Mad Hatters

Tuesday afternoon, five o’clock, and I’m waiting outside the Bricklayers’ Arms for Ted. Inevitably, he travelled ahead of the pack so he could check out the English Rose instead, but then the reason he joins us for games is the drinking, not the football. The Bricklayers’ is one of his favourites - and it is a nice pub, though it’s a while since we’ve actually visited it, given the divergent paths we’ve taken since we last played (and relegated, though we don’t talk about that) Luton eight years ago. As I’m waiting, my brother rings to let me know he’s about half an hour’s drive away. I also get a call from Rob Elston, who can’t make it tonight but wants to know whether Barnet next week is tickets in advance (in Jenny’s absence, I’m the go-to girl for such matters, though anyone uttering the words ‘assistant travel secretary’ runs the risk of being attended to with pointy, hurty implements). To which the answer is, ‘As if - and are you sure you want to go to the match, Rob? We always do so much better when you’re not there…’
Ted joins me, gets a beer and a corned beef roll in and stooges off to put some quality rock on the jukebox. He also manages to accidentally select the Libertines - which is, of course, the track which is playing as Chris Turner settles down at our table. Soon my brother has joined us, heralding a steady stream of London Miller-age. It’s one of the best turn-outs for ages - as well as the already assembled reprobates there’s Clarkey, Rob Maxfield, Chris Kirkland, Phil, Phil’s dad and Phil’s mate, Dan (who is a Watford fan and therefore is taking no pleasure in Luton’s current plight. Oh, no.) We even spot Julia and Joy the Dagenham Miller, who we haven’t seen at a game for ages. Meanwhile, Ted has noticed die-hard Luton fan and man a volume of whose poetry is lurking on the pub’s bookshelves John Hegley, as well as some bloke who’s an actor we both recognise but aren’t sure from where or, indeed, what he’s called. By the time we start making the trek to the ground, everyone is in high spirits.
Luton is, by and large, an unlovely town (and that’s a bold statement to make when you come from Rotherham!) and Kenilworth Road is in the unloveliest part of it. We negotiate the overpass, Sainsbury’s carpark and the maze of streets in which the ground is buried, arriving just as the game is kicking off. There’s always someone who is visiting Luton for the first time, and who is startled by the fact that you appear to walk through someone’s back garden to get to the away end, but us old lags are used to it. We’re more concerned with getting the flag in place and finding a decent seat. The Luton fans are in full voice, going through their repertoire of ‘two fingers to the Football League’ songs, and receive a generous amount of applause from the Rotherham fans. Solidarity, brothers, solidarity…
I’d hoped the game would be an improvement on Saturday, but even so I’m not prepared for what follows. Luton have won something like the last four games in a row, prompting mutterings that they might, somehow, get out of the bottom two, so they’re obviously in decent form. They are, however, in the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy final on Sunday (and how we’d have loved to be facing them at Wembley), so we wouldn’t have been surprised if their players were taking it slightly easy to avoid injury before the big match. There’s no sign of that as they attack from the off. We take the lead, though - Reuben Reid manages to out-muscle the defender who’s paying close attention to him, turns and shoots from the edge of the box. Minutes later, it’s two-nil: Drewe Broughton shows real persistence, squeezing the ball in while he’s practically lying on the ground, before celebrating with a few fans down in front of us and making a show of kissing his badge. Hopefully not too many of the Luton supporters have seen that, given that not only is he a huge Hatters fan but his brother works for the club as youth development officer, as tonight’s programme helpfully explains. Despite all the excitement, Ted’s attention has been captured by a bat, which spends about 15 minutes fluttering around in the glow of the floodlights before disappearing back into the night. Even Luton pulling a goal back before half-time doesn’t rouse him that much.
Mick Harford has been receiving a fair amount of taunting from the Rotherham fans, and as he wanders across the pitch (for those who’ve never been to Kenilworth Road, the dug-outs are on the opposite side to the players’ tunnel), he raises his fingers to indicate that the final score is going to be three-two to Luton. At least, I think that’s why he’s got two fingers up.
The second half turns into pure attack against defence. And yet, despite creating lots of chances, Luton go further behind when the ball pings around the area and Danny Harrison heads it in. They score a second, from a long-distance shot which Andy Warrington seems to get fingertips to, but Mark Hudson makes the game safe with the goal of the night, a beautiful volley from wide on the left. By this time, Luton have got about six strikers on, but we manage to repel everything we throw at them. Some (Ted) might describe us as having been under the cosh, but I prefer to think of it as soaking up the pressure and catching them on the break.
The mood among the travelling fans has changed, with the earlier solidarity giving way to chants of ‘We’ll never play you again.’ We know this is rubbish and I’m sure the more sensible Luton fans know this is rubbish, too, but after recent seasons where the likes of Northampton have dished out this kind of nonsense to us, a few people are taking the chance to throw it back.
The final whistle gives everyone a chance to catch their breath. Luton have given us a real game, and if they’d started playing like this earlier in the season, rather than the pallid, defensive stuff they served up at the DVS, they might well have stood a chance of pulling off a most unlikely escape. We collect the flag and pleasantly wish the stewards goodnight. They seem quite a miserable lot, but whether that’s got anything to do with tonight’s result we’re not sure.
We’re back at Luton station just in time to catch a Midland Mainline service that has us back at the Betjeman well before last orders. Ted, the two Chrises and I have a swift drink and then call it a night. Clearly all this excitement has tired us out…