members of Parliament wins control in the House of Commons. We do not vote for a Prime Minister in the way the Americans vote for a president. Which system is better? Both are equally good, perhaps and at the same time equally flawed.

So Tuesday evening comes around. I’m still optimistic. Reasons as detailed above – oh and a good week at work helping out too. And the fact that Saddlers Widow was good enough to drag herself to Bescot Ticket office on the first morning of season ticket sales to nab my season ticket for next year.  I would have had one anyway I think, so why not take advantage of the Early Bird discount –and get a free Walsall at Wembley: History in the Making book at the same time. The joke at work is that the first thousand to buy season tickets get one free copy of this souvenir book (souvenir of a day that was brilliant until the first whistle, then went swiftly downhill) – and that anyone else who buys a season ticket after that gets two free books. Cannot beat that football-fan irony can you?

My bro has to join the queue for his ticket but I breeze through the savoy Lounge entrance, a bit of banter with the two always-friendly front of house attendants who laugh that, after all, there are only another six homes games left aren’t there?

Do they know something I don’t.

We are fourth as I walk past them. Play off places. That will mean at least one more home game.

Or we finish first (yes please!) or second and get through automatically … or seventh and don’t need to be at Bescot again until the friendlies see us off to another League One season.

I meet Cully in the Lounge. He’s a bit rueful: mentions he has already got his season ticket and Savoy Lounge Pass (this is being offered only to existing pass holders and on a first come first served basis. I smile and tell him I also have my season ticket, but not my Lounge Pass yet.

We sink a beer, then head out to join my brother. Same team as Saturday: keeping faith. And we look good for all of ten minutes, then are pushed, bullied and lacking in authority as Scunthorpe with s few loyal fans (credit to them!) turn the screw. Neither team doing much seriously to threaten the other’s goal, but neither team looking very fluent either.

It is frustrating. I start getting annoyed with the tiniest, least relevant of things. Sublimating, I suppose yelling negative comments at my own team, whose performance is so much below the standard I was expecting. Bad day at the office syndrome maybe, but this is yet another bad day: we need to clock up some wins. At half time results were going for us: Burton drawing, Wigan not winning, Gillingham the same. We could be picking up points and places. But we look jaded. Tom Bradshaw is manful as always, people running, Downing looking positively Brazilian as he runs the ball out of defence and plays us in to a chance. But overall we are just running on the spot.

There is a round of applause to celebrate the life of a Walsall fan who was murdered while on holiday in Tunisia. So, it was a terrorist attack, but the guy was murdered; let’s just get it straight eh? Two other members of his family were also tragically murdered in the cowardly attack.

Full time drags itself around and we have a second consecutive clean sheet: yippee for that then!

But, somehow have crept up the table to third place.

Desperate after the ordeal we have suffered we decide we need a beer (well, that’s what we tell ourselves) but are caught in traffic and the first pub we try has stopped serving.

But the good old Royal Oak (Norton Lane) is in Tuesday night quiz mode and we down a couple in there.

Barnsley at home on Saturday. Got to get a win then surely?

Getting a striker is an entirely different matter.

Millwall at Home

So, too late for my doctor’s appointment – traffic snarled up because of a fatal accident on the M6 and subsequent closure of the motorway, while, firstly police did their necessary but morbid job and, secondly repair vehicles were called because spilled diesel had eaten away at the road surface (apparently causing it to return to its constituent parts: stone and tar: er, any chemists or civil engineers out there can help me with this one?). All roads in the vicinity – except, illogically the M6 toll road were jam-bumper-to-bumper rammed. Me too.

There talk-jockey on Radio WM is trying to provoke discussion by saying that the Toll Road should be opened up for free if such incidents happen … but gets little response. The road remains a white elephant (but was useful for laddering us to the Ian Hunter concert and Reading last week.

So … late for the appointment; late getting home and eating and not enough digestion time to get to the gym. So a brisk walk instead, spotting a couple of pallets in the front garden of the son of our one-time Co-op milkman I hatched a plan.

Scrounged said pallets, took ‘em down to my mother’s: perfect timing she was just running out of kindling, in the grey, wet and windswept Saturday morning drabness. Opposite to her house, the fence has been cleared up: a car crashed through it a couple of weeks ago and totalled the telegraph pole nearby.

