Wembley only seems like five minutes ago as Steve Ducker, Clarkey and I congregate on the upper concourse at St Pancras. Jenny should have been with us but she’s up in Rotherham, looking after her brother who’s convalescing following a minor operation. Just to remind us of what we could have won, the fixture compilers have decided to send Dagenham & Redbridge to Hillsborough today, and a few of their fans are waiting to get on the same train as us. Of course, Clarkey can’t resist suggesting the reason they’re travelling in numbers is because West Ham aren’t at home...
Steve cracks his first 'Derek Holmes, world’s slowest footballer' joke approximately three minutes after we pull out of St Pancras. Oh, yes, it’s good to be back...
At Sheffield station, Steve heads off to meet his sisters at Meadowhall. One day, he’s really going to have to persuade them the Fat Cat’s a better option than a shopping mall food court! A quick call to Jenny establishes that she’s on the bus over from Rotherham, so I let her know Clarkey and I will see her in the pub.
Already in the Fat Cat are Joy and Frances, who set off up the M1 at some ridiculous time this morning, and Julia. No sign of any Daggers, who all appear to have opted for the Kelham Island Tavern. We commandeer enough tables not only for Jenny when she arrives, but for Nigel Hall and his nephew, Karl, who he’s persuaded to visit the DVS. One of the beers on draught is from the good old Thorne Brewery. Dunston’s Ships is described by the barman as a ruby bitter. Both Clarkey and Nigel, who sample a pint, approve.
Jenny and I leave in good time to meet my dad, who’s got my season ticket, at the stadium. Of course, he and Gordon arrive ten minutes after they thought they would, but it gives us the chance to spot a few familiar faces, including Mick Walker. No sign of Howard Webb, who I thought might be taking the opportunity to watch the Millers seeing as he’s got some time off following the World Cup final. At least the Dutch seem to have stopped being mean about him, which means I no longer have to think about forgoing our annual week in Amsterdam next year in protest...
A couple of players are sitting in the block of seats above where Jenny and I fasten the flag. I don’t recognise them, but then I don’t recognise half our squad, there have been so many comings and goings in the summer. My dad, who’s already been to one of the pre-season friendlies and not had a clue who anyone was, and I were joking that as Lincoln have signed Drewe Broughton and another ex-Miller, Delroy Facey, we’ll know more of their team than we will ours!
An aside (because I’ve got this far without digressing, which is pretty good going for me): before he played for us, we once met Delroy Facey’s cousin in the buffet car of a train coming back from Sheffield. We got talking because she overheard me talking about Darlington, which is her home town. Nice girl.
Anyway, before the end of last season, the annual ‘Matt Hamshaw to sign for Rotherham’ bandwagon creaked into sight. Hamshaw’s a Rotherham boy and a Rotherham fan, and at least one poster on one of the Millers messageboards has a real fetish about him coming to the club. I was waiting for yet another story about our being interested in Jack Lester, while my brother declared he was joining the ‘Bring Back Delroy Facey Rainbow Party Coalition’. Just because he could, you understand.
As it is, stadium announcer Richard Lee, who seems to be having a first day back at school sugar rush, going by all the new musical stings that accompany his announcements, has his work cut out introducing the new players. In no particular order, we give warm DVS welcomes to Dean Holden (on loan from Shrewsbury, lovely shiny hair), Exodus Geohaghon (on loan from Peterborough, spectacular name), Ryan Cresswell (signed from Bury, Rotherham boy and Rotherham legend following a very brief loan spell two seasons ago), Tom Newey (also signed from Bury, recipient of dogs’ abuse while playing for Grimsby at Dagenham two seasons ago), Tom Elliott (on loan from Leeds, also spent time at Bury – Alan Knill doesn’t really need a scouting report on us, does he?) and Mark Bradley (signed from Walsall, a Welsh international despite coming from somewhere in the West Midlands. Marcus Marshall has made a permanent move from Blackburn and Jason Taylor is back from his loan spell at Rochdale. As well as big Drewey, out have gone Marc Joseph, Mark Lynch, Micky Cummins, Andy Nicholas, Pablo Mills, David Haggerty, Andy Liddell and Ian Sharps, who surprised everyone by turning down a new contract and signing for Shrewsbury. Splitter! You can see why this will take us a while to adjust.
