Born To Schmooze

Today is one of the big days of the season for the London Millers - we're sponsoring the matchball and providing the mascot for the game against Brentford. Already waiting at Kings Cross when I arrive are Tim, who's having to forgo the ritual schmoozing in favour of visiting his dad in hospital, and Bournemouth Miller Tom Coley, whose granddaughter won the first prize of two hospitality packages in the raffle back in January. He has his son-in-law, Scotty, with him, and is taking the day so seriously he's come dressed in a suit and is sporting his false front teeth. Completing our party are Jenny, back from Australia and ever so slightly jet-lagged (though I know from experience that sometimes that's the best way to watch the Millers), Clarkey and Chris Turner. Phil will be joining us en route.

The journey up to Donny is fairly uneventful; Tom, whose picture could probably appear in a dictionary as the definition of 'boisterous', and Scotty are a little subdued as they've been up since half-past four or something ridiculous. They've found their second wind by the time we arrive at the Carlton in Attercliffe, taking with us a Man City -supporting groundhopper we've acquired along the way, who is bringing his tour of the 92 grounds up to date by visiting the DVS. Tim's brother Adrian wanders in, says hello briefly, then makes for the back room to listen to the end of 'The Now Show'. I hope it's not a comment on our scintillating conversation.

Mr Clarke is just debating whether there's time to get another drink in when I receive a call from Martin Burton. He's at the ground and we need to hand over the cheque for the sponsorship money so his son, Freddie, can be kitted out ready for his mascot duties. We don't quite break the speed record for walking to the ground from the pub, but it's close.

Tom breezes past the woman on the stadium gate, announcing, 'Fourth official,' before asking Dale Tonge, who's on his way to the player's entrance, how we get to the VIP lift. While we're having our credentials checked, we spot a familiar face - Peter Ruchniewicz, former club chairman and part of the ill-fated Millers 05 consortium who attempted to pry the club out of the clutches of the Booth family. He's here with his wife, as part of a party which includes fellow 05 members Chris Dobbs and David Veal, and former chief executive and Rotherham manager Phil Henson (known by my dad, inevitably, as Gladys - though I don't expect anyone under the age of about 65 to get that reference...) Though Millers 05 aren't fondly remembered by a section of fans, largely because although they were Rotherham supporters they didn't actually live in Rotherham, they had the ongoing livelihood of the club at heart, though sadly not the finances to match their ambition.

This is our first experience of the DVS hospitality. Back at Millmoor, you were in what was grandly known as the Marquee, which was a tent attached to the back of the half-finished main stand. This is a little bit more impressive.

Commercial director and twin brother of the chairman, Terry Stewart, introduces himself to us. 'Ask me anything you like,' he offers. 'Ask me about the new stadium. Everyone else does.' So we do. He tells us that, as has been reported elsewhere, the club are looking into three sites, though he doesn't reveal where any of them are (speculation has long been that one of the sites is currently occupied by B&Q, on a roundabout close to Millmoor and another is a piece of land near the Tinsley viaduct which may or may not actually lie within the boundary of Sheffield, which would of course render it unsuitable, and that an announcement on which one has been chosen will hopefully be made in the next couple of weeks. He also enthuses about the new training complex, which will house the club's Centre of Excellence, as well as facilities for the senior players. Tom, meanwhile, is bonding with Miller Bear.

With kick-off approaching, Jenny and I spot Mark Hitchens, who's helped us out with our sponsorships in the past, and ask him for the quickest way out front so we can put the London Millers flag in its usual place. Instead, he gets a steward to escort us down to pitch level, which is all very impressive.

Finally, we're settled in the posh seats as the game unfolds below us. Brentford, just as they did at Griffin Park back in August, have set up in a very defensive formation, and chances are pretty thin on the ground. Indeed, very little of any significance happens at all in the first half. Drewe Broughton has a couple of chances, but that's about it. One thing we do notice, as we're on our way back out for the second half, is that Howard Webb is watching the Millers for the second Saturday running. We know that Tom, who actually is a qualified referee, would like to have a word with him, but he's nowhere to be seen, and by the time we manage to drag him back outside, Howie has disappeared back to his seat. Tom makes up for his disappointment by continuing to bond with Miller Bear, who's twenty feet below us, strutting along the touchline.

The second half is as largely uneventful as the first, apart from one nasty moment. Nathan Elder, who has come on a sub for Brentford, challenges for a ball with Pablo Mills and is caught by Mills' arm. We know it has to be fairly serious, as he's stretchered off to a generous amount of applause from the whole crowd (and Tim later sees him being delivered to the Hallamshire Hospital, still in his heavily bloodstained kit), but we don't find out till the next day that he's suffered a broken eye socket. The Bees' manager Andy Scott makes a huge fuss after the game and tries to get the FA to ban Pablo, but their view is that the incident was an accident. Apart from that, Jamie Green comes closest to scoring. Tom's pre-match flutter was on a three-all draw, but given that these are two of the meanest defences in the league, the final score of nil-nil would have been a much better bet.

The real entertainment comes once we're back in hospitality. As well as getting the usual matchball from the man of the match (Nick Fenton, according to today's main sponsor), we're also presenting Pablo Mills with our much-delayed player of the season trophy. In addition, there will be a couple of other players coming into the lounge, which happens on a rota basis, apparently. They turn out to be Dale Tonge, probably still reeling from his first encounter with us earlier in the day, Stephen Brogan, who is only just back playing for the reserves after breaking his leg in two places at Milton Keynes a year ago and... 'Who's the one at the back?' Tom asks me as he takes me to one side. 'That's Jason Taylor,' I tell him. 'We got him from Stockport.' Tom walks over to him. 'Jason Taylor!' he announces, as though he's known him all his life. 'What's it like here compared to Stockport?'

Meanwhile, Clarkey is making his own entry in the 'embarrass a player' contest. I've been going round getting my team sheet signed, and I've asked Stephen Brogan whether we're likely to see him playing again before the end of the season and he says he's hoping to be back in for the last four or five games. 'But how are you going to get in the team?' asks Clarkey, who's an even bigger tart round players than I am.

Overall winner, though, is Tom. 'Dale, do me a favour, will you?' he asks. 'Would you sign these?' And then he pops out his false teeth. Poor Dale looks horrified. It's no surprise that they all beat a fairly hefty retreat after that.

We're still in good spirits on the way back to London, even though Tom and Scotty have been up for about 17 hours by now. When I speak to Ted, who's been at Darlo v Macc, he tells us he'll meet us in the Betjeman at St Pancras, as they've got a beer festival on. Even Tom and Scotty have a swift one before starting the rest of the journey back to Bournemouth, and we swell the coffers of Ted's 'Drink For Darlo' fund. It's an idea we started the first time we were in administration, being a tax paid every time you get a beer in. The boys are impressed with the range of beers on, and Clarkey's favourite turns out to be the Twickenham Naked Ladies, which is really no surprise at all...