Confessions Of A Neutral Supporter Part Five

With no trip arranged to our game at Bradford today, I’m taking the chance to take Gwenn over to Dagenham for their game against Bury. I’ve been turning Gwenn into a Rotherham fan very slowly over a very long period of time, and she’s come with us on both occasions we’ve played at Dagenham, but this will be her first time at a neutral game. Our excuse is that we’re going to check out the new arrangments in the away end, particularly regarding whether their legendary burgers are still up to snuff. It has nothing to do with a certain Mr Cutler being part of the Bury set-up. Oh, no...
First impressions of the new stand are good, even if they’re now charging twenty quid to sit there. The seating starts about ten feet up, so you have a decent view, and the players’ and officials’ facilities have been built into the stand, so they now enter and leave the pitch from behind the goal. Most importantly, the new tea bar is round the back of the stand and, yes, the burgers are as good as ever. The range of food has been expanded, with one Bury fan wandering past us with what looks like a foil dish of lasagne – how dangerously continental! However, points are lost for only having cold water in the taps in the ladies’, which is not what you want when the thermometer is hovering somewhere around zero, as it is today.
We settle in our seats and I have the joy of watching someone other than me attempt to tie a flag in place when there’s a gusty wind blowing. Mr Cutler is putting Bury keeper Wayne Brown through his warm-up routine, but he does take the time to do some pointless stretching and posing for our delectation. The other players are taking shots on goal, some of which are so wayward we begin to fear for the safety of our faces and our cups of tea. Gwenn wonders whether they’d come and check you were all right if they accidentally hit you with the ball, and I tell her Trevor Berry did that exact thing at Ashton Gate once, after he’d managed to clout some bloke on the back of the head so hard he knocked his glasses off. I’ve never seen anyone look so concerned and apologetic...
As the game gets under way, I have the joy of explaining to Gwenn various vital bits of knowledge, such as why Efe Sodje is wearing that bizarre piece of headgear. The Bury fans give her plenty of opportunity to learn all the words to ‘Alan Knill’s barmy army’, though she’s already familiar with Knilly from his Rotherham days. The teams appear to be fairly evenly matched, and I’m hoping they’ll cancel each other out as a draw would be the best result from a Rotherham point of view, but Dagenham take the lead when a spot of slapstick defending involving Sodje and Tom Newey (last seen here getting a load of stick from his own fans while playing for Grimsby) present the ball on a plate for Paul Benson to score. Sodje’s misery is compounded when he takes a blow to the head and has to go off for a couple of minutes, returning with a huge bandage under his bandanna. There’s disgruntlement in the away end, with words exchanged between one of the flag minders, who seems to be the stoic, ‘watch it with your arms folded because you’ve seen it all before’ type, and another bloke who’s more the ‘find a scapegoat and blame everything on him’ type. Dagenham think they’ve scored again, but it’s ruled out for a foul on Brown. As the half draws to a close, Nardiello misses a superb chance to equalise, but makes up for it a minute later when Bury get a corner, heading over mad Welsh goalie Tony Roberts, and the teams go in level.
During half-time, Mr Cutler takes Brown down to the opposite end to get him used to the goal he’ll be defending for the second half, while the Tannoy announcer tries to whip up support (and votes) for some girl called Stacey who’s from Dagenham and in the last three of The X-Factor. It obviously doesn’t work, as that evening she’s voted off the show. When the half-time results are read out, we’re 2-1 up at Valley Parade. I’d rather not know that, as it means I’m just going to spend the second half fretting about whether we can hold on to the lead.
Bury have clearly had a talking-to, as they step it up in the second half, just as they did when we played them. Gwenn goes to get more teas in and misses Dagenham having another goal disallowed for offside, but it’s Bury who look more likely to score. Andy Morrell has a one-on-one with Roberts and chips the ball over him, but it lands on top of the net. Sagely, I tell Gwenn that’s probably their best opportunity of the afternoon. Nardiello gets a booking and argues with the referee so fiercely he’s in danger of getting a second. Knill promptly substitutes him before he can get himself sent off. The group of fifteen or so grotty teenagers who gather as close as they can to the away end so they can indulge in banter rile one Bury fan so much he shouts, ‘Shut up, virgins!’ at them. Then Dagenham score a bit of a scrappy goal from a corner. Roberts does the world’s most rubbish forward roll (unlike Alfie’s at Wealdstone, this is intentional) and dances in front of the grotty teenagers, who love it. Gwenn and I have never seen anyone celebrate so hard who hasn’t had anything at all to do with the scoring of a goal.
