A Pot of Gold Somewhere Just Outside Oadby

For once, Ted isn’t off at the crack of doom, as he’s only travelling to Luton today. He takes the tube in with me, and though we leave in good time, it looks like things might go horribly wrong when there’s a signal failure in the Kings Cross area. Luckily, it doesn’t hold us up too badly and we get to St Pancras to he can wave off the travelling London Millers contingent – with more than two fingers, you’ll be relieved to hear.

On the trip for our first meeting with Dagenham since that fateful day at Wembley Jenny, Steve Ducker, Chris Turner, Clarkey and myself. The train is pretty packed, and then the women on the table behind us start unwrapping an array of samosas, cakes and other home-made goodies, Chris wonders if he should recruit them to do the catering for our next Christmas trip. Things get even busier at Leicester, as hordes of fans pile on, en route to their game at Barnsley. Gail and Graham manage to squeeze on at Derby. Trackside problems between there and Long Eaton slow us down, but don’t cut into our valuable drinking time too badly.

It’s very windy when we pitch up at the DVS, making us wonder how good a game we’re going to get. The Brinsworth Club Millers (‘me and our lass’, as he always introduces them to the stewards), and we swap banter about getting our respective flags on TV at Swindon. There’s just time to have the annual conversation with Steve Exley about how it costs him a fortune now Kiran’s in adult-size replica shirts (though that’s pretty much been the case since he was 12!) and then it’s into the fray.

Dagenham have lost the likes of Paul Benson and Danny Green since we last played them, and Tony Roberts looks to have finally hung up his goalkeeping gloves. We shall miss him and his rubbish forward rolls...

We start in lively fashion, and take the lead when Marcus Marshall puts in a cross. Alex Revell tries to get on the end of it, gets a whack from a defender for his pains, but Lewis Grabban slots in the loose ball. Instead of pressing on, we sit back, and get punished for it when Dagenham equalise. Scott doe heads in a corner, and though Dale Tonge tries to keep it out, he only succeeds in nodding it further into the net.

There aren’t many Dagenham fans – Clarkey says later he started counting them but got distracted by something (possibly in a small dress, going by past form...) - but they’re quite lively, twice bursting into a chorus of ‘Cheer up, Stevie Evans.’ Of course, their distaste for the Crawley manager is well known, dating back to all the antics when Evans’ Boston got promoted ahead of Dagenham, before certain financial irregularities came to light.

We quiet them a little by getting two more goals before half-time. Grabban scores the first of these, getting a glancing header to another Marshall cross, though TV footage later suggests it was an own goal. There’s no doubt about his second, though, his shot coming after great persistence from Evans in the first place.

The significance of the anti-Evans chants becomes obvious when the half-time scores reveal Crawley are losing 2-0 to Morecambe. That’s good news for us, but better news is that the Broadsword schools six-a-side competition is back – still the best half-time entertainment anywhere, with Thornhill beating Greasebrough on penalties.

The second half is going to have to go some to match it, but after Tonge hits the crossbar from distance, we go into our shell again, seemingly content to defend the lead. Dagenham threaten to get a goal back, but the nearest they come is when they hit the bar. Their keeper makes a great save to deny Grabban his hat-trick, but people are now more interested in what’s happening at the Crawley game, where rumours that Morecambe have gone five-nil up, then added a sixth, are quickly confirmed.

The other result that seems to grab the imagination is Doncaster’s loss to Cardiff,, with murmurs of ‘Donny’s going down’ all round me as I go to collect the flag.

Jenny’s staying in Rotherham for the weekend, so I meet up with Gail and the boys at the tram stop and we go for a drink in the Old Queen’s Head. Clarkey suggests taking advantage of the flexible tickets to go back on a later train and check out the Rutland. Steve and I decline, but the others head off there.

The train's quieter than on the way up, but we have two people booked from Sheffield to Leicester in the seats next to us. I assume they’re going to be Foxes fans. Instead, we get a nice, middle-aged couple who enjoy their M&S salads and a glass of vino. So much for me and my preconceptions.

Yet again, there’s a spectacular rainbow in the sky as we approach Leicester. I wouldn’t be at al surprised if there’s a pot of gold somewhere just outside Oadby. It’s the perfect setting to digest the fishing reports in the Green ’Un, crowned by the tale of one angler who won a competition despite having had a pint of beer poured over his head in the week by a girl he dumped by text message. Apparently, there’s a silver lining to that story, too. It wasn’t his pint...

Yay, Just Seen The Flag!

