Dreaming Spireites

Clarkey should be joining us, but Jenny gets a text to let her know his plans have changed, so it’s just the two of us travelling up today. As our tickets allow us to get on the earlier train, we do just that. Palace are at Derby today, and a few of their fans are in our carriage, already on the cider at 9.30 in the morning. If you looked up ‘cast-iron constitution’ in the dictionary, that’s probably the image you’d see. A handful of Spireites get on at Chesterfield, but the lairy 12-year-olds we usually find ourselves travelling with are more than likely still doing their paper rounds or having a lie-in in preparation for some concerted taunting of our lairy 12-year-olds.

In the Fat Cat we’re joined by Chris Kirkland, who spent last Sunday moving all his stuff up to Nottingham ready to embark on his post-graduate studies (for which read stringing out joining the world of employment a little bit longer, though it won’t stop him using ‘Get a job’ as an insult again if necessary). With him is his friend, Tom, who’s doing his MA in Sheffield and has found accommodation in the student heartland around Shalesmoor. He was only originally intending to join us for a drink, but somewhere along the line he manages to persuade himself coming to the game might be a good idea. Given that last season he saw us lose to Bury and Darlo and scrape a draw with Torquay, he really must be a glutton for punishment.

A bunch of Chesterfield fans pile on the tram in the city centre, singing about Jack Lester, still their talisman even though he’s been surprisingly quiet against us the last few times we’ve played them. We sit quietly, wondering if they’ll be in such high spirits after the game.

The atmosphere at the DVS is building nicely as we arrive. As you’d expect from a derby game, it starts at a million miles an hour, with the first half containing possibly our best football of the season so far. There are chances at both ends, with pixie-faced Spireites keeper being forced into a couple of palm-stinging saves, in both cases just managing to grab the ball before anyone can pounce on the rebound. Jason Taylor is shooting on sight, and there’s plenty of purpose about our play. Chesterfield’s best chance of the half is a shot from the aforementioned Lester. There was a time when he’d have buried it (or, failing that, fallen over and won a free kick from which they’d have scored), but today Don has the better of him.

Half time is a feast for the eyes, in the same way that Greggs’ is a feast for white van drivers. Richard Lee is back, and so are High Definition – are these events in any way connected? The girls slink their way through a routine set to Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’, but they’re just a foil for Miller Bear, who gets to perform his full repertoire of moon-walking, crotch-grabbing Wacko Jacko dance moves. Meanwhile, in the schools’ six-a-side competition, Maltby Lilly Hall are handing out a good old-fashioned smishing to their hapless opponents. I can’t help thinking this is what the inside of Toddy’s head is like...

The second half picks up where the first left off. Chesterfield are a strong, organised side, but we’re matching them, and still playing great football. We score from what, it later turns out, is a move suggested by Andy Liddell, who’s now working on the coaching staff, having retired in the summer. Alf gets on the end of a Johnny Mullins throw and loops the ball brilliantly over Tommy Lee. Cue a concerted attempt by Chesterfield to get back on level terms. Jack Lester, who apart from that one shot has been kept pretty quiet by Exodus Geohaghon, is substituted. Don is forced into three more excellent saves, including one double save after a scramble at the corner (the ball already having hit Kevin Ellison, who’s on the far post, with the Chesterfield fans appealing for a penalty). It’s not all one-way traffic, though, and with a couple of minutes to go, Geohaghon, who’s unfortunate to lose out to Don for man of the match, runs half the length of the pitch and looks as though he might have an attempt on goal. It doesn’t quite happen, but it would have summed up what’s been a thoroughly entertaining match and one that, even with four minutes of added-on time that have the potential to get a bit nervy, we hold on to win. From being our bogey team, Chesterfield have now lost to us in six of the last seven league matches. My brother used to ask to be pinched when we were beating them, as it had to be a dream, but when I text him after the game he reckons it’s more like Groundhog Day.

Jenny’s staying up in Rotherham for the weekend, so I join Chris K, Tom and Chris Burrows to return to Sheffield. The first tram that goes through while we’re waiting is packed with Chesterfield supporters. Unbelievably, they’re twice as loud as they were on the way to the game – I dread to think what they’d be like if they’d won.

Eventually we manage to squeeze on to a tram. There’s just time for a quick drink in the Old Queen’s Head (which, as we’d hoped, is a lot quieter than the Tap would be, and keeps us away from any lingering Spireites), then I bid the boys farewell. The train is heaving. The Palace fans who get on at Derby are pretty subdued, as they’ve lost 5-0, but there are a few Southampton supporters who are fine when they stick to songs about winning the Johnstone’s Paints Trophy, but let the side down when the Pope and the IRA are brought up. Boys, it’s not big, it’s not clever and it’s really not necessary...