Bury press for another equaliser but, deep into added time, Dagenham get a third, scored by the magnificently named Nana Ofori-Twumasi, who’s on loan from Chelsea. Again Roberts does the rubbish forward roll and dancing, which really is rubbing it in. The players troop off the pitch, with the new arrangements at least offering the away fans the chance to abuse the referee/opposition player/home player of their choice as they approach. Not that I’d ever condone this, you understand.
The final scores come in and we’ve won 4-2, which puts a little smile on Gwenn’s face as well as mine. I have trained her well...

Getting The Replay Blues

Luton on a wet Tuesday night. What could be finer? While you’re busily compiling a list (you can stop when you’ve come up with more than fifty things, which shouldn’t take you too long...), let me whisk you to the Bricklayers Arms, where Clarkey and Chris Turner have just got comfortable and I’m about to join them. With the later addition of Julia, this is the sum turn-out of the London Millers tonight. Clarkey is highly disgruntled by this – Jenny may be on her annual Christmas shopping holiday, but as far as he’s concerned, most of the others don’t have an excuse for not being here. Perhaps they’re not enticed by this replay of a game which, according to Clarkey, we should have won in the first leg, Luton apparently having been one of the poorest teams he’s seen all season. The reward for the winner is a trip to Southampton in the Third Round. Playing Southampton isn’t exactly a novelty for us as we beat them in the Carling Cup last season (and, memorably, knocked them out of the FA Cup at Millmoor a few years back), but it would give us a chance to visit St Mary’s.
Unlike our last visit, we make sure to give ourselves plenty of time to get to the ground, the away end being just that little bit further away than you always think. Clarkey is delighted to see that the sports bar just down the hill from the Bricklayers, which offers only smoothflow type beer, is pretty much deserted, while the real ale establishment we’ve just left was heaving. The new installation of a stretch of Zen pavement which tinkles when you tread on it is an exciting addition to our walk, but doesn’t quite distract from the view you get into back gardens piled with broken bikes and other rubbish as you cut along the side of the ground.
A couple of lads are putting up a flag we haven’t seen before. It has their names – Dave and some nickname beginning with K – emblazoned on it, and is made of that silky stuff usually associated with cheap knickers, and we give them some tape to help hold it in place.
For the first five minutes, it looks like Rotherham are really up for this tie. We have a couple of good chances to score in the first minute, with Sharps having a header saved and defenders scrambling to block another shot. Then, suddenly, Luton break away and Adam Newton scores. With Fenton suspended, we’re playing an unfamiliar back four of Lynch, Joseph, Sharps and Brogan, and the two full-backs are having problems dealing with Luton’s pacy wingers. We’re not playing particularly badly, but then Claude Gnapka awarded a rather dubious free-kick (he’s another one of these Drogba-esque big, strong players who crumples like tissue under a challenge when it suits him) from which Alan White scores. The Luton fans start getting a bit cocky, with the Rotherham support responding with a chorus of ‘minus points and we still stayed up’. We start looking for things to distract us from the rather flattering scoreline. On the touchline, Drewe Broughton is warming up in the unique combination of gloves and sweatbands. (Ted, who isn’t here tonight and wouldn’t have the sight of a bat to distract him if he were, would be making some comment about ‘big, glove-wearing jessies’). Clarkey decides the club is missing a trick – for those who can’t quite afford to sponsor a full kit, they could be offered Mr B’s sweatbands at £25 a time...
