Getting Our Own Back For Bombalurina

The merry band assembling at St Pancras this morning consists of me, Jenny and Joy, all travelling up and back today, Julia, who’s staying over to visit family for the weekend and Steve Ducker and his wife, Fiona, who are going up for a family party. The last time I saw Fiona was at a London Welsh v Rotherham game, a couple of years ago. Gwenn had decided it was time I got an education in rugby, in return (pr, possibly, revenge) for being initiated into all things Millers, and we bumped into Steve and Fiona by pure chance. That was Eastertime, one of those days where you can experience all four seasons in a couple of hours, from sunshine to snow, so pretty much all we saw of Fiona that day was a face peering out of an anorak hood, bearing an expression reading ‘I really shouldn’t be here...’ Fortunately, it’s slightly warmer than that today.

Once in Sheffield, Steve and Fiona head for the B and B they’re staying in, near the Crystal Peaks entertainment centre where the function they’re attending is being held tonight. The rest of us make our way to the Fat Cat to meet Phil. (And if anyone who works in the Fat Cat kitchen is reading this, the people who had the chicken and sage pie said it went down a treat.)

On the tram to the DVS, we get into yet another of our periodic conversations about things you just don’t see any more. This time, it’s biscuit barrels. If you’re still using one, please let us know. We’d be strangely reassured...

Oxford are one of those teams who hung around in the Conference a little longer than a lot of their fans expected them to, and now they’re looking to make a speedy progression up this division. Unfortunately, they meet us on a day when we hit some sparkling form. This is partly due to the debut of Danny Coid at right back, on loan from Blackpool (and so far down the pecking order he didn’t even figure in the recent game where Ian Holloway made ten team changes and probably used all new ball boys as well...), and who brings a calm assurance to the defence. Marcus Marshall, who was probably our best player against York last week, is responsible for most of the good things that happen today. Both teams have had a couple of chances when Marshall goes on a mazy run. His shot is blocked, but comes out to Alfie, who checks to see whether he’s offside. When the flag doesn’t go up, he calmly slots the ball past Oxford keeper Ryan Clarke.

Alfie gets a second a few minutes later. Ryan Taylor heads the ball into his path, and though he looks to have scuffed his shot, it still beats the keeper. By now, we’re looking very comfortable, so it’s a bit of a surprise when Oxford score in stoppage time. Don parries the first shot, but Simon Clist beats him with the rebound.

It’s a slightly deflating end to the half, but things look up with the half-time draw. I would suggest we’re in the presence of greatness, but I might get done under the Trades Description Act, so let’s just say the draw is performed by celebrity Oxford fan Timmy Mallett. He’s got the requisite loud suit and even louder glasses, but there’s no sign of the trademark mallet. Presumably it’s in a locked vault somewhere, too valuable to be brought to a mere football stadium.

He’s probably hoping Oxford are going to carry on where they left off, but it doesn’t happen, even though Ryan Cresswell, who’s looked slightly hesitant in the first half, has to be replaced by Luke Ashworth. We find out later his back has gone again, which is worrying.

Still, it doesn’t appear to affect us too much. Nicky Law, playing in a central role, is looking impressive, and both he and itsy bitsy teeny weeny teeny tiny Stephen Brogan (sorry, couldn’t resist that...) have decent efforts on goal. Meanwhile, Don only has one real effort to save, tipping a shot over the bar.
A waiter from the hospitality suite walks through the stand carrying a dozen flat, square cardboard boxes. 'Pizza for Mallett!' yells one of the Block 4 Upper wags....
Tom Elliott, who’s been conspicuous by his absence for ages, appears as a late sub and has a shot he might have done better with if he hadn’t just come on, but the result is never really in doubt.

After the game, Jenny, Joy, Steve and I go to meet Fiona in the Old Queen’s Head. She’s been shopping in the city centre and is a little footsore but pleased with her purchases.

We leave the Duckers enjoying a drink and go to catch the train. Our carriage is full of Wednesday fans of a certain vintage, who start asking each other whether they remember various old players and then get on to the subject (as two or three Wednesday fans gathered together inevitably will) of the 1979 ‘Boxing Day Massacre’, when they beat Sheff U four-nil. (At least one Rotherham Owl in my class spent the next couple of months with a badge bearing the words ‘ Boxing Day Massacre’ pinned to the lapel of his blazer. Ah, those innocent days before rival fans could taunt each other about results on the Internet...). Eventually, they get on to the far more serious subject of Wednesday’s current financial plight, and how much their high spending on some of the players they’ve been talking about has contributed to the situation.

Back in London, Joy wends her way back East, while Jenny and I go to meet Ted in the newly opened Euston Tap. Sister to the Sheffield Tap and the York Pivni, it’s in Euston Lodge, just in front of the main station concourse. It’s a tiny little building, with a cosy upstairs that’s reached by means of a spiral staircase. Already there with Ted is Steve Duffy, down for a concert. We’re also joined by Wycombe Paul and all his photographic gear. He’s on good form, as they’ve just beaten Bradford one-nil in the Peter Taylor derby. A pleasant couple of hours later, we’ve decided this place will give the Betjeman and the Doric Arch a run for their money among the serious real ale buffs (and some of the mildly amusing ones, too...).