Got a little wetter just wandering in the copse there: where I spent many happy hours, whatever the weather, as a child. The wood and I have both changed but there is still something magical about standing in it, surrounded by oak, alder and sycamore trees – and an ash tree that my grandfather planted. The dip is flooded now: such rain recently.

Got in touch with my brother and, while Saddlers Widow was off to spectate at a weightlifting competition at OSP (her training gym)we set off for Bescot. Easier to park than either of us thought: we are second in the league now and getting good gates at home and spectacular travelling support (this is all relative of course) and I expected the road to be jammed. Presumably the weather put fair weather fans off. The official web-site http://www.saddlers.co.uk has just posted a teaser for the Early Bird season ticket sale. It is inspirational: well filmed, imaged and voiced over (titled I Believe), but, for some reason has no mention of how much the discounted tickets will cost. Hmmmm …

However, doing as well as we are, this really should boost ticket sales; after all we may well be in the Championship next year.

The paths between Grand Junction Way, where we traditionally park and Bescot are saturated, the road too on Bescot Crescent is seriously flooded and oncoming traffic splashes water over the trousers of those of us shuffling, albeit quickly to the Temple of League One Dreams, home of the “Pride of the Midlands”, as we hold our hoods over our hair. A bus is the vilest culprit. I slide inside, flashing my season ticket, while brother goes to get his from the sales office. Inside I find out that second-string goalie has injured himself since Tuesday’s Doncaster magic and youngster Liam Roberts is in for a debut. Whoops could be a banana skin.

 

That scout is back and we welcome him: in fact I let him have my seat. He says he’s here to watch Millwall players, but that there are other scouts here too – and I’d already noticed a guy wearing a Rochdale anorak somewhere near the coffee.

We kick off, rain still bucketing down from the floodlit heavens, running along the edge of the roof and being blown by the savage gusts of wind. Cold wind with an edge to it!

 

The game kicks off and it is fast and furious: Millwall have a great away record, we are not as good at home as we do on the road. A great forty five minutes and everything still to play for … for both sides. Roberts has had a really steady game, making some excellent saves and a couple of brave ones at flailing feet.

But in the second half we are playing against that wind. Coffee has warmed me up, and I am ready for things to click. They don’t. We are working hard, playing together, but Millwall are starting to come into it. Bradshaw is playing his usual game, getting bustled, getting battered but giving some back and always available and ready to chase the lost cause balls.

Then Millwall snatch the lead: a fine goal, followed by unnecessary and unsavoury celebration baiting the home fans – and we are chasing a game. We’ve done it before, but this time Millwall are making their lead count. As we did on Tuesday night. A taste of our own medicine I suppose. They get a second. Then a third. We plug away: anything would help us here, help our goal difference, even if we cannot get the points, cannot get even one.

Bad news is that Bradshaw pulls up after fifty minutes, going for one more challenge, looking at the bench sits down and is replaced by Jordan Cook. Is this the turning point in the season I guess we are all thinking. How bad will it be this time?

We do not have another striker, were really pleased to have kept him during the January transfer window … for this?

I wish him a speedy recovery.

Jordan Cook-rated, apparently as our “most committed trainer”, so does Milan Lalkovic (failing to have his usual impact) and the always-honest Kieron Morris.

We trudge back past and through the flooded roads and pavements to the car, wondering how the teams around us have gotten on. We know that Leicester City have won at Manchester City (amazing but maybe unsurprising) in the Premiership.

Back at home I am swiftly on to the i-pad; we have managed to hang on to second place, but missed a chance to threaten those below us – and still in striking distance.

This was another game that could have been a key; it didn’t look easy, but on the way in I had confidence that we could win it. It is good to have that kind of faith … and the injuries to key players (Etheridge, Bradshaw and McGillivray) notwithstanding I still have it.

But prospective season ticket sales may have taken a bit of a hit.

Did We Really Just See That? (Crawley: Home)

There are two tickets left in my first-ever season ticket book as I set out for the home game against Crawley Town. But, because I am expecting to travel down to London to meet with a friend from Romania on the day of our final home game (if we can confirm arrangements) this is likely to be my final home game of the season. Saturday’s game lifted the spirits; we actually a) scored a goal and b) won a game. So I drive to the ground with a mixture of confidence and sadness. It’s been a long and trying season but, just at the end things look to be coming out all right. I thank the always-cheerful lady who checks tickets at the Savoy Lounge entrance: she always has a welcome word and a good-night as I leave. Worth a lot is that.