For much of the rest of the half, and much of the second, Luton continue to attack. Tom Pope is working very hard, but Alf is feeding on scraps. Luton’s third goal is another breakaway, finished off by Gnapka, who milks the moment and milks it again when he’s substituted. He’s received a booking for putting the ball in the net after not realising he was offside, even though the ref blew a good twenty seconds earlier (something players should really get booked for more often than they do); with any luck, it’ll eventually count towards a suspension which will rule him out of an important game. This may sound bitter but, like the Notts County strikeforce of Lee Hughes and Luke Rodgers, there’s just something objectionable about him.
We are still making chances, and I’m starting to understand what Ronnie sees in Gary Roberts, although he seems to be tiring as the game goes on. However, ex-Roth keeper Kevin Pilkington makes a couple of good saves, and we’ve already realised it isn’t going to be our night. Ronnie takes off Ellison and Pope and brings on Ryan Taylor and a thankfully gloveless Broughton. Big Drewe hits the bar with a header, but that’s as close as we come.
There is some disgruntled muttering from one or two fans as the teams come off the pitch, including the two lads taking down the other flag, but the players take the time to applaud the hundred and thirty-odd who’ve travelled tonight. They know they haven’t produced their best football, but it hasn’t been the complete humiliation all the press reports will later suggest by any means.
We’re back at the station in time to catch an East Midlands service back to St Pancras, rather than the much slower Thameslink. Sometimes, you can’t get out of Luton fast enough...

Gone For A... Yes, You Guessed It

Ho ho ho! It’s that London Millers Christmas party trip time of year again, and if anyone knows where the twelve months since the last one has gone, please leave comments below... Assembling at Kings Cross for the journey are Jenny, Tim, Clarkey, Chris Turner, Steve Ducker and Julia. Joy should have been joining us, but according to Julia she’s come down with the lurgi. It doesn’t stop the rest of us kicking the party off once the train’s gone through Peterborough. Jenny, as ever, has brought Waitrose crackers (good presents, rubbish jokes...), Chris has brought his legendary cheese and onion on sticks and I’ve gone all Graftons and made some good old Yorkshire parkin. For those not from the Rotherham area, Graftons was an excellent local baker which sadly went out of business a couple of years ago. Their finest creation was the Melting Moment, a combination of squidgy meringue, cream and jam. If anyone ever managed to recreate the recipe, I would be a very happy woman...
The original plan, suggested by Phil, who we’re meeting in Sheffield, is to visit the brand new Brewery Tap in Sheffield station. It’s the sister establishment of a bar in York which has been attracting great reviews and the boys are keen to try it. Unfortunately, Chris Kirkland rings to let us know he’s at the station and the bar will definitely not be open by the time we get there. We tell him we’ll meet him in the Bath Hotel instead.
We take the tram to West Street and walk through the back streets, which acts as a reminder of how much Sheffield has changed in the last few years. We cut through the West One shopping centre, where a newly-married couple are posing for wedding photographs. Clarkey, ever the gent, stops to offer his congratulations.
The Bath Hotel opens at 12, so Chris has been in the Wetherspoon, rolling up at the pub at the same time we do. We colonise the small back room and Clarkey starts handing out this year’s raffle tickets. The main prize this year is hospitality for our game against Chelters in April, by which point they may have actually sorted out their managerial situation...
Chris K decides to change his shirt in public; in a reversal of the usual roles, I really need Drewe Broughton to put his hands over my eyes!
It’s very tempting to stay where we are till much nearer kick-off, but there are people we’ve arranged to see in the Carlton, so we head for Attercliffe. There’s quite a large Rotherham contingent in there, now the landlord has dropped the ‘away fans only’ rule, which means we’re able to sell a football card to raise some funds. The winner is Dave Finnis, which means his trip over from Australia hasn’t been entirely without excitement!
Burton have brought slightly fewer fans than I’d expected, given it’s their first season in the league, but crowds always seem a little sparser in December as the cost of getting the Christmas shopping kicks in. When I was first on the student paper at Leicester University, several thousand years ago, the assistant editor was a lad called Nigel Poulson, who was a massive Burton fan at a time when almost no one followed non-league football as religiously as they do now. If I remember rightly, their manager at the time was Neil Warnock (but then someone’s manager has to be...). I’d love to know whether he’s still following them, and whether he’s here today.
