the extra preliminary round. For us, it begins now. Every year, I hope we'll
get either Hassocks (purely for the name) or the Metropolitan Police (purely
for the big policemen in shorts), but yet again they've bitten the dust
already and we're instead faced with a trip to Aldershot. It's our first
visit there since 1988, insists Tim. This is because the last time we played
them was the season they went bust and their results were expunged from the
records and so anyone who says they were actually there is making it up as
that game no longer exists.
Anyway, we're not worrying about that as we tuck into breakfast at Maries on
Lower Marsh, one of Ted's favourite cafes and one of a large number across
London which excels in both greasy spoon and Thai cuisine. Ted's decided to
join us for the trip, rather than go up to Darlington to watch them play
Droylsden (probably a decent move in hindsight, as that game turns out to be
a nil-nil draw), and we've linked up with Toddy at Waterloo. The Burton
brothers could have joined us, but it's ten a.m. and time for their first
pint of the day...
Toddy is over from the unpronounceable satellite state of Moldova where he's
currently working, to take in this game and the Remembrance Day parade. He's
particularly looking forward to some real bacon for once, as when he's not
enjoying a typical Moldovan breakfast, which he describes as a lamb's eye
floating in milk, he's based in Geneva, the muesli capital of the world.
We're joined by Tim and Chris Turner, who also realise the importance of
loading up on carbs (and black pudding, and mushrooms, and beans, and...)
before a big match.
Breakfast over, Ted and Chris go to catch the train to allow themselves more
drinking time, while Tim, Toddy and I meet up with Jenny and John Kirkland.
On the train, we manage to find out that we've drawn Darlo in the Northern
semi-final of the Johnstone's Paints Trophy, which will hopefully be a
chance for revenge after the recent league defeat.
Ted's choice of pub in Aldershot is the White Lion, which serves a decent
pint but is a bit of a slog from the station and does no favours to Tim's
knee, which he has managed to knacker in some unspecified fashion. As we
pass Aldershot's ground, we spot Rotherham's kit man wandering in the other
direction - we have no idea why. No sign of any of the players, though.
Ted and Chris have already met up with Chris Kirkland, and we're also joined
by Nigel Hall, who gives those of us who either don't want the long walk
back to the ground (Tim) or want to be there in good time to put the flag up
(me and Jenny) a lift. We still have to negotiate the hill and the walk
through woodland to the away end, but every little helps.
Having come out of the non-league so recently, Aldershot have a fairly
relaxed attitude. The stewarding is quite low-key, the programme seller
apologises for the fact they cost £3 and those who sample the burgers say
they rate fairly highly on a scale from one to Dagenham. We raise the flag
to one side of the goal, though Ted and Chris decide to stand in the paddock
along the side as they get a better view. The fact it's absolutely tanking
down doesn't deter them, but then I always thought Ted didn't have the sense
to come in out of the rain!
Indeed, it's so wet that you wonder whether the game isn't in danger of
being abandoned, given the way the ball is holding up on the more sodden
parts of the pitch. Whoever is playing down the slope has the advantage,
which in the first half is Aldershot, as Don is called on to make a couple
of good saves. Tonge and Garcia are linking up nicely on the right, but we
don't carve out too many chances.
However, ten minutes into the second half, we take the lead when Mickey
Cummins (a Darlo reject, as Ted points out) smashes home a shot from a
corner. After that, Aldershot throw just about everything at us. The section
of the home support near us is really vocal, marshalled by a drummer who
both Toddy and I suspect has military training - indeed, we almost expect to
see him raising his drumsticks to just underneath his nose when he completes
his paradiddles - but the Rotherham fans give as good as they get. Just when
victory looks all wrapped up, with about a minute of stoppage time to see
out, Nick Fenton concedes a penalty. Don gets his hand to it but can't keep
it out. Hey ho, back to the DVS for a replay...
More immediately, it's off to the pub. We head for what Toddy has reckoned
is a half-timbered haunted house behind the unused bottom terrace, but which
is actually The Crimea. Now, when we were coming back from Mansfield towards
the end of last season, we got talking to a group of Aldershot fans who got
on the train at Wellingborough, having been to their game against Rushden &
Diamonds. They'd invited us in to The Crimea if we came down to Aldershot,
but the mobile phone footage they showed us of one of their number standing
on a table singing 'Alouette' had led us to expect something a little less
sedate than we actually encounter. Perhaps it's different before a game, or
if Aldershot have won.
Waiting for the train back to London, we spot what appears to be today's
ref, Mr Singh, boarding the train on the opposite platform. If it is him,
he'll be journeying back with Kirkland Jr, who'd better not mention what he
thought of his performance, as after all, we'll be having him for the
replay!
On the train, we chat briefly to a bloke who's been at the game because his
cousin's playing for Aldershot. He turns out to be a Watford fan, so we ask
how Lee Williamson and Will Hoskins are doing, and also a former goalkeeper,
which enables Toddy to taunt me about my supposed goalie fetish. Meanwhile,
Chris and Jenny have noticed something very scary - about half-a-dozen lads
on their way for a night out who are not only identically dressed, but all
sporting Stephen Brogan's haircut. When we get off at Waterloo, another
dozen or so emerge from the carriage behind. One's even on a pair of
crutches, just like teeny tiny Stephen was until fairly recently. It's a
phenomenon which can only be described as the Midfield Cuckoos.
Minus John, we end the evening in The Hole In The Wall. It's a decent enough
pub, but is crammed with plastic fans watching the back end of Liverpool
against West Brom. When they leave, the place fills up with rugger types
who've been to watch England at Twickenham. Suddenly rugby songs are pumping
out of the loudspeakers, and going home to watch the FA Cup highlights on
ITV seems like a very good idea...
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