I get a lager shandy in, there is plenty of room, it will be one of the poorest crowds of the season. And, my word they will miss a game and a half!

Cully and Andy turn up and we talk about comedians and raconteurs that have entertained us: Peter Sellers, Peter Ustinov, Tommy Cooper, Eric Sykes and contemporary TV programmes (I watched a quite brilliant Inside Number 9 programme earlier this week) and books (the one I am currently reading about the building of the trans-continental railroad across what became the U.S.A).

Then outside to watch the teams come out; the strains of the Who bringing, as usual a shiver down my spine.

Crawley, I mistakenly think is London, but actually is away south of the capital (the nearest town to Gatwick airport (and my own travel experiences tell me how far beyond London that is!).  Managed by Dean Saunders they are having a tough time of it: lower than Walsall in League One and struggling to field a team of players in their natural positions.

If we can win this game we will have a cushion between us and relegation and we set off on the attack, attack, attack. Crawley are unsettled, their veteran goalkeeper, Brian Jensen soon into action. Sawyers (playing his hundredth game for saddlers), Kieron Morris (who has been brilliant since his recall from loan duty at Wrexham) and Cain raining shots on the Crawley goal.

Morris running forward with determination linked up with Hiwula and Jordy slips the ball deftly into the net. One nil. It didn’t end there, we kept pouring forwards and, looking once or twice at dean Saunders I could sense his desperation. With luck on their side however they managed to get to half time only one nil down.

Inside we make plans for going to Crewe on Saturday; I am away until Friday – a brief sojourn in Suffolk – but will be back in time.

Any changes Crawley may have tried out didn’t work although they were a little feisty at the kick off. On sixty five minutes sawyers took the ball on his chest, then lobbed it into the path of Hiwula, who took a deft touch and nabbed his second goal. Two minutes later Kieron Morris began a run out of defence, space opening up in front of him. He kept running and his shot was slightly deflected past the goalkeeper. This got a rousing cheer from the Walsall crowd:  Morris is a local lad. Next up, taking a well-placed cross field ball was And Taylor. His shot got an even greater deflection; the ball looping over the goalkeeper to nestle in the net.

I pause to imagine that we could have been playing like this all season, but quickly dismiss the thought.

Jordan Cooke is brought on as substitute. He takes a ball from Forde and strokes it goalwards. He has done this a couple of times but the ball has come back off the post or gone just wide: not tonight!

Five nil!

It’s still quite warm as I drive home. I have got to arrange for someone to water the seedlings in the greenhouse before we set off tomorrow to east Anglia and I am hoping the weather stays like this … but am asleep well before those few dedicated Crawley Town fan are half way home.  Five nil! Unbelievable, but wonderful!

It’s A Friendly, Right?

It’s a sunny day: a lot gets done during the day.

I have used my season ticket for the first time (to reserve my seat) and get two extra tickets for the friendly game this evening. Opponents Leicester City (new boys to the Premier league in the forthcoming season).

Promises to be interesting right?

Walsall’s results in friendlies so far not exactly encouraging. But they’re friendlies right? Meant to add to player’s fitness, get them playing together like a well-oiled machine (nah, you’re right that metaphor definitely doesn’t work … but it’s staying put!), test out new strategies, different positions, all that malarkey …

Then again, so far we’re getting players injured in these games and it’s time to start sweating., maybe. We have a small squad, so injury problems are never far away, if not actually paying a visit and eating your scones.

Good crowd from Leicester; posh coaches too. Our daughter Rebecca, who teaches in Leicester, is one of my guests. The other is a Liverpool fan, just interested in seeing a game I guess.

The new electronic scoreboard! It’s bright, it shows pictures that are synched with the announcements and, soon after kick off the timer is wrong. the pitch looks splendid, but, then again, if it’s not pristine now, there’s really no hope is there?

Our number 2 is listed on the team sheet as “A. Triallist”. He is big! A little out of fitness and he doesn’t track back when big Wes Morgan lumbers up to score Leicester’s first. Nobody to blame really for the second. A good tackle from Paul Downing (our vice-captain this season) bobbles to a Fox, David Nugent, who hammers it sweetly into the net. We’re looking a bit nervous at this point.

Just before the break some relaxed Leicester defending sees our number two stick the ball in the net. Bit rough house, but it’s “in the sprout bag” and the referee gives it. Bit of muscle, just what we’ll need when the pressure is on and we need to use a target man to soak up time.

