Stone Me!

Checking the results of the FA Cup qualifying ties on the way back from Bury, we were joking about the possibility of playing Wealdstone, and which end Tim would stand in if we did. You see, Tim’s another of the two-club brigade, having been following the nomadic Stones for many years after settling on them as the non-league alternative to watching Rotherham on a Saturday. So when we were actually drawn against them, I almost fell off the sofa cheering. That was before I realised quite how tiny their ground is and quite how few tickets we were going to be allocated and quite how many London Millers were going to want to go, and that all of this would suddenly become my problem. Everything seemed sorted, until Tim rings me to let me know Steve Czajewski has broken his ankle (we can only speculate how, but knowing Steve the reason is going to be bizarre...) and won’t be coming. I’ve got Mike Todd as the reserve if anyone dropped out, but when I contact him he’s made other plans instead. It’s not a problem, as Tim’s mate David, the Watford fan, will take it off my hands. David’s a good lad. He once drove us up to Rotherham and back, watched us beat Watford 2-1 and drove us back without succumbing to the temptation to leave us behind at Trowell services.
Wealdstone play in Ruislip, a place I’ve only visited once before, to interview a couple of adult babies, but now is perhaps not the time to go into my past existence. It’s a fair schlep from east to west, and when I get off the Central Line at Ruislip Gardens it’s to discover that only three other people have done so and not one of them is going in the general direction of the ground. However, the instructions are to look out for the pillar box at the end of Grosvenor Vale, the road which leads to the club, and the milling throng of six or seven people turning that way suggest I’m in the right place. And then I spot Chris Burrows, who’s come over from Ruislip proper. The first piece of the jigsaw falls into place...
The ground itself is a scene of organised chaos, with people queuing to collect tickets and/or have their faces painted. If I’m not careful, I’ll stand still for two minutes and come away with blue and white warpaint, like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. I spot Mark Hitchens, who helped sort out my ticket order, and go over to thank him. He tells me Rotherham actually had a few tickets left, so maybe I needn’t have been quite so worried about getting all the ones I needed.
Tim’s already in the social club, and points us in the direction of the Kirklands, who’ve commandeered a table in the corner. For the next hour or so, I dish out tickets. At half-past two, Diamond rings to say he’s only at Rayner’s Lane, but I assure him he’ll be with us well before kick-off, and he is. The rest of the assembled cast include Clarkey, Ian Armitage, Mick Walker, Andy Leng, Chris Turner, Phil the darts ringer, Martin Burton, Richard Burton, Phil Kyte, Watford Dan, Nigel Hall, Steve Exley, Rob Elston and Julia. We’re just waiting for Toddy and Graham and Brown (who, typically for Toddy, is only one person), but they’re coming up from the Cenotaph, having been there to remember fallen comrades, and could be anywhere. In the end, Tim takes their tickets so he can leave them on the gate if necessary – a) because he knows the people who know the people at Wealdstone and b) it will enable him to miss kick-off, which is his preferred method of watching a game. This gives me the opportunity to go and find somewhere to put the flag. Before we can fasten it to the fence, we’re approached by a camera crew for some Internet site (as Jenny isn’t with me, I know it won’t have a name like ‘two girls, one flag’) who film me, the Kirklands and Chris B holding it and singing, ‘Rotherham, Rotherham’. Having duly made fools of ourselves, we go back to what we’re doing.
We congregate on a little bit of concrete stand close to the corner flag. It’s a good place to stand, as it’s where the subs come to do their warming-up, which gives Clarkey the chance to bond with Paul Warne. Fortunately, Drewe Broughton (or Dave, as the programme has it) is in the starting line-up, otherwise we’d have been right behind his stretching routine and there might be minors present... By this time, Toddy and Graham and Brown have arrived. Toddy flashes us his medals. Graham, who’s a Southend fan, is more interested in whether ‘Drewe the legend’ is playing, and is delighted to see that he is.
The game quickly develops into a classic league against non-league cup tie. Wealdstone are determined to give us no time to settle, putting in some crunching tackles, one of which will eventually see Nicky Law being substituted at half-time. Like Barnet, they have a slope, and we’re kicking down it in the first half. When Kevin Ellison goes to take a corner, we hear the assistant referee telling him to put it further in the D. ‘It’s only supposed to touch the line,’ Lord Voldemort responds in his scarily high-pitched Scouse accent. Meanwhile, more subs have come to warm up. Mark Lynch is doing some weird skippy dance and the two Taylors, Jason and Ryan, are doing more chatting than stretching, like they’ve been let out of school early.
Andy reckons we need a goal to settle us down, but it doesn’t come for half an hour, and when it does, it’s a moment of pure comedy. Alfie, running on to the ball, trips, does a full forward roll, picks himself up and carries on. The keeper tries to clear the ball, which bounces against the Le Fondre backside and goes in. As we celebrate, we try to decide whether we want him to perform a cartwheel or a somersault before his next attempt.
Just before half-time, we’re two up. A clearance falls kindly to Kevin Ellison, who lashes in a thunderous shot. It seems like all the lucky breaks other teams have had against us in recent matches are now going our way, and we’re not complaining.
They’ve just done the draw for the second round and if we get through this tie (which quite a few people are still expecting us not to), we’ll be at home to either Luton or Rochdale. I’m convinced it will be Luton, simply as karma for all the people who were singing, ‘We’ll never play you again,’ when we beat them at Kenilworth Road back in March.
For the second half, we’re joined by a few Wealdstone fans who’ve moved round from the end behind the goal, and a man who claims to have Drewe Broughton’s phone number. Toddy promptly offers to buy it from him for a pound. Like Barnet, the Stones know how to use the slope to their advantage, and they bring on Danny Spendlove. He may have a porno name and a haircut to match, but he runs at our defence at pace and they don’t like it. It’s also his throw which starts the move which sees Ryan Ashe pull a goal back with a lovely curling effort.
Clarkey starts to get more shouty and exasperated as Wealdstone continue to attack, while Toddy starts asking how much time is left every couple of minutes. Graham is still confident that ‘the legend’ will do something for us, and he’s proved right. Teeny tiny Stephen Brogan comes on for his first appearance of the season with a few minutes to go, and when we get a rare free kick, he’s the one who takes it. Mr Broughton heads it in, much to the delight of the chap who’s got his number, although Wealdstone have clearly got it in for poor old Drewe, as they announce Brogan as the scorer.
‘Easy, easy,’ chants a visibly more relaxed Toddy. I tell him to shut up, because that’s obviously what provokes Wealdstone into a response. We give Ashe too much time to line up another shot, this one even better than the first. I do something I never normally do, which is applaud an opposition goal. Perhaps it’s because he’s non-league, or perhaps it’s because I sense it’s not going to make any difference. Even though the ref adds four minutes on, we manage to get the ball upfield where we can fanny about in the corner with it, and for the first time in a thousand years we’re through to the second round. Magnanimous in victory, we make sure to applaud every last Wealdstone player off the pitch, as they’ve played so well and pushed us all the way. I suspect we’d have been much more comfortable winners if the tie had been played at the DVS, but we’ll never know.
After a swift one in the packed social club, during the course of which we spot various of the Wealdstone players coming in, suited and booted, to meet family and friends, I make a move. Outside, Andy Nicholas is being interviewed by some member of the press or other, and the rest of the players are on the team bus, ready to go. Even allowing for a points failure on the District Line, I’m sure I’ll be home well before they are. Bring on the Luton, or the Dale. Round two beckons...