there's no sign of Steve Ducker, even with a couple of minutes before the
train departs. Is he ill, or has the Northern Line swallowed him up? For the
first time in forever, we're going to be a Miller light (sorry!). Once Jenny
and I establish radio contact with Steve, it turns out he'd simply forgotten
he was booked on the trip. The two of us split his coffee and hope this will
turn out to be as good as our last 'ladies only' trip to Grimsby, which was
a surprisingly pleasant day, even if we did almost get mown down on
Cleethorpes prom by a couple of Grimsby players on pushbikes. The train
itself is packed with Arsenal fans, taking the alternative route up to
Manchester as the West Coast Line is engineering works central yet again. We
joke that we'll only see them on the way back if they've left early because
Man City are stuffing them - like that's going to happen...
Heading for the Supertram at Sheffield station, we spot a familiar red hat
on the platform. Chris Kirkland has made it over from Manchester unscathed,
so it's off to the Fat Cat to meet Mr Kyte.
Everything so far has been pleasantly uneventful, the weather isn't quite as
cold as we'd been expecting (though it's still chilly enough for my dad to
trot out the expression, 'Mrs Johnstone's on the doorstep,' which apparently
means there's a dew drop on the end of your nose) and as we wander down to
the DVS with The Tivoli's 'Drop Me Off In Rotherham', the official theme
tune for our years in exile, blaring over the Tannoy the omens seem good for
the match itself. The Bradford fans are here in number - as they should be
given the short distance they've had to travel, and their mascot is
wandering around, attempting to whip them into a frenzy as only a fat bloke
sporting a City shirt, bowler hat and briefcase can. You'd have thought this
would actually be an improvement on someone shuffling around in a furry
costume, but actually it isn't.
Unfortunately, the omens prove us wrong. We create so many chances in the
first half - from the very first minute, in fact, when Drewe Broughton
narrowly heads over - that we really should be three up by half-time. The
team line-up is considerably changed from the last few games, with Danny
Harrison and Reuben Reid both suspended, Don Warrington injured and Andy
Nicholas apparently just knackered, so Peter 'Pholmes' Holmes (so christened
last year to distinguish him from Derek 'Dholmes' Holmes), Jamie Green and
Ryan Taylor all start. Making his debut in goal is David Stockdale, on loan
from Fulham but better known to us from his time at Darlo, where he proved
himself to be the only man who's ever thought he looked good in a
fluorescent orange top with one white sleeve. Here, in a more subdued grey,
he only has one save to make before the break.
Of course, we are made to pay in the second half, as Bradford, who are
slightly improved but not greatly so, score with only their second attempt
on goal. We press for an equaliser and think we've got it following a
goalmouth scramble, though Sky's cameras later prove that Broughton's header
bounced down directly on the line but didn't go over it. I consider this
unlucky; the legendary Darlo Ted would describe it as inaccurate. While
we're still getting over the injustice of what we think at the time has been
a goal not given, Bradford go straight down the other end and score.
Typical.
The tram back into Sheffield is crammed with Bradford fans of the
particularly knuckle-dragging variety. 'Two shots, we only had two shots,'
they sing; I'd be with Ted on the inaccuracy of that one. Gloating, however,
has a nasty habit of coming back and biting you on the bum, and this lot are
doing so much of it they'll have to check their rear ends for teeth marks at
some point later in the season. Just at the point when we're beginning to
wonder why the police aren't around, a mob of the South Yorkshire
Constabulary's finest hove into view, truncheons akimbo. Jenny, Chris and I
leave them chasing the knuckle-draggers into the bus station and nip for a
quick pint in the Old Queen's Head.
On the train back, Jenny and I amuse ourselves with Stephen Brogan's Q and A
from the programme. Most of the questions are actually answered by other
players butting in on the interview and seem to relate to the amount of time
teeny tiny Stephen spends on his hair. I'm waiting for one which asks, 'Did
you know the London Millers saw twenty blokes on a train back from Aldershot
who all looked just like you?' but it doesn't materialise.' After that,
there's nothing much to do but spot how many people have already got their
Christmas lights up (by the time we travel back from the Aldershot game in a
couple of weeks' time, I'm sure parts of Luton will be visible from
space...), and wonder whether Steve is sitting at home thinking he
inadvertently made the right decision after all.
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