Lunchtime kick-offs, don’t you love ’em? It being international weekend, Sky need a game to be the appetiser for Scotland v the Czech Republic, and they’ve chosen our game against Swindon, purely because they’re now being managed by the somewhat volatile Paolo di Canio. Most of the London Millers have decided to watch the game on TV, and with entry to the County Ground a whopping £25, who can blame them? Only Jenny and I make the journey (passing through Reading, new home of Adam Le Fondre, where the last of the festival is being packed away and innumerable tents have been rounded up in a field…), meeting up with my brother at Swindon station.

The flag, not being fastened to seats...

It’s a sedate walk to the ground, where we’re aided in the setting-up of the flag by some of the most helpful and friendly stewards you’ll find anywhere. The only rules are that we can’t place it right behind the goal (at the behest of Sky) and we can’t fasten it to the seats, but that’s not a problem. Once it’s in place, we join Robert in the vast Arkell’s stand. The last time we played here, it was in our first recent spell of administration, when the away following was one of the best and most vocal you could wish for. There aren’t quite so many here today, but they’re still noisy, doing their best to drown out the pre-match build-up. We’ll draw a veil over the dance stylings of Swindon mascot Rocking Robin and the Rockettes, which almost, but not quite, make me warm to the Millerettes, then the Tannoy bursts into La Donna E Mobile, so the crowd can sing di Canio’s name. Yep, it’s all about Paolo. Of course, our fans respond with a much ruder chant to the same tune, chants of ‘Leon Clarke’, who di Canio had a much-publicised bust-up with at the end of their game in mid-week, and that lovely old hymn, ‘Wednesday reject’.

Within moments of the game kicking off, it becomes clear today’s actually about two men – di Canio and the referee, Carl Boyeson, a man whose name causes Millers hearts to sink. He sets the pattern for the day by booking Alex Revell, making his debut for us, for his first tackle. Then Conrad Logan gets whacked in the face while coming to collect a ball. There’s claret – lots of it – and Don starts warming up furiously in case he can’t continue, but once all his orifices have been plugged with cotton wool, he seems to be okay. It’s not a great game – we’re getting used to the novelty of having a big man up front, while Swindon seem to be getting used to the novelty of each other, if some of their defending is anything to go by – but we take the lead. The ball comes to Ryan Cresswell, who nods it into the path of Revell, his goal hopefully starting his Rotherham career the way it means to go on. It stays that way until almost half-time, when Swindon equalise through Matt Richie’s deflected shot.

The cheerleaders are back at half-time, while a presentation is made to Swindon’s steward of the year for going above and beyond the call of duty. Apart from actually helping to deliver a baby, I can’t see what they could do that goes any further above the call than most of them appear to already…

Early in the second half, I get a text from Tim, reading, ‘Yay, just seen the flag!’ He follows that up with a request for me to put the spec on di Canio. I don’t know whether it makes any difference, but shortly after that Revell scores his second goal, another header. All we need to do now is try and see the game out – except Danny Schofield, already on a yellow card, puts in a needless tackle and Mr Boyeson doesn’t hesitate to send him off. Swindon equalise almost immediately – they get a corner and sub Alan Connell heads it in. With the man advantage, they look more dangerous, and Connell proves anything Revell can do, so can he, heading home what proves to be Swindon’s winner. There’s still time for Alberto Comazzi to be sent off, making it ten a side. It’s a soft challenge that earns him a second yellow card, but the way Boyeson’s been dishing them out, it’s hardly surprising. Di Canio and his bench prove they’re not the classiest bunch around, by getting into a spat with Dale Tonge when the ball finds itself in their dug-out and they refuse to give it back. Andy Scott, who’s been known to have a rant or two in his time, manages to retain his dignity, but the manner of the result – with yet more operatic warbling in celebration of the victory – leaves a slightly sour taste.

A teeny-tiny post box, yesterday

The only way to wash it away is with a few drinks at The Gluepot, hidden away among all the old railway cottages, with the teeny-tiny post box outside that we once filled to bursting with copies of the London Miller. It’s quiet, but the beer’s good and the bloke behind the bar is friendly, even half-remembering our order (for some reason, he pegs Jenny as a stout drinker…).

On the train back to London, we bump into Andy the groundhopper and former landlord of the Gardener’s Arms in Lewes, here in his official capacity as a Swindon supporter. He explains to us the reason the Swindon fans were giving Alex Revell some stick is that they had him on loan and he didn’t do too much for them, yet can’t stop scoring against them, no matter who he plays for.

There’s just time for an eyeballing by East London’s hardest fox, before getting back in the house in time for all the duff Saturday night TV I usually miss because I’m on a train. At least normal service will be resumed next weekend…