The announcement of the scorer is typical Walsall.

“The first goal for the Super saddlers was scored by number two … I don’t know who*.”

We seem invigorated after the break. Baxendale sharper, O’Connor (new signing) and Mal Benning, especially looking useful.  Adam Chambers, new captain is at the centre of things, leading, typically by example and effort. The ball gets squeezed up the wing, dinked inside; a run from A. Triallist who looks up and slides the pass inside for another new boy Ashley Grimes to equalise.

Both teams give the other a thoroughly good work out. Leicester look less threatening in the second half, but manage a winner after a welter of substitutions, including “Another Triallist”.

It’s still warm when we leave the ground, with stewards not yet “up to speed on segregating the masses trying to exit via the Bonser Suite. Not an easy job: but this year I can smile and flash my season ticket.

Don’t worry people this is a friendly, you have time to get your act together. The Express and Star and web-site Bescot Banter certainly do. They have the Triallist named and noted as Mathieu Manset.

D-Day veteran Ron gets VIP treat from Saddlers after being spotted on TV

 

I was pretty determined, when I set out on this blog that most of the words would be my own, but following the last post (if you’re English that could be so ironic) I may need to borrow large chunks from other sources.

When I sat here and typed out https://saddlersfan.wordpress.com/2014/06/09/en-route-to-brazil/ I was responding to TV reporting on a momentous occasion. It seems that, somewhere in the wings at or around Bescot Stadium, others were also taking notes. Both local daily newspaper The Express and Star and the official Walsall web-site http://www.saddlers.co.uk have followed up the marvellous boost given to the club by Normandy veteran Ron Davies.

What follows is taken from both of these sources.

First, the Express and Star;

“When D-Day veteran Ron Davies heard a knock at his front door, he had no idea of the surprise that was waiting for him.

Ron Davies speaking on TV

But the lifelong Walsall FC supporter had been tracked down by club bosses who wanted to show their gratitude for his sacrifices in the Normandy landings.

He was seen talking about his love for the club on TV during the 70th anniversary events in Normandy – and Saddlers fans launched an immediate campaign to track him down, calling for the club to honour him.

Officials took note and set off on their own quest to track down the 88-year-old to surprise him.

They put out a message on social media for help in contacting Mr Davies, who lives just yards from the Banks’s Stadium.

And after getting his address, they wasted no time in turning up on his doorstep. He was presented with a scarf, signed football and a club tie, and will be a guest of honour ahead of the pre-season match with Aston Villa.

Mr Davies said he was ‘very surprised’ to see manager Dean Smith and secretary Daniel Mole as he opened the door. After speaking about the club on TV, he never expected to get such a response. And he says his heart has always been with the club.

Mr Davies, whose father Jack lost a leg in the Battle of the Somme, joined the Royal Navy in 1943 aged 17.

He served on the HMS Southdown Hunt-class destroyer and his ship convoyed troops who then went on to land at Sword Beach.

Mr Davies, who hails from Aldridge, left the navy in 1947 and worked as a baker in Harwich.

He then returned to Walsall and was a driver, engineer and machine tool fitter during his working life.

He has regularly attended Walsall games, having a season ticket for a while, with the play-off victory against Reading at the Millennium Stadium one of the highlights.

“It was absolutely brilliant, it was one of the games I remember most, it was great,” he said.

“My heart has always been with Walsall. I used to go to all the games, even the away ones.”

Walsall FC secretary Daniel Mole said: “We thought as a club we should honour Ron.

“After what he has done for country and club we thought this was a small token of our appreciation and gratitude.

Mr Davies, who is married to Dot, aged 86, and has sons Ian, 54, and Ross, 50, was part of a group from the Normandy Veterans Association who were flown into France in private jets by millionaire advertising agency boss Trevor Beattie.

 

Next from the Walsall F.C. web-site:

 

D Day veteran, Ron Davies, honoured by his beloved club…

AMIDST all of the excellent coverage to mark the recent 70th Anniversary of D Day, a television interview with D Day veteran, Ron Davies, not only revealed him to be a fantastic character who did so much for his country, but also a keen Saddlers’ supporter!

The conversation flowed as freely as the cups of tea as a range of subjects were discussed, particularly football, something very close to Ron’s heart.

