Flying The Flag

For once, I don’t have to worry about early starts and making it to the station on time. Instead, I get a bit of a lie-in and a leisurely breakfast and then it’s off to collect my parents from the West Ham United hotel. They’ve come down for the Dagenham game and Ted decided to treat them to a night in the hotel simply because he wanted a good nose round. The corporate hospitality boxes double as hotel rooms, and having been in a guest in one of the boxes a couple of years ago, Ted now wants to know how they function as bedrooms. They’re actually quite impressive, with an en suite shower and a view out over the pitch. As West Ham are away at Chelsea this weekend, the ground staff were taking the opportunity to shine sun lamps on the pitch, so if you wanted to you could actually sit and watch the grass grow.

Those who are travelling from points further west are meeting in the Black Lion in Plaistow, but as it makes more sense for us to go straight to the ground, we have time to watch a bunch of Rotherham fans trying to kick balls through the replica of the Premier League trophy on Soccer AM. They manage the grand total of two. ‘I hope the fact they were rubbish isn’t an omen for this afternoon,’ comments my mum, who’s having to go to the game as there are no nearby attractions in the Dagenham area to occupy her instead. (Unless they do guided tours of what’s left of the Ford factory we’re not aware of.)

‘Well, Aston Villa got nine the other week and then lost the League Cup final,’ I tell her, ‘so I don’t think it’s anything to go by.’

We get to the ground nice and early, spotting Ronnie Moore and John Still deep in conversation at the entrance to the players’ tunnel. They look as though they genuinely get on. I hitch the flags to the railings in a nice, prominent position. A steward helpfully informs me where the tea bar is. I tell him I already know, as I visited earlier in the season and I’m pleased to see the burgers are still as good as ever. He seems shocked we rate the catering, but he must never have had one of the leathery things they dish up at Barnet.

By coincidence, we’re sitting pretty much where Gwenn and I were for the Bury game, which means a good chance of getting a ball in the face from the subs warming up, though Pablo Mills curls in a couple of impressive finishes which earn him applause from the watching fans. If only he could replicate one of those in an actual game!

When the rest of the LM contingent roll up, they’re already stuffing their faces as the old tea bar just by the turnstiles is open today, which it wasn’t on my last visit. Maybe they know quite how many burgers we can get through when we put our minds to it.

Something’s different about Dagenham’s style of play since the last time I saw them. They seem to have gone more direct, lumping the ball forward for the front two of Benson and Scott to run on to. They have a couple of new faces in the line-up, including Graeme Montgomery, who Tim clearly recognises from the fact he yells, ‘Wealdstone reject!’ at him at quite frightening volume when he gets the opportunity. We, meanwhile, are giving a début to Craig McAllister, who we’ve got on loan from Exeter. Fortunately, he played against us at the DVS last season, rather than being one of the squad players I did my best to put the spec on when they were watching me and Jenny putting up the flag, so he may have a successful Rotherham career.

All the guile in the Dagenham team comes from the right, courtesy of Danny Green, who gives the less-than-pacy Mark Lynch a few problems. We’ve started well, though, and the support is in good voice, clearly relishing the acoustics of this new stand. I look round after about ten minutes and spot Clarkey chanting and clapping away. If you ever wanted a picture to define the term ‘happy as a pig in muck’, it’s his face at that point. Sitting beside Clarkey is a lad who turns out to be a friend of Marcus Marshall’s brother, come to give him a report on how Marcus plays, as he couldn’t make it today. Marshall has started for the first time and is doing okay in front of Lynch.

Neither team creates much in the first half, but Dagenham come fairly close early in the second when Don has to tip a header over the bar. Montgomery goes off, obviously cowed into submission by Tim, and on comes Darren Currie, 78. Which is when we score. Marshall puts in a good cross which both Fenton and McAllister fail to convert, but Alfie is on hand to put away the third attempt. The Rotherham fans get in the usual banter with mad goalie Tony Roberts, who loves every minute of it. Though I’m not sure how he feels about the chants of ‘Tony for England’, being so Welsh and all.

After the goal, it becomes something of a backs-to-the-wall performance. Dagenham throw everything at us in an attempt to equalise. ‘Why doesn’t Ronnie realise he should do something about their number seven?’ asks my mum, referring to Green. I think she might actually be enjoying herself, despite having got out of the spectating habit a long time ago. Eventually, Ronnie substitutes Lynch, who hasn’t played badly but can no longer keep up with Green, with Dale Tonge. Around me, there’s general panic because so much of the play is in our box, but I have reached that strange stage of Zen calm where I feel sure everything’s going to be fine. And it is – even with the four minutes of injury time the ref adds on, Dagenham can’t make anything happen.

On the way out, we spot Nick Fenton’s lookalike brother hanging around, obviously waiting to have a word with him when he comes off the pitch. There’s no hanging round from our lot, though, not when there’s drinking to be done. Most people are heading straight for the Doric Arch, where the raffle draw is taking place. The South Norwood (And Addiscombe) Gentleman’s Rambling Association is doing a detour via the nearby Bree Louise, and my parents and I go to get a coffee and a sandwich in Euston station before joining the others. Ted and John Wilson have made it back from Northampton and Bev’s arrived from Stamford Bridge, so it’s a very pleasant gathering. Brad, who hasn’t been at the game, rolls up in time for the draw.

We manage to grab one of the bar staff to pull the first prize, which goes to one of Tom Coley’s cohorts, Wolves Kev. At least his name is legible – we’ve had to guess at Tom’s handwriting before now (a career as a GP surely beckons) and we don’t mention the time one of the prizes was won by a ‘Big Tits’. Tom later told us three people claimed that ticket was theirs – and one of them was male. Second prize goes to Steve Ducker’s missus, Fiona, Steve not actually having made it to the game today because it’s their wedding anniversary. (Cue chorus of ‘Who gets married in the football season?’) One of Martin Burton’s children wins the mascot prize. The evening drifts slowly down from there. Once all the proper prizes have been won, Andy starts drawing raffle tickets in answer to random questions such as ‘Who should be the next Rotherham manager?’ and ‘Who will bring world peace?’ (The answer to that one was Nigel Hall. Good luck, Nigel.)

Then it’s back home in time to catch the Football League Show and see the flag in all its glory. Fame at last...