Lincoln have made a few changes of their own, mind. They’re playing big Drewey as the lone striker in a 4-5-1 formation, supplemented by speedy wingers Mustapha Carayol and Albert Jarrett. This will work well for them in plenty of games this season, but Cresswell and Geohaghon seem quite able to cope with Drewey, who’s had his elbows refurbished over the summer. The ref is surprisingly lenient with him – for us, he usually got booked, or at least sternly ticked-off, the first time he got over-physical. The first ‘booooook him’ from the blokes at the left of us comes after four minutes. Their song about Alf being the white Pele is still failing to catch on whenever they sing it. As I said, it’s good to be back...
Such considerations seem pretty immaterial after ten minutes, as Kevin Ellison volleys a shot, it gets stabbed off the line and Alf fires the clearance into the roof of the net. ‘We are top of the league!’ chant the blokes on my left. Calm down, dears, it’s only our first goal of the season. Still, it damps down the restlessness that would otherwise have grown the longer we go without scoring.
Elliott is winning plenty of balls in the air, and has a couple of headers that go narrowly wide of the goal. Don is a virtual spectator, and we look more and more comfortable as the half progresses.
The half-time special guest for the Mayday draw is... the Mayor of Rotherham! In addition, there are not one, but two new troupes of cheerleaders, the tweenie Millerettes and the slightly older High Definition. I’ll be surprised if either of them are still around by October.
Lincoln pull the old stunt of leaving us waiting for a while before emerging for the second half. They show more aggressive intent, though we’re still keeping Drewey quiet. Then Carayol breaks at speed, despite all the cries from the crowd that he’s offside, and fires in a curling shot from the left side of the box to equalise. It doesn’t take long for the discontented grumbling to start. ‘Rubbish... Can’t string two passes together..,’ come the comments, though with so many new faces in the team, it’s bound to take some time for the team to learn how to play together. Lincoln look threatening, but they’re still not giving Don a lot to do. Carayol has another run and a couple of stepovers, but his shot is well over the bar. At the other end, Alf fails to get a header on target. Ronnie eventually makes a substitution, bringing on Bradley for Harrison. Lincoln respond with the arrival of Clark Keltie, who’s the subject of a bet between Ted and his friend, Chris. Chris reckons Keltie will play at a higher level than League Two. Ted reckons his money is safe...
Bradley’s appearance seems to move us up a gear. We begin to attack the Lincoln goal with purpose. The crowd have gone from doom and gloom to shouting, ‘Olé!’ in the space of twenty minutes. I love a healthy sense of perspective...
With a couple of minutes to go, Nicky Law puts in a great cross from the byline. Ryan Cresswell gets his head on it and enhances his legendary status by scoring the winning goal on his début.
On the way to collect the flag, I bump into Steve Exley, who comments that Law should get to the byline more frequently. He seems happy enough with the result, though.
Clarkey is stopping in Rotherham tonight, so Steve D and I go for a swift drink in the Sheffield Tap before catching the train. The weather, which has been beautiful all day even though we saw heavy rain between Leicester and Chesterfield on the way up, is nice enough to persuade people to sit outside, though we prefer the cool of the interior.
There are more Dagenham fans on the way back, a little subdued having lost to Wednesday. A few Barnet fans get on at Chesterfield, equally subdued after their result. Obviously someone thought it made sense to have Barnet christen the B2Net...
We didn’t get to see Delroy in action, but we do see a rainbow, stretching over Leicester University as the rain comes down again. If there’s a pot of gold anywhere on campus, I never found it in my time there!
Somewhere around Bedford, I get a call from Ted’s mobile, but it’s not him on the other end. He and Chris Turner have been on a crawl round North London, and he’s managed to leave his phone in the Pineapple. Fortunately, he’s already rung me to let me know he and Chris will be in the Betjamen when we arrive at St Pancras. Steve bids me goodnight and goes off for some good home cooking, while I join the boys to be regaled with tales of bearded dragons in the Oakdale Arms and patting Gavin Esler’s dog in the Pineapple. With all that excitement, it’s no wonder the phone got forgotten. At least I can fill Chris in on all the details of our satisfying start to season and let him know, far more importantly, that when we’re back up in a fortnight, it’s the Fat Cat Birthday beer festival. Does it get any better than that?
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