If he is, he sees his side get off to a not particularly inspired start. Half the pitch is vile, with the parts which were covered for the U2 gig and subsequently relaid looking boggy and causing the ball to bobble unpredictably on the surface. Burton are attacking in the good half, which enables them to pass the ball around nicely, but even so their keeper is timewasting after about ten minutes. We have a decent shout for a penalty when the ball hits a Burton hand in the area, but the ref doesn’t see it. Two minutes later, exactly the same thing happens again, and this time he does point to the spot. Despite having missed a penalty against Lincoln, Alf steps up to take it. He doesn’t make the same mistake again. That’s sixteen for the season.
My dad and I are being entertained by our friends in the row in front. Lewis (we assume that’s what he’s called because that’s the name on the back of his replica shirt), who always plugs into his radio, is keeping us up to date with other scores. He seems strangely gratified that Wednesday aren’t doing very well (though to be fair, that’s the default position of most Rotherham fans). Meanwhile, the older of the two boys in front of us is complaining about the fact we always scrape through games. He wants to see us score a lot of goals, for once, and I think his dad would quite like that, too. But it’s only one-nil at half-time. Burton have been passing the ball around, probably helped by the fact Ronnie’s playing a central midfield combo of Nicky Law and Gary Roberts, neither of whom is particularly defensive minded, but they haven’t troubled Don too much.
The half-time draw is performed by Billy McEwan, always popular with the Rotherham fans, but don’t mention his time at Darlo to Ted... Strangely, the Rotherham United dance troupe seem to have bitten the dust, though no one seems to mind too much.
In the second half, we get the good half of the pitch, and for about twenty minutes we have Burton under the cosh. Alf hits the crossbar with an audacious lob, with Adam Rundle (on loan from Rochdale and officially Alf’s BFF) failing to convert the rebound, and the keeper has to make a couple of good saves. We get a second goal when the Burton defence briefly goes missing, allowing Rundle to slot a good little ball into Alf’s path, which he converts with a poacher’s instinct. We haven’t had a player who could score goals of the same quality and with so much variety since Mark Robins.
Unfortunately, Burton pull one back a couple of minutes later, when we neglect to take a couple of opportunities to clear the ball and Webster curls a shot past Don. The Burton defence continues to look porous, but the game turns when Fenton is sent off for sliding in on Webster. The ref doesn’t hesitate to pull out a red card, which would be fair enough if one of the Burton players hadn’t put in a very similar challenge on Nicky Law and not even received a yellow for it. Clarkey points out later that if we’d had big Pablo or Harrison in midfield, they’d have cut the attack out without Fenton needing to make the challenge.
Ronnie takes off Rundle and brings on Marc Joseph, but Burton sense they’ve been given the upper hand and keep on attacking. Miller Bear is trying his best to get an atmosphere going by banging his drum, but one of the legs keeps falling off, which kind of ruins the effect. Never mind, Bear, I’m sure Santa will bring you a new one for Christmas if you’re good!
Burton get an equaliser when we again fail to clear a ball and Pearson capitalises on our mistakes. We have a chance to score right at the end, but Joseph heads over. Unsurprisingly, there are a few boos at the end, even though other results mean we’re still third in the league. We wander off to the Carlton, in theory to meet Tim, although he’s decided to visit the Cocked Hat instead. No one is entirely sure why...
Back in Donny, we have a swift one in the Railway, before boarding the train for the return leg of the party. With the aid of the ‘25 Years Ago This Week’ feature in the Green ’Un, Steve decides to play a game which involves naming all the members of the team who’d played against Newport. This was when the much-reviled George Kerr (every time I type that name, a little bit of my brother dies inside...) was in charge, so it takes a while as most people have desperately tried to blank that season from their memory. By the time we’ve got them all, we’re well past Grantham and all the parkin and sausages (including a fesh packet Steve was saving for the way back) have been scoffed.
As we come into King’s Cross, Tim rings Ian Chaplain and invites him for a drink. I have to get home and attend to three hungry cats, so I decline to join them. But at least we’ve had two party trips in a row where we haven’t lost the game, which must be some kind of record, and not even the idiots on the Tube having a celebration much more drunken and raucous than ours can spoil the mood