Mr. Davies also spoke about his war-time memories and showed his guests the collection of medals that are so dear to him.

“Ron is a true hero,” said Dean Smith. “We’re proud of all of our supporters, but the sacrifices that Ron and others like him made during the War must never be forgotten and make him extra special.

“Once he announced his support of The Saddlers on television, there was a real ground-swell for us to track him down and honour him in the correct way.

“We actually managed to find him via his hair-dresser and we decided to go around his house straight away and thank him in person.

“We took along a signed ball, scarf and a club tie, plus Ron and four guests will be given the full VIP treatment at our pre-season friendly with Aston Villa in August. If his legs are up to it, we’d also like to get him out on the pitch at half-time to get the applause that he so richly deserves… although the way he was talking, he still fancies his chances in the team!”

Mr. Davies will be coming along to the stadium soon to select his seat for the season as we honour this very special supporter.

Dean Smith with some of Ron Davies’ medals…

It is absolutely right and proper that Walsall Football Club, my club, makes this gesture!  Well done to all of the fans for making this happen; especially to the hairdresser who provided the address. It goes to show that as well as a sporting enterprise we are a community – a major part of a community. One that stretches both forwards (the much vaunted plans we are hearing of the “football philosophy”) and backwards into history.

Every programme last year featured a player from our hundred and twenty five years of history. But this is about more than just sport. It is about celebrating local people… and this guy was so cheerful and modest on the TV programme.

But, I can’t help thinking:

Doesn’t he deserve a little bit more?

Would it be so non-business minded to give him a season ticket. What would we lose? Exactly? Revenue?

Somehow I doubt that we will have so many sell out games we couldn’t afford to give away a seat. And, just maybe he would bring others too. Family? Friends? Who would be paying and increasing income.

Seats and Elections; England Under 19s at Bescot.

So the League One season has finished, the promotion play offs are spinning themselves out destinies and luck dancing together as is usual with football.

But, hold hard, there are the under-19 Elite games going on, some at Walsall, some at Burton Albion. And, having a season ticket entitles me to free entry to the games at Walsall. I rang up just to make sure. No problem, says the guy on the other end of the ‘phone; turn up, flash your season ticket and pick up your entry ticket. No need to pre-book. Simple as that.

So a job not to be fitted in as I go on a Friday catch-up circuit, deliver money to Burntwood, get a printer cartridge, fill in a form drive off to deliver it, do the shopping.

Saturday morning. England playing Montenegro. Me and my brother going. I pick him up, plenty of time. We aren’t expecting many people, but just maybe the F.A will have swamped local schools with offers. It’s half term next week and maybe parents will be thinking “well it’s Saturday, no regular football, but …” and go along and support our youngsters. They are in with a chance of qualifying for the European championships this year in Hungary – and possibly the Under 20s World Cup next year (played in New Zealand I think).

Getting the ticket is not so easy. I am surprised. The Walsall box office team have match day down to a T – usually. All of the tickets in the main stand are “sold out” I am told: I should have picked up the ticket earlier, or pre-ordered one. Refer to paragraph one if necessary. I explain this but – of course it does no good. If it is sold out I cannot be given access to a seat that someone else has been given already. I am disappointed.

Still, we are behind the goals. Lower tier. But far enough back as to be sheltered from the capricious rain that is about at the moment. “Sit where you lie,” a steward tells us … Really ? I think, I’d like to sit over in that stand. But I keep quiet and smile to myself.

National anthems … and, although I’ve been to Montenegro I cannot remember the capital city. Smart phone tells us it is Podgorica and I recall the long taxi drive to Kolasin from Dubrovnik, the wonderful hospitality of the local people, some good walking  and the katun style of farming.

“God save our gracious …” I look across at the stand that is “sold out”. Mostly empty! I was disappointed, now I am somewhat angry. Corporate seating, I am thinking. Offers of seats to people who cannot be bothered to turn up. It is a real shame. I am composing a letter to the F.A when the whistle goes for kick off.

Lots of good approach play from the England team, sometimes over-elaborate passing and several times when a first time or early shot seemed to be on that are wasted. Both teams seem to be equal. Surprising. How many under 19s are there in Montenegro? Indeed, how many under 19s are there in Montenegro that are actual Montenegrans? Believe me it’s not the same question: the smart phone factoids said that only 44% of the population of the country are Montenegrans. … and how many under 19s in England?

