Return Of The Macc

 So the choice is simple: stay in the Fat Cat, where Phil has managed to bag the table nearest the fire, and make the most of the huge choice of beer that's on part of their winter beer festival, or slog out to the DVS in the cold to watch Rotherham take on Macc. We being Jenny, Steve Ducker, Chris Kirkland and me, plus the aforementioned Phil. Phil's dad should have been joining us, but instead he's spent the morning in casualty at Barnsley Hospital, having been bitten by a neighbour's pet Alsatian. Let that be a warning against going round to visit your friends to model your new bacon waistcoat...

Despite all the temptations – most notably the fact that just about everything on the menu today, barring the ploughman's which will not only feed Chris this lunchtime but provide him with sandwiches for the rest of the week, comes in a big Yorkshire pudding – the match wins out. It proves to be a good choice.

Indeed, the first half is deja Bournemouth. Again, we take the lead in the first quarter of an hour, and again Mark Hudson is the scorer, this time following a really good move involving four players. After that, it all seems to go a bit quiet.

In the second half, Macc ramp it up a bit, but that's more in terms of putting in a few hefty challenges, one of which flattens Drewe Broughton. While there's a certain amount of grumbling from his number one fan behind me about the amount of time he spends on the floor, the player who clashed with him is later given the footballing equivalent of being asked to report to the headmaster's study, suggesting there was more to the incident than we realised. But it's not long before the Broughton Fan Club has had enough, and wanders off with about 25 minutes of the match still to go. My dad starts complaining to Mr Tache that it's like taking a book out of the library, reading two-thirds of it and then taking it back. There's an absolutely classic moment as he launches into an oft-told anecdote about almost leaving a dull match early and nearly missing a wonder goal in the process, which encouraged him never to do it again, all the while keeping half an eye on the game going on in front of us. 'And we used to stand at the bottom end in those days, so we were walking up Millmoor Lane GET A GRIP, REFEREE! and then John Breckin picked up the ball...'

We finally put the game out of Macc's reach when Rueben Reid collects a ball Broughton has headed on and chips it over the keeper. Macc protest that he was offside, but they're already playing a snatch of the Kaiser Chiefs' 'Ruby' over the Tannoy by way of celebration. (Well, anything's a welcome change from 'Chelsea Dagger'). Someone a couple of rows behind us launches a toilet roll into the air. It fails to unfurl, sails over my head, missing me by an inch or so (good job I'm tiny, otherwise I might have suffered a TP-related comedy injury) and lands on the seat belonging to the lad in front. Cue me and his dad trying to explain why someone is throwing toilet rolls about. I hope we managed to convince him it's neither big or clever, or their house will be an Andrex nightmare for the rest of the weekend.)

Jenny, Steve and I travel back via Donny, sneaking in a quick one in the Corner Pin, and then it's home – Steve to his usual home-cooked dinner, Jenny to all the packing she's got to do before flying out to Australia and me to Ted, who is surrounded by the remnants of a post-Dagenham curry and feeling very smug following a decent 1-0 win against the Daggers and an after-match session at the Palm Tree in Bethnal Green. Some people really know how to enjoy themselves...