And Now, The End Is Near...

You’ll probably have realised by now that the London Millers don’t need much of an excuse to turn a trip into a party. I’ll never forget the time we were on the train, coming back from the last game of that season (a 2-2 draw against Forest at home which we would have won if Jack Lester hadn’t been his usual underhand self and Mark Robins hadn’t had a goal disallowed) and enjoying the traditional end-of-season champers. We were spotted by a few Portsmouth fans, who’d clinched the title by beating us in a live Sky game the week before. ‘Who are they, then?’ one of them asked. ‘Rotherham,’ said his mate. ‘They’re celebrating finishing 15th...’
Today, there’s only Jenny, Clarkey and me heading out of St Pancras, but we still get a half-bottle of champagne and some orange juice from M&S for our Bucks Fizz breakfast, along with some bagels Jenny picked up on the way to West Hampstead. Well, you have to do these things properly!
We’re taking it fairly sedately at this stage because we’ve got a bit of a crawl planned once we get to Sheffield. With the Championship games not happening until tomorrow, it’s going to be quiet enough for us to take in the Shalesmoor Triangle of the Kelham Island Tavern, Fat Cat and Wellington, as well as the Harlequin (formerly the Manchester Arms), which is only a short walk away. Jenny makes calls to the people we’re planning to rendezvous with in Sheffield – Phil, Chris Turner and Chris Kirkland. Unfortunately, someone has rather overdone it in Manchester the night before, so her call to Chris K is actually his alarm. He’s missed the train he should have been on, and will meet up with us an hour later than scheduled. (Make your own disapproving ‘tsk’ noise about students at this point...)
A short walk from the station, down the Haymarket and close to what used to be Ward’s brewery brings us to the Harlequin. It’s a nice little pub with a decent range of beers on (I take a photograph of the list for Ted, who quizzes me on such things when I get home), and one we’ll probably spend more time in on a future occasion. We sit out in the beer garden briefly, which is just showing off as it isn’t quite warm enough, and when we venture back inside it’s to find the Burton brothers wandering in. They’ve got the same itinerary as us, but we’re going to spend the afternoon most of a pint ahead of them in terms of drinking, so we’ll be leaving pretty much as they are arriving. From the Harlequin, the next stop is the Kelham Island Tavern, which is where Chris joins us, looking a little the worse for wear. We have lunch in the Fat Cat; Chris may be suffering, but he still has the presence of mind to order a ploughman’s lunch so he can live off the leftovers for the rest of the week. Our final stop is the Wellington, where there’s just time for a swift half before Jenny and I dash off to put the flag up.
Outside the DVS, we spot Howard Webb. As it’s our last chance of the season, I wander over and politely ask if I can take his photo for a friend. I don’t mention that Gwenn named one of her goldfish after him, in case he thinks one or both of us is a deranged stalker.
When we go to put the flag in its usual place, we’re watched by about ten members of the Exeter squad, including the injured Marcus Stewart, who’ve found places there to watch the game. My brother’s up for the game, so I go to join him and my dad in the stand.
On the evidence of their display today, it’s hard to see how Exeter are in the promotion places. We have the better chances in the first half, and Drewe Broughton should really score, but he gives the defender enough time to get back and clear the ball off the line. Meanwhile, down the other end Don is in fine form, and it’s nil-nil at half-time.
The good news is that ‘Soccer AM’ are on hand to present the League 2A trophy, but the bad news is that it’s one of the crew members rather than Helen Chamberlain who’s here to do the honours. He’s been sitting up at the back of the press area, so we’re completely aware that the stupidly big, shiny trophy actually has its lid glued in place. Oh, the glamour!
Exeter take the lead by the simple act of taking off one of their small, nippy players and bringing on big Richard Logan, who has the height to get above Jamie Green and head the ball home. A few minutes later, they’re awarded a penalty when Dale Tonge brings down Craig McAllister in the area. McAllister goes down like he’s at Ponds Forge, home of diving, but the ref awards the penalty and sends Tonge off. Don pulls off a fantastic save, leaving me wondering if this is the first time we’ve ever conceded a penalty to the same time home and away and had each spot kick saved by a different keeper.
Exeter have started pulling a few timewasting stunts by now, and Miller Bear is on the touchline, doing one of his/her famous mimes to indicate that someone who’s claiming to be injured is really taking the mickey. It never fails to be funny.
The real highlight for the home fans is the appearance of Stephen Brogan as a sub, about fifteen minutes from the end. It’s the first time he’s played since the horrible injury against Milton Keynes, 15 months ago, and I’m sure Clarkey is happy to be proved wrong in his joky assertion that there wouldn’t be a place for him in the team. However, not even he can make the breakthrough and score the goal which would be the best way to mark his return, and we end the season with a defeat. Exeter are up in second place behind Brentford, with Wycombe, who led the league for so long, in the end pipping Bury to the third promotion place by a single goal.
Once the celebrating Exeter players and their fans have finally left, the team come out to do the traditional lap of honour – or in this case, the hundred metres of honour in front of the covered part of the stand (sadly not followed by the long jump of honour and the shot put of honour...). Clarkey is staying over in Rotherham, so Jenny and I get the tram to Meadowhall. There’s a bloke holding court, passing on the transfer rumours he swears are true. If he’s to be believed, Reuben Reid is on his way to Palace and we’re signing Jack Lester, as well as Billy Sharp on loan from Sheff U. Expect none of these to happen over the summer.
We make our last visit of the season to the Corner Pin and then it’s goodbye to all this until August, catching up with all the ups and downs courtesy of the Green ‘Un. Trips to Hereford, Northampton (so much for they’ll never play us again), Crewe (which is much more fun if you come back via Birmingham) and Cheltenham (my brother will be pleased) are on the cards.
As for this league, it can’t be denied that the points deductions have skewed the final outcome. If Darlo hadn’t gone into administration, I’m sure they would have gone up, and if we’d started on zero, we might well have done, too. Instead, two very defensive teams (Brentford and Wycombe) and one deeply ordinary one (Exeter) have been promoted. I’d like to see Rochdale go up via the play-offs, simply because they’ve played good football with a flair that I haven’t seen from any of the top three, but they seem to have a mental block when it comes to getting out of the bottom division.
As for the moments I’ll remember from this season, various things stand out: Drewe Broughton and Mark McCammon having their ostentatious stretch-off at the Priestfield; the Chesterfield fans melting away like snowdrops after Pablo Mills’ goal went in; the tiny ambulance at Port Vale; the Luton bat; the expression on Dale Tonge’s face when Tom asked him to sign his false teeth. All things considered, it’s been fun. Saturdays are going to be very dull for a while...