Call it pride, but I am thinking we should be all over this team. We are not. The atmosphere is strange too. No chanting, though there are some supporters in the distance with what looks like a Montenegro flag. Good to see.

Then with about half an hour gone our number 7 runs away, sets himself up and has a shot – deflected into the net.

Half time and we look at the programme. It’s efficient. They’ve printed a single issue that covers all the games in the group (England, Montenegro, Scotland and the Ukraine). Filled with decent information, but sadly lacking a team list with squad numbers. Number 7 is Jordan Ibe (Liverpool) it turns out. There’s a short bit from Greg Dyke and an even shorter bit about his suggestions for increasing the number of native born English players in the Premier League. One of them is to set up a separate league that has B teams from Premiership teams in it. I’ve heard this before as a suggestion from – oh yes, the Premier league.  Not really happy with it, but I have chickened out of reading the full report. There’s not much more than a sentence about it in this programme either. I am sure there must be other ways to make sure English players get experience. Stan Collymore, one-time Villa and England striker suggested more regional centres of excellence. The loan system in place is there to give players a chance. Use it … and when non-English coaches are appointed it should be no surprise that they choose players they know of – from foreign countries.

There’s a guy leaving the match at half time – his son/grandson is feeling sick, he explains to the steward. We share a few words. He’s not impressed with the game: “It’s England,” he comments, “good at passing, but not many shots, typical!”

Shame he didn’t stay: the second half is action, action, action. A dodgy penalty won by the forward (I could almost read his thoughts … “I’ll get there at the same time as the ‘keeper, he’ll touch me, I’ll go down: penalty”). Duly scored. Not sure whether the Montenegro team had worn themselves out or it was greater experience of the England team, but resistance crumbled. A slowly moving ball was missed by the defender that could have cleared it and poked into his own net by another – when things go wrong eh?

But the goal of the game was from local lad Calum Robinson. Last minute. The ball cleared from a ruck in the penalty area, he caught it on the volley and it bowed into the net sweet as the song of a nightingale.

Six-nil!

By the time I had got home I had the complaint letter composed and it has been sent.

Meanwhile we have voted  in the European elections. The European Union which expands like nobody’s business and bringing confusion to elections and the electorate. Campaigns from the, let’s say established Conservative, Labour and Liberal Democrat parties have given little if any hint as to definite policies for the future and a plethora of additional parties springs up, promising this, that, the other and the kitchen sink and his wife. The United Kingdom Independence Party won the majority of MEP seats and a good many local council seats.

Big Words (Stevenage Away)

 

One big thought occurred to me his week. I will not be needing separate tickets for matches next season. My season ticket sits like a virgin on the edge of my consciousness, waiting for the moment that is yet to come.

I may be using the box office to get tickets for away games (certainly hope so!) but otherwise as long as I can keep tabs on the blessed thing (mislaid my mobile phone a couple of times since the last post. Once even leaving it outside in the back garden with a couple of tea mugs)no need for the trying to fit in phone calls/card details.

I really thought about going to the game at Stevenage, but – in all honesty lacked the motivation. Spring is here, fine weather, work in the back garden, up at the allotment blah, blah blah …

Stevenage are relegated. Leaking goals like a colander in a monsoon Monday storm. Big, tough words in the local papers: about being professional, doing a good job, upset about recent lack of scoring/winning/making more of possession noises. Sound and printed fury.

On the day, came to nothing. Stevenage, perhaps playing for pride whomped us 3-2. Good luck to ‘em.  Sounded poor even on the BBC Radio WM commentary that was tearing in to Aston Villa who are having a hard time of it and were losing 4 – 1 at home. “the fans want change/expect better etc. etc.” Don’t quite like this conniving, sniping side of what is going on on my favourite –until now – local radio station. Banter? Yes. Humour?  Yes. This setting up of storylines ? No thanks.

It’s the end of a season that we are now playing. One last (home) game to go. Against Colchester. I will be getting tickets for this one. Hope that we get a good crowd, reflecting something of the start of the season that saw us looking for promotion. Also hope I can get tickets. I may be hosting some visitors from Sicily. Watch this space.

Meanwhile I am surprised that the government has declared (is this the right verb?) that natives of Cornwall will be a minority ethnic group in their own right (as are Scots and Welsh). I am confounded, amused  and indignant about this in equal measure.

Why? Is the obvious question. They have their own special culture. Of course they do. But only as much as people of Staffordshire, the Black Country, the Geordies and so on.

But also … when the much vaunted Olympic legacy seems to be being undermined by the selling off of local playing fields/facilities across the nation … how much did this Cornwall business all cost and wouldn’t the money have been better spent elsewhere?

Not with a bang but with a whimper eh?

“Taking The Plunge?”

a.k.a. “To Buy (a Season Ticket) or not To Buy?”

Started thinking about this at Christmas last year. Then time dragged on and it wasn’t worth it …

This year it started niggling me again and we have been playing well and I’ve been to so many games (home and away) and it’s cheaper and it would mean I didn’t have to keep ringing up and queuing at the box office “window 5 for collections” and, and…  and … and … it’s possible to put “and” into a sentence too many times.

Talked it over with other regulars before the recent Crawley game, decided which would be the seat to go for …

… and we lost, playing badly. And didn’t get back onto a good and winning track … but I kept going to the matches.

So got into the car today, drove along the blossom (flowering cherry, almond and blackthorn) lined lanes and roads , past a sunlit garden with flags of smoke escaping from a dying bonfire and past the re-furbished Walsall Arboretum to the ground. Bescot Stadium! Into the car park. Lots of fancy big cars there and men walking around in impressive suits. The young lady in the box office was both extremely pleasant and efficient.

“Taking the plunge are you?” is how she opened up the conversation/sale.  I had already filled in my application form and we talked over the choice of seat. She was kind enough to take the trouble to check it was where I thought it was (although she had to move a “staff member” who previously had the seat)

“Is it you?” I asked.

She smiled, warmly.

“No,” she said, “I don’t put myself through the pain.”

I was expecting to have to wait to get the season ticket, thinking it would have the names of the teams we would be playing and corresponding dates – and that is not sorted yet: after all there is still a (very outside) chance we will be in the Championship.

But no, a few strokes of the keyboard fingers, the printer whirred and checked my card details, found them acceptable and swallowed my let’s say hopefully “investment”. She then handed me the little wallet, each match numbered; no team/date details. How efficient!

As I type this I still haven’t done more than leaf quickly through  it and decide which safe place to keep it so that I forget where it is less often.

I also bought a ticket for the game on Saturday, at home to Leyton Orient (currently lying third in the League. Promises to be a good game – and we are due for one aren’t we?

Then I travel to Austria on Sunday. Flying Lufthansa to Linz and to take something like “an English Easter” to a school there. I do not often go back to places but there is something restful and enervating about this quiet area of the world – and people I have come to respect and call friends.

Into Walsall to do a little bit of pre-trip shopping. Not much luck there, but nipped into the New Art Gallery in Walsall (one of my favourite local drop-in places). A cappuccino and a look at the Independent newspaper.

News that the MotoGp season* starts this weekend. Sadly I will not be able to watch the season unfold as the TV rights have gone to BT and we do not wish to pay for the coverage. But Mark Marquez, the young rookie who took the season by the scruff of the neck last year will riding the floodlit round at Dohar with a broken leg (injured in training- riding an off road scrambling bike, by the sound of it). Still slightly disillusioned, but do not doubt the truth of it, by the words of the course leader at Stoke Rochford Hall who said he can corner so brilliantly because he has done it so often it is now in his “zombie memory”. Supreme athletes and artists do that, he explained. It takes a away a little of the mystique about performers like Ritchie Blackmore and Steve Morse. I would like to think there is a little more to it than that.

   

There is a new exhibition in the gallery. Born-in-Japan artist, Chiharu Shiota, who now lives in Germany has some interesting work there. Abstract to be sure. One piece is a whole room full of old suitcases suspended from a net by red cords which begins near to the floor and escalates towards the back top of the exhibition room. Intriguing and something similar to some of the works we saw while in Venice at the Biennale.  I spent a good twenty minutes chatting with a guy in there about the meaning of art and such installations. He was very interesting. We talked about poetry, meaning, abstract art versus representational works and logos. He is, he told me, an illustrator.

I should have done two things, I realised as I was getting into  the car.

First asked his name and secondly given him my poetry blog address.

*Would like to wish all the riders an exciting, successful and, above all, safe season.

Images: Build It … www.bescotbanter.net

Marquez: www.edition.cnn.com

Blackmore: www.last.fm

Artwork: http://www.thisistomorrow.info/viewArticle.